Chapter Three: The Medium
"A genuine medium!"
Maren stomach congealed to lead. She had been watching the scene unfold with keen interest, in case the situation got out of hand. After all, Buckman still owed his tab and dead men don't tip well. But she froze, panic written upon her lovely face, when that finger fell on her and proclaimed her, marked like Cain, a medium.
"Told ye the son o' bitch couldn't keep one God damned secret," Kristy whined, making futile attempts to lift Gibb's whiskey in her ghost hands. "Christ, the unmentionables I'd do for a drink!"
'Shut it Kristy, yer not helping,' Maren's gift transpired silently. Swallowing a lump in her throat, Maren said out loud, "Buck, ye fool, what's ye goin' on 'bouts now?" She noticed Jack's eyes slitting, scrupulously studying her. "Ye don't believe him do ye? He's crazy!" too late she heard the pleading in her voice and she doubted Jack would miss such a clue.
Frightened, he might lose his fifteen crowns, Old Buckman tried to smooth things over, "Don't be like that Maren, ye ain't no liar, ye be a good gel ye be. And Cap'n Sparrow, he's good man, why he gives me fifteen crowns just to tell him where's he can finds ye, fifteen crowns just for directions! I'm sure he'll pay ye good money too! And I bets Kristy agrees with me."
"To right I do, but I be buggered if she listens to me, Buckman me mate. Hell she did'n even listen when's I tolds her to go 'head and hump Sparrow's brains out!" Kristy often addressed others, knowing full well only Maren heard her.
"If ye be authentic, me pretty littl' barmaid," Jack splayed his fingers out, palms presented upward, easing closer, like he was trying not to startle a flighty rabbit, "Ye'll be seeing quite a bit more than fifteen crowns, I promise ye that." He reached out to touch her face, but she quickly leapt away. "Whose Kristy anyways?" Jack spun around to address Buckman, the question only now dawning on him. Maren prayed he'd given up.
"Kristy's a ghost o' a dead prostitute-,"
"I prefer living-impaired lady-of-negotiable-affections, thank ye kindly Mister Buckman."
"What stays round Maren and helps her deals with them other spooks," Buckman said proudly, still urging Maren into submission.
"Buck, ye promised Pa ye'd never tell," Maren scolded, a blush of anger adorned her fair features. Lucky, having his back still to Maren, Jack didn't see his fetish mark her skin, lest he would have had to find a nearby table to sit behind. Maren was feeling bolder, fueled by her temper, conveniently forgetting Jack's close proximity.
"I know and I be sorry, honest am! But I needs this money bad, Maren. I got debts to some dangerous peoples not so understandin' as Cap'n Jack here. Davey, God rest his soul, he'd do the same, yer pa was a practical man."
"For ye information, Old Buckman, me father-," she had started forward fists clenched, while Jack took his advantage. He was upon her before she even registered he had stirred. Rough fists clenched her arms, keeping them immobile as he drew her close, drawing their faces a breath away from each other. The gasp that tore from her throat was both surprised and frightened as Jack Sparrow stared fiercely at her.
"Ye horse's arse, ye let her go!" Kristy raged, never too shocked to forget to curse. "Kick him Maren! Kick him in the sociables!"
'I do'n imagin' that bein' good idea,' shuddering, Maren could do nothing but squirm under the intense scrutiny of the pirate who trapped her.
"Do'n hurt her!" cried Buckman, seized by one of the pirate goons from interfering. "She be a good gel, Cap'n Sparrow! She's been so kind to me," he pathetically begged.
"Settle down now," Jack kept his gaze locked on Maren, "Cap'n Jack Sparrow do'n assault women, lest they ask me nice," Jack murmured under his breath, a faint smile under his moustache, but it disappeared when he addressed Maren, "Then it's fact miss? Can ye honest-to-God communicate with the dead? Ye best be tellin' Jack the truth now."
"Tell him 'twas a con yer father cook'd up in London and if he do'n like it, he can lick yer twat," offered Kristy, always one to think fast on her feet, and on her back, and on her knees, and other assorted positions.
Frankly, Maren had every intention on doing just that, the first part at least; she hardly considered it wise to encourage Jack about the last part. But the lie died on her tongue, there was something about Jack's stare. It stripped her down naked, laying her thoughts bare for his touch. For a long while, she met his eyes. They were dark brown, lined with an excessive amount of black kohl and she lived in port long enough to know sailors sometimes did this to sway the sun from their sight, but to Jack it had become a decoration, enticing and mystical. The ocean sun had coppered his skin a beautiful gold, yes, beautiful she realized ashamed. Guiltily she admitted to herself, she had fancied him handsome the moment he burst through the pub door. His hair was a disaster, a dreadlocked tangle of lengthy brown highlights, but this too was exotic, especially the assorted charms and beads woven in. He had beads entwined in his beard also, split into two halves on either side of his chin. For a moment it made her think of a devil's horns, except that these weren't on the top of his head. Maren had never favored moustaches, usually the man's last meal was still entrapped in it, yet Jack's, unlike the rest of him, was clean and tapered. And then his lips-
Her contemplation was interrupted when Jack squeezed her arms impatiently, still seeing right through her. Maren resolved herself, Jack already knew, now he was just testing her compliancy. It was probably a generous thing for him to do, permitting her one last chance to tell the truth. "Cap'n Sparrow," she spoke so quietly Jack leaned his ear next to her mouth and she noticed a gold hoop and several studs had been pierced through, "I…I do'n do that sort o' thing no more."
Jack repressed a shiver as her hot breath tickled his ear. He turned his face to study her, her expression desperate and pleading. Their noses touched briefly and he was so deliciously tempted to kiss her, but work before pleasure, unfortunately. His beard rubbed against her cheek as he brought his lips to her ear, "Ye do'n?" It was Maren's turn to shiver, only she wasn't as experienced as Jack at hiding her body's reactions and Jack was pompously pleased with the evident effect he had on her. "But ye can if ye want'd to, eh? Ye just be requirin' incentive and this be it gel. If ye helps me, I intends to pay ye an insane amount of money, set ye up good, get ye out of this rottin pit. But if ye do'n helps me, I might get very talkative. The word on what ye are will blaze through the streets o' Tortuga like a wild fire. Everyone is goin' to know yer dirty littl' secret luv, ye be hounded day and night, star'd at like a circus freak, avoid'd like the plague, I swears it!"
"Ye…yer blackmailin' me!" Maren craned her neck back to look at Jack aghast.
"Pirate," he said as his only explanation, flashing his gold smile. Maren found herself wondering how he could have lost so many of his teeth, when the ones he had appeared pearly and healthy.
"Just fuck it, Pet," Kristy only used this term of endearment to manipulate Maren, "'Taint nothin' we never dids before and I do'n think he be leavin' till ye do. Plus, ye shifts almost up and ye promis'd we was visitin' the theatre tonight."
'Thanks for the help," Maren sarcastically retorted to Kristy. To Jack, she ground her teeth before reluctantly, but decisively proclaiming, "Fine, but on me own conditions."
"Excellent! Name them and let's get start'd!" releasing his grip on Maren, Jack motioned to his table where his precious rum still waited. Maren didn't budge, massaging the place where Jack's hands had clamped her arms so hard.
"First, ye have to keep me secret better than Old Buckman," she flashed an ugly look towards the old man, who peered sheepishly down at his feet.
"Aye, anything else?"
Biting her lip, Maren glanced around at the drunken old pirates that still gazed at their drinks, pretending they weren't interested in the quieted conversation, "One more, we does this in private, just ye and me, none o' yer men."
"Deal," Jacked rubbed his hands together, "Ye got a room upstairs?"
"Aye," catching Jack's leer, Maren added, "And no sportin', got it?"
"Why the devil not?"
"Should o' made that one o' yer terms me dear, 'cause with ye flauntin' that figure 'round, well lets just say I can't be promisin' nothin', savvy?" Jack's dancing hands illustrated an exaggerated hourglass, his eyes shining in delight. "Shall we?" he smiled charmingly, offering his arm.
Maren rolled her eyes, just to make sure he understood her displeasure at her current circumstance, before conceding and tucking her hand around his elbow. "And none of ye scalawags get any ideas 'bout nippin' some drink while I'm gone, I knows every bottle and its amount by heart! God help ye if a single drops missin' when I gets back!" she shouted out before guiding Jack to the back door, several occupants sank noticeably in their chairs.
The stairway was narrow so Maren ascended first; oblivious to the fact Jack's face was now level with her backside as he followed. That is until Kristy spoke up, "I gives him five seconds 'fore he pinches ye…or bites ye maybe. Why ye think, fancy he be a biter?" floating her wraith form through the two living persons. Maren drew her eyebrows together, puzzled by the ghost, before looking over her shoulder and witnessing Jack's passionate stare still anchored securely below her waistline.
When he hadn't bothered to inquire why they stopped or even raise his eyes to her face, Maren cleared her throat. He tore himself out of a particularly delightful fantasy featuring that delectable rump and the equally attractive package attached withering between him and the mast of the Black Pearl. "What?" Jack asked hazily, candidly confused.
"Forget it," huffing in frustration, Maren sprinted up the rest of the stairs, hearing Jack's boots hasten to stay right behind. At the top, Maren spun left and strode down a rickety hall. Besides the musty scent of a stuffy attic and spoiling wood, Jack's keen nose detected a sweet misty scent. Maren observed his nostrils flaring and heard his sniff, "Most of the gel's that live here be chasin' the dragon," retrieving a brass key from the pocket of her skirt, Maren halted at a lonely door at the very end of the hallway. "Come 'round noon tomorrow, the place be so smoky ye think we was on fire!" The door unlocked, creaking, as it swung open.
"Well that's very interestin'," she could hear the smirk in his voice as she searched along the small stand by the door for the matches. "Ye ever indulge in littl' Asian entertainment?"
"Me? Lord no, opium's not for me," the match hissed and its flame quickly lighted the lamp's wick that was mounted by the door. While she took the lighting stick to the lamp on the dresser and the candle on the nightstand by her bed, she explained, "I prefers me vices simple, 'Never have to speculate 'bout the bottom o' a bottle,' me Pa always said."
"On that note, I agrees whole heartedly," Jack still remained outside the tiny room, watching its illumination. It was certainly threadbare to say the least; a low straw stuffed bed with a quilt so patched the original pattern could not be deciphered. The furniture was crudely made and of many different kinds of wood, consisting of a dresser adorned with cracked pitcher and washbasin, night table that wobbled, and two chairs with broken backs that were probably thrown out from downstairs. "But the occasional experiment can be most amusin'."
Ignoring the obvious proposal, Maren waved Jack in, "Come, make yerself at home," he entered, removing his precious hat and grinning in a friendly manner. "May I take yer burdens?" without his waiting for a reply, Maren already placed her hands on the back of his broad shoulders, tugging his worn coat off.
"Thanks sweetheart," Jack let the jacket slip and only stalled a moment before relinquishing his hat to her.
"Me name's Maren Attle," she said proudly, carefully hanging Jack's hat and coat upon a single wooden stub nailed to the wall, "Call me Maren if ye likes, everybody does."
"Aye Maren, pleased to make yer acquaintance," he flourished another embellished bow. Then added, "And ye be callin' me Jack, lessen we be around the crew, then its Cap'n, savvy?" Jack held his hand up to her, but realized her sights were elsewhere. Maren's eyes were hovering on his waist and Jack's ego swelled immensely that his shape should be so appeasing as to distract a woman. At least that's what he thought at first, he then dumbly noticed it wasn't his physique that she was watching, but the pistol securely tucked into his waistband. Her eyes flickered from gun to sword to gun again.
"No worries Maren," Jack raised his palms in surrender, "I said I won't hurt ye and I mean it."
"Oh o'course, how silly of me, not trustin' a pirate," she rolled those blue eyes again, picking up the chairs and depositing them in the middle of the room. "Please sit Jack," she emphasized his name, "And mind the backs, thems a bit flimsy."
She was amazed when he politely waited until she was perched upon her seat before taking his. They lulled in silence for a while, Maren uncomfortable and Jack analyzing her, she stubbornly held still while he stared, refusing to be the first to break the quiet.
Jack had already discovered that Maren was attractive, but under closer scrutiny, he decided she was beautiful as well. Maybe not in the same way them snobs considered beauty, frizzy curls stacked on a head like a hat, tall and thin as a tree, and white like death; no that sort of expensive taste never appealed to Jack. Give him some curves, natural curves, he hated how deceptive corsets could be once off. And long hair free and flowing, tickling like feathers in bed. Her skin should be clear and rosy, bursting with healthy energy; tans were especially nice. As for stature, he preferred a chin rest when involved in amorous activities, so about eight inches shorter then he was preferable.
Maren was a marvelous illustration of his ideals. She was a blonde, which didn't principally influence him, but her hair was very long and she kept it braided, swaying like a pendulum past her waist. Her skin was clear, save for affable dimples upon her cheeks and even though it didn't look like she'd tan well, there was a flush of pink that colored her peach complexion that compensated nicely. A little sentimentality snuck up on Jack, when he observed her eyes and compared the deep blue color to that of his beloved ocean. Unnerved by how poetic that would sound, Jack balanced it by lewdly imagining the decadence he could impose on those lush lips, mauve in color and plump in shape. But superior to her other characteristics, was her curvy shape. She was a breeder, as the old wives called it, hips wide like handles for a man to mount, slim waist to entice, and the crème de la crème, a large but still very pert bust, full and erotic. Maren's height was the only thing petite about her, ending with the top of her head at Jack's throat and Jack was a man of average stature to begin with. From a distance, it appeared she should be a good deal taller, her build suggesting the stock of the great Viking Valkyries so long ago, but had now dwindled to the robust breed of northern milkmaids, reared for hard work and childbearing.
God he wanted her…but first.
"How's this suppos'd to work?" Jack asked.
Relieved he'd finally spoken, Maren submitted, "Ye concentrate on the one ye needs to talk to and I acts as sort o' go-between, hence the name…medium. Mine ye, if the dead is properly restin' it takes a bit longer, but it be safer. It's like they're tired and I keeps wakin' 'em up, they wo'n be bother'd by me," Maren leaned forward in her seat, Jack mimicked, inching closer, "But it 'nother story all together if it be hauntin'. Happens quick like, all the emotion and spirit and..and…their life, for lack o' a better term, tries to absorb in me. Bit harder to stand back and be a spectator when that occurs. That be why I gots Kristy, she's like me guide." Kristy waved merrily from the bed, "She ensures we stay distanc'd. Kristy says I be like a fountain o' life type deal, and all the ghosts in the world just wants to drink me dry. So if Kristy's there, spongin' up all me water, she be controlin' how much them others get, that's how she explains it anyway. She's like the medium's medium really." Maren glanced towards the bed, smiling faintly and Jack's eyes followed, but saw only the withered blanket.
"She here now?" Maren nodded, indicating the straw mattress. "Well how be ye Kristy? Name's Cap'n Jack Sparrow o' the Black Pearl, glad ye could join us," Jack exuberantly greeted.
"He's mockin' me, I can tell," gliding next to Jack, Kristy childishly stuck out her tongue, "Shove it where ye uncle did!"
"Uh, she says the honors all hers."
"So why is'n Kristy as overwhelming as the others, she be a haunt too, aye?" expressive brows quipped as Jack stretched his legs, folding his hands behind his bandana wrapped head.
"Aye she is. I suppose she got familiar with me gifts," Maren shrugged, "She should be, been 'round since I can 'member, the very first ghost to be drawn to me. Maybe a bit o' me rubb'd off on her in the early days, 'cause she is the singular most aware ghost I ever comes 'cross. A ghost be a confused and baffled thing, not completely understandin' o' their situation, but thems easy enough to control with Kristy 'bout."
"What if they're not keen on bein' social?" Jack sounded curious, but he was clearly inquiring with specific goals in mind.
Her chest expanding, which was an impressive, if not a sexual sight, Maren stuck her nose up, "There isn't a ghost hauntin' that can lie, cheat, or avoid me and Kristy for long."
"So ye can contact any ghost anytime anywhere?" though Jack appeared bored, his eyes sparkled with intrigue.
A snort, which sounded suspiciously like a muted laugh, escaped Maren's nose, "That ain't a medium ye need, ye be needin' Saint Peter hiself!" When Jack's smile vanished, Maren elaborated quickly, "I be only one women and even me powers have their limits. Ye have to have known the spirit and had a strong bond with them. Friend, family, lover, o' enemy-."
Jack interrupted, "Enemy?"
"The bond o' love be just as strong as the bond o' hatred," Maren tilted her head, speculating, "Figure'd ye know that Jack."
"What if I never met him?"
"Well that be 'nother kettle of fish then, if it is indeed spookin'" Maren numbered off on her fingers, "Ye goin' to have to takes me to its hauntin' place o' brings me a possession it cherish'd, a ring o' sword o' Bible perhaps, then we'd make contact in two licks, I guarantee."
Jack closed his eyes that queer smile returning. A few moments of contemplation and Jack was decided, "Here's the plan then, I fetches a personal affect and ye can talk to the dead man?"
"Aye," Maren conceited, a forgotten pride rising to the surface.
"Then that's what we do," Jack sat forward, finger pointed accusingly at Maren's nose, "But I require some proof, luv, 'fore I goes to all that trouble, savvy?"
"Suspect'd as much," Maren bustled over to the corner, standing nose to the wall like a punished child. "Kindly retrieve an item from ye jacket, show it 'round so Kristy can gander, and I tell ye what ye picked."
"Oh for the luv of God," griped Kristy, "not this again! Am I just some bitch what does tricks now?"
"Ye peekin'?" Jack's doubt seeped into his voice.
"No sir, Cap'n," her sense of delight flared, aware Jack was about to be astonished. When she heard his boots thump towards his jacket, Maren continued, "Me pa thought this one up. Used to perform it for the locals back in London. Been so many years since I done it, it be feelin' kind o' juvenile now."
"Know what mean," whispering under his breath, Jack claimed his trusty compass from his coat pocket. Deciding he'd done dafter things than this, he brandished the compass about, unsure how long ghost's took to identify objects. Satisfied, he cautiously replaced his compass, minding that the jacket looked undisturbed. Jack sat again, legs crossed, and one arms hanging over the back of the chair, "Right Maren."
'Kristy?' Maren inquired, facing Jack and smiling smugly.
"A bloomin' bust'd compass," snapped Kristy.
Tucking some stray hairs behind her ear and slimming her wool skirt, Maren bowed her head slightly and proclaimed rather arrogantly, "Broken compass." Jack stayed seated, pokerfaced and cold. The repressed flirt in Maren said playfully, "Vell did I pass?" performing an impression of Madam Bianca and curtsied.
"If I want'd parlor tricks I'd have hired meself a magician," the cruelness in Jack's remark knocked Maren dumb. "Do'n get me wrong, it's a swindlin' littl' con ye gots goin', but Cap'n Jack Sparrow never gets takin'. How's it down now? Mirrors?" Jack walked to his coat and hat dismissing her.
"Jack that wasn't some hoax-," Maren attempted to explain.
"Save it luv for someone who swallows," he was thrusting his arms into the sleeves of his jacket, refusing to face her. Had he been, Maren might have noticed the foxy glint in his eye. Kristy on the other hand, intuitively sensed a trap.
Truthfully, Jack was impressed, but the bargainer's rule of thumb, 'Never let them know you're interested,' forced him to play rough.
"I smells pope shit," Kristy glared at Jack tucking his ridiculous hat on.
"Jack listen-,"
"Me time is precious and ye waist'd it," Jack clapped his hands and scathingly spoke, "I must say, I probably would've been better off with Madam Bianca, at least she's a entertain' fraud," Jack spared nothing when pushing people's buttons. His boots scuffed her floor when he spun on his heels.
"Compare me to Bian-Kristy!" she began her statement shocked but ended in determination.
"Pet, I do'n think-,"
'Kristy! We'll show him what for!' already Maren's mind was searching.
"-he be serious."
"Bloody fake is what I'm comparin' ye too!" rubbing salt in a wound was really an art to Jack. 'Soon as I gets out the door, I'll let her stop me,' Jack mused to himself, 'then let the bargain' proposition begin!'
'Fake! Kristy would ye help me!'
"Settle down-."
"Kristy!"
"That's right wench, never give in," approaching the door, Jack added over his shoulder, "Bets yer whole virgin act be a con to, eh? Clever little scheme for a whore, drives the prices sky high, does it?"
Fortunately, Maren didn't hear this last insult…someone was drawing near. Kristy had no choice but to aide Maren's folly.
When no retort was forthcoming, Jack laid his hand upon the doorknob, "Fare ye well Miss Attle."…then his blood froze.
"Ten years ye carry that pistol-."
