Twenty-three: The Cold Shoulder
"All hands on deck! Cap'n aboooard!" the shrill caw of Anamaria pierced the air, along with hurried booted steps and the clamber of many able bodied men. Maren could not see any of this, because she was still struggling up the rope ladder, her skirts catching in the wind, threatening to blow her away like a kite.
She also heard annoying catcalls waft up from below her as the pirates aboard the rowboat spied up her petticoats. 'Bloody pantalets,' fuming, she reached the deck of the Pearl and hoisted herself awkwardly over the railing, 'Now the whole world's seen me knees!' There was an ungraceful thump when Maren fell onto the deck on her hands and knees, "Ouch-damn it!" The entire mass of assembled pirates cast wary glares in her direction, one or two crossed themselves, and even over the salty smell of the ocean, there was the distinct and pungent odor of garlic.
'Gots meself a nasty feelin', like the family bastard at a will readin',' Maren communicated to Kristy and tried to ignore the many pirates taking a cautious step away from her, 'Somethin' tells me I be the subject o' some malicious gossip.' Attempting to regain what little dignity she could, she rose unsteadily to her feet and straightened out her skirts. Upon her movement, every single pirate swivelled one eye towards her. Maren froze, the center of such scrupulous attention.
Jack, seemingly impervious, not to mention discourteous to Maren's situation, was already striding to the upper deck, taking the steps two at a time. Kristy suddenly felt the obscure presence of the Black Pearl 'observing' him with the vaguest sense of contentment.
"Maren," she hissed, wary of drawing the ship's universal 'attention' back to them, "Ye feel that? Did ye feel that?"
'Ye referrin' to the itchy mob o' pirates two shakes from burin' me sorry arse for witchcraft?'
"No, the boat, stupid!" her wraith fist flailed about, "The soddin' boat just welcom'd Jack home!"
Mindful to keep her facial expressions a clear mask for the benefit of the wary throng before her, Maren sighed, 'Kristy, ye be so bizarre.'
"Pet-!" but Maren interrupted the ghost's ranting with some of her own.
'Has it escap'd yer uncanny, but misplaced, attentions that the majority o' the crew be ganderin' at me likes I was Lucifer's whore?' she barked. 'I have meself a seriously bigger problem then 'thinkin' ships! What a shit state I'm in,' ending in self-pity, Maren smiled sweetly in hopes of assuaging the damage done, but the reaction she received was not heartening. Several men jumped in fright and one particularly superstitious fellow outright screamed.
Meanwhile, Jack arrived at his place atop the proverbial mountain, as magnificent as any Caesar. "Good mornin', tri'd and true gentlemen o' fortune," his arms spread high, Jack boomed impressively from his place on the upper deck; immediately all eyes shot straight at him, much to Maren's relief. "As promis'd, I have here-," grandly, he gestured to the remaining longboat being hefted up by the pulleys, "an armanment o' swords craft'd by the master swordsman himself, Will Turner, son o' the great Bootstrap Bill , godresthissoul," he muttered as an aside and saluted his fingertips to his temple.
The crew followed suite with hats removed, "Godresthissoul," they chorused respectfully.
"'Tis my intention, that every man," mindful, Jack tilted his head towards Anamaria who was suspiciously detached from the current events, "and woman, 'board the Black Pearl should receive one." A dramatic and self-serving pause was inserted while the men enthusiastically cheered. If there was one thing Jack enjoyed about captaining, it was crowd control! "Use it well, use it with pride, but most importantly, use it in the service o' the Pearl," he started with voice raised like a priest before the congregation, but finished with a wicked smile and malicious growl, "so take care o' it. 'Cause if I hear 'bouts any o' you half-wit bitches pawnin' yer sword o' losin' at a game o' cards o' some other equally daft thin', by the devil hiself, I shall personally flog that bastard til his own mother feels the sting!" Another pause for emphasis, "Have we an accord boys?"
"Aye sir!" was the prompt and unison reply.
"Splendid," clapping his hands and rubbing them together, Jack caught sight of Maren who was standing slightly apart from the crowd, forced more by circumstance then by choice, "Ye shall receive yer insignia swords tonight at Miss Attle's Pledge and Mark. Now have off, ye bastards, there's a ship to sail." Captain Sparrow spun about on his heel, effectively ending the speech, but a low murmur hushed over the pirates and as one they all glanced at Maren. She gulped rather loudly, watching while they finally dispersed.
'Kristy?' Maren addressed her in silence, 'Remind me o' the nautical significance o' a Pledge and Mark?'
"Oh so now ye be wantin' me two pence?" the ghost gloated, "Do'n be a silly twit, Pet. Mark be a sailor's contract to the Articles o' ship and cap'n."
'And Pledge?' she asked warily, fearing she half-knew the answer already.
"Pledge to the Code," a brief stall before a noncommital shrug, "supposin' ye could calls it an oath to piracy, that 'tis ifen pirates even give oaths."
The medium, about to become reluctant pirate, moaned.
"Cabin boy!" sashaying down the steps, Jack's mood was shining impossibly bright through his mannerisms, his hands and arms dancing about in wild prurience. After all, last night had been an exceptionally gratifying experience, now followed by the comfort and pleasures of the Pearl. Why shouldn't he be gleeful? And as if those two episodes were not enough, tonight he would combine them! Needless to say, Jack was in a very merry way while he approached Maren, Nathan dutifully at heel, "Take Miss Attle's parcels and escort her down to her room."
"Jack, er-Cap'n Sparrow," tugging at his sleeve, Maren spoke in quiet tones, "I ne'er said nothin' bouts bein' a pirate!"
This put a heavy anchor on Jack's mirth and he immediately froze, boggled over. Nothing about being a pirate! Where in hot Hell did that come from? Not a pirate! Ridiculous! So he stated as such, "Do'n be absurd me dear! Ye yerself agreed to 'board and service the Pearl, must I 'mind ye."
"Aye, but as medium not as pirate," she lifted a finger in protest.
"So?" scoffing, he shrugged, "When a doctor's 'board he becomes a pirate doctor, savvy? When Mister Terrel 'board'd, he became a pirate carpenter, to be sure. Why we do'n call Mister Gimmings plain-ole gunner, do we? Nay, he be a pirate gunner. Ergo, ye shall become a pirate medium."
"Cap'n Sparrow," pleading, Maren could even now feel the burn of dozens of wary eyes upon her, "Piracy be, well, a really drastic step for one. I means no offense, but it makes return to 'civiliz'd society absolutely impossible. They hang pirates, Jack! No questions ask'd, no mercy receiv'd!"
"Then might I suggest steerin' clear o' all manner o' authority," Jack placed his graceful hands on her shoulder, fingers tapping rhythmically, "Unlesson o' course ye simply ca'n bare bein' separat'd from yer strappin' upright Commodore."
"No need to be vindictive, Cap'n," vainly, Maren tried not to acknowledge the flirtatious wink he smirked down at her, but a budding smile inadvertently shone through. What was it about this man that either made her want to scream or laugh? Her heart rapped loudly, but again she attempted to reason with him, "I'm not quite pirate material, am I though?"
For a few moments, Jack's brassy, smoky laughter warmed her ears. He shook his head in jovial denial and started numbering off on his fingers, "Rais'd by a whore, swears like a sailor come Sunday, condemn'd as outcast, fugitive in hidin' for ten years, ye hold yer liquor akin to any man, will lie and con to escape a fix-."
"I do not!" Maren interrupted in a great huff.
Sparrow wasn't fazed in the least, instead he cleared his throat, "Shall I refresh yer dainty memory? 'Oh Jaaack'," he sang in fallsetto, batting his thick eyelashes, "'Take me to yer cabin and make mad, passionate luv to me, so I can steal yer pistol and point it at yer head while yer balls turn blue!' Sound familiar, sweet dove?" Having won that particular point, Jack continued the countdown, "Where was I? Oh yes, will lie and con to escape a fix, ye drink like a fish half-drown'd, bets money ye do'n have-."
"That 'twas a joke!"
Unabashed, he kept listing, "Ye fight dirty-and do'n ye dare argue with that, lest I remind both ye and me jewels 'bouts that god-awful kick! And did I mention ye drink a lot?"
"Hallo pot?" snorted Maren, "This be kettle, 'yer black!'"
"Face it luv, ye were born a pirate and it be time to contend with it," but Maren didn't seem swayed. Time to pull out the big canons, no matter how lowdown and crafty the artillery was. Oh, Jack knew it was a wicked terrible trick to play, but Jack was hellbent on Maren turning pirate. Imagine the Black Pearl stocked with a medium at ready, how positively infamous! Maren had to stay, no bones about it. Therefore, Jack justified what he said next, in all its dubious manipulation, "It would...please me, Maren." Long he stared into her eyes, brows drawn together in earnest, utterly serious, almost begging.
Her stomach hit her throat! Every overwhelming symptom of lovesickness hit her at the exact same time, breath held, palms sweaty, flush to the face, and rushing blood in the ears. Jack couldn't have achieved a more profitable reaction unless he had thrown himself to his knees and proposed marriage. He wanted her to stay! Mutely, she nodded.
"Excellent," the intense spell between them broke as Jack resumed his slurring and swaying, "Boy! To Miss Attle's room. Hurry up now, then 'port to Gimmings for tarrin'."
"Aye sir," encumbered with Maren's new wardrobe, Nathan hustled quickly away, not one word or glance in Maren's direction. Maren made to follow, but squeaked in indignant surprise as Jack playfully pinched her backside while she passed. In retaliation, she socked his arm and scurried away.
The hot burn of Jack's eyes followed her swishing hips until she disappeared below deck. Tonight would be such fun...
Maren walked briskly behind Nathan, sadly noting how the once exuberant boy made no attempt to talk, look, or otherwise acknowledge the medium. In fact, the cabin boy seemed quite desperate to ignore her presence altogether. Before entering the narrow hallway that lead to Maren's quarters, they had to stand aside for a hustling sailor to pass, whistling in a teeth-grindingly cheery way. It was Cupid Thomas, the unfortunate pirate that had given chase to Maren in Port Royal, sporting a new bruise, bright and blue, across his pretty jaw.
"Bug-fucker!" in way of greeting, Kristy shouted.
Catching sight of Maren, Cupid paused for a moment and stared thoughtfully at her. His fingers rose to his discolored face and traced the bruise there, courtesy of Will Turner. She shivered under his scrupled stare and anxiously waited for his reaction. Finally, he smirked down at her, "Miss Attle."
"Mister Thomas," she returned the smile nervously.
That queer leer remained screwed in place as he walked away, Maren's eyes peering after him, wary.
"Bye bug-fucker!" Kristy waved. The impatient and ungraceful stomps of Nathan clamoring down the hall, spun Maren about and after the brooding boy. Nudging the door open, Nathan unceremoniously dropped her things in the middle of the cabin and swiftly moved to retreat. However, Maren barred the door, hands on hips and eyes sharp.
"Ye do'n reckon the littl' pecker be jealous?" the ghost also inspected the cabin boy.
'That's not a broken crush, Kristy,' answering, Maren sighed, 'That's fear, that's what 'tis."
"C-cap'n says I'm to 'ports to Mister Gimmings for tar work," his voice cracked, causing both medium and phantom to flinch, "Ca'n keep 'em waitin' none."
"Nathan," she cooed sweetly, leaning down to his eye-level and ensuring her cleavage puffed out in the most enticing way possible, "Why so quiet, eh? What all these strange looks for? Just two days 'go me and ye were the best o' pals, gabbin' away like. What happen'd?" A tiny flick of the tongue over her mauve lips and Nathan almost stopped breathing, "Perhaps someone's be tellin' nasty rumors 'bouts me? Ye hear anythin', Nathan dear?"
The pale boy erupted in stutters and sputters, "I-I-I, ye s-see...why-i-it's j-j-just." His posture withered limply and he stared a long moment at the floorboards to rally himself. At last, he took a big breath and exploded out, "Did ye cast a spell on Anamaria!"
"What?" the shock in Maren's voice was genuine.
"Uh-oh," Kristy mumbled, having completely forgotten about Anamaria and the dead man they contacted to distract her, Charles Dumaus.
"Everybody's been sayin' that ye hex'd Anamaria! That ye us'd witchcraft to escape! That ye be a witch!" here, Nathan's voice faltered and it took a couple panicked gulps to continue, "Be it true? Ye a witch, Miss Attle?"
A familiar pang twisted in Maren's heart, but she resolutely kept her cool, "Nay, I'm no witch."
"But what happen'd to Anamaria?" his question was frantic, eyebrows risen high in desperation to believe her, "She's barely talk'd these pass two days, not even to rant and rave! Do'n eat o' sleep, we hear her pacin' on deck all night. Somethin' must o' happen'd. The crew figures she be curs'd."
"The crew can stuff their heads up their arse for all they know," a scathing retort sounded behind Maren, startling her as she recognized the speaker. Anamaria was in the doorway and she didn't look happy, "And ye boy, can scurry yer arse up deck. There be hot tar and planks waitin' on ye." Yet Nathan remained still, gaze darting uncertainly between Maren and Anamaria. She lost her patience, "Move boy!"
"Cap'n order'd all crewmasters to his cabin-," he desperately tried to snap back, but his words withered when he was subjected to Anamaria's glower, "...y-ye should best be headin' top deck with me. Cap'n wo'n want ye here."
"Be a cold day in hell, 'fore I jumps on orders from a cabin boy," grinding her teeth, Anamaria stepped aside from the doorway and pointed one long, dramatic finger, "Out!" He worried his lip with his teeth, but finally relented, brushing past Anamaria and scrunching his brow as he looked back at Maren, anxiety painted all over his face.
The lady pirate slammed the door shut behind him, barely missing his heel. She kept her back to Maren, her body tense.
"Shit, she's come for a fight. Hit her with somethin', Pet! Hurry!"
Actually, the thought had already occurred to Maren and she was already scanning the room for some sort of weapon. The question was, how quickly could she grab for something before Anamaria started after her? And what if Anamaria was armed with a weapon of her own? A pistol perhaps? There was no outrunning a bullet. Maybe Maren could make it to the door...
Anamaria suddenly spun about and reflexively Maren stepped back, readying herself for an assault, but none came.
"What happen'd to Charlie?" her lips quivered slightly and her coffee eyes glistened with cold tears, too stubborn to fall. Needless to say, this was not what Maren had expected. The dark woman's entire demeanor reeked of pitiful stress and Maren's senses picked up the purple taste of rusted pain in her soul. But there was no anger or accusation in her expression, no fights or resentment, only clear desperation and genuine worry. And under all these depressing sensations, a spark of hope in a cherished memory of love.
Noticing the hesitation in Maren, Anamaria wrung her hands and furthered, "I do'n care if 'tis witchcraft o' not. I knows me Charlie and that was Charlie. What happen'd? For God's sake, ye have to tell me what happen'd that night."
"Er-," stalled Maren. One of Jack's conditions had been not to reveal the workings of her powers to anyone; yet, she had already broken this condition while attempting to escape. It would be terribly unfair to Anamaria to be left in limbo like this.
The delay sparked more rambling from Anamaria, "That night, ye see, he promis'd to come for me, so he could marry me. Make me a right honest lady. Only, he ne'er did show." Her voice, usually so dynamic and brassy was now rasped, overstrung, and taught, "Everybody in me bayette knew he was a cad. Everybody warn'd me, they said, 'Dumaus' left many a brok'n heart and empty purse in his wake, littl' Ana. He be the type o' flame that burns, so stay 'way lest ye be daft like a moth. As soon as ye puts out, he'll put up and leave ye,' aye that's what they told me. I tried to resist, I really did," defeated, she crossed to the bed and slumped down on it, eyes downcast, but a strange smile still ghosted over her lips. "But 'twas too late, Charlie was in me blood and by Jesus, I lov'd him so much," one tear almost fell, yet was vengefully wiped away with her dirty sleeve.
"That night he did'n come for me, nor the day after, nor the week. The rumors start'd rounds that time. Damn it all! Ye would think people had nothin' better to do then spread vicious gossip. Ye gots no idea how nasty words can be!" raising her smooth face, Anamaria watched Maren for a moment. "O' maybe ye do," she pondered thoughtfully. "Anyway, I runaway, shits on them! And to this day, I do'n know what happen'd that night. Did Charles Dumaus 'bandon like me brothers and father swore he would? Maybe. Me mind, me thoughts, me sense all says 'aye'...but me heart," and here she clutched at her chest in despair, "Me heart, to this very day, believes that somethin' terrible happen'd to me Charlie."
"What if-," Maren spoke slowly, "What if I finds out the truth and it's not what ye hop'd for? What if Charlie did con ye?" Taking a deep breath, she repeated Jack's advice, "Sometimes it be best to let those dead 'round us stay dead."
"No," the assurance in her voice was iron, "this I must know. Either way, I will know."
For a long time both medium and ghost studied the lady pirate; Maren with arms crossed and Kristy with hands on hips. 'What say ye?' she asked Kristy.
"Do it, says I."
"Very well," stepping carefully, Maren approached Anamaria and laid one gentle hand upon her cheek to raise those rich eyes to her blue ones. The path was easier to follow this time around, much brighter with familiarity. She fell in a trance only for the briefest instant, discovering all she needed in a whisper of distant memory. Charles was barely even disturbed and released thankfully back to rest.
The taste of impending rain filled the air and carried the smell of wet dirt. Already the wind prickled her flesh, warning her of the storm that rose in the distance. Upon her ears, the steady rhythm of hoof-steps at full gallop like a palpitating heartbeat-no wait, it was a heartbeat. And it was fading, everything was fading so fast...
"Oh Ana..."
To Anamaria, the episode lasted a few seconds at most. Just one disconcerting moment in which Maren's eyes became empty and reflective and then she blinked it all away, dispelling the upset. Warmth and color returned to Maren's eyes as they fell heavy on Anamaria and the pirate waited for her answer with baited breath.
"Mister Dumaus kiss'd many women," this time a tear did escape from Anamaria's shining eyes, but Maren wiped it away with her thumb and added, "but lov'd only ye." A sob that Anamaria hadn't been aware she was restraining burst from her mouth. Immediately, Maren sat on the bed and wrapped her arms about her shoulders, but Anamaria half-heartedly tried to pull away, her pride too stubborn. However Maren was just as stubborn and finally she relented, permitting the medium to cradle her while she surrendered to silent tears.
Patient, Maren awaited the sobs to become sniffles before continuing, "He stole a horse that night to fetch ye, so he reckon'd it best to 'void the road and go through the brush, 'lessen he be caught. 'Twas," and her expression grew very sad, "on a high hill. The horse, it stumbl'd, fell...and Charlie, he did'n have to wait too long. His neck was broken, ye see."
Another heart-wrenching sob from Anamaria and Maren paused until she settled down. "Oh Charlie," clutching at Maren's sleeves, Anamaria buried her face in the medium's shoulder to cry. Then all at once those sobs started to change. She started laughing, laughing in that brassy confidant way. And though tears still marred her pretty face, there was relief and joy and validation, all struggling to shine through, "I be right...w-was right all 'long!" Suddenly, Anamaria was up and pacing and ranting to high heaven and back, stuck half-way between sobs and guffaws, "Me Charlie was comin' for me! I be right! Shows what they know, those small-mind'd bastards, the provincial littl' fools! Oh god, do'n ye see? I was right, me Charlie lov'd me an-and thems daft buggers were wrong! Wrong! All this time...I was right."
"Aye Anamaria," Maren watched Anamaria's frantic gaiting and felt her heart swell, "They were wrong. Ye be right. Feel better now?"
Desperate laughter answered her, eventually twittering away into enthusiastic snickers. "Aye, I feel a lot better then I have in a long time," her dancing eyes, still wet and red from tears, locked onto Maren's and the laughing self-consciously disappeared, leaving a sad sort of smile in its place. She said with all sincerity, "Thank ye, Miss Attle, thank ye very much. Ye'll ne'er know how much this meant to me."
"Yer very welcome."
After a few moments of genuine, but not uncomfortable, silence, Anamaria cleared her throat, "I should be off then, anyhow. Mustn't keep the Cap'n waitin'." Striding to the door, she stopped before opening it, "And do'n ye worry none 'bouts the crew and this 'witchcraft' nonsense. Stick with me tonight and I'll be takin' care o' that gossip."
"Alright," Maren walked over, smiling.
Tipping two fingers to her temple, Anamaria bowed her head and opened the door, "See ye at the Pledge and Mark. Should be interestin' havin' 'nother lady pirate 'board," she furthered thoughtfully, then hurried away down the hall.
"Jack be right 'bouts ye," Kristy said, listening to Anamaria's jogging footsteps disappear, "Ye do lie and con."
'Perhaps,' evasively, answered Maren, 'What's the damn difference anyway? So Charlie was runnin' 'way from her and not to her. He did still luv her, in his own way, he luv'd her.'
"Supposin' it do'n make no difference as long as she be happy."
'Anamaria would've still luv'd him no matter what I said.'
"Ye did a good thing here Pet."
Maren didn't respond, instead for some inexplicable reason she thought vaguely of Jack.
0000000
Three bejeweled fingers were thrust into his Gibbs' stubbly face, "Three times mate, I mean, it's certainly not like me to brag-," Gibbs rolled his eyes, "but three be such an impressive figure."
Anamaria burst into the captain's cabin, effectively ending Jack's gleeful gloating. Immediately, Jack noticed her earlier sulking was gone and by all outward appearances seemed back to her old self again. He exchanged a thoughtful look with Gibbs. "Son o' a bitch Jack, yer crew's been buzzin' with witch and devil talk nonstop for two days now," dropping into her seat, she propped her crossed boots up on the table, which was covered with maps, charts, and the ship's log, "Would ye control yer bleedin' dogs already?"
"Like I was just sayin'," tilting his beaded head, Jack indicated the rest of the crewmasters, six in all, including Anamaria and Gibbs. Normally there were seven, but Gimmings, the master carpenter, was overseeing hot tar on a new patch. "Any such malicious talk reflecting upon Miss Attle right now be consider'd crude gossip at worst. However, any such malicious talk after Miss Attle be mark'd shall be consider'd mutiny," his kohl eyes flashed dangerously, "That will most likely squelch this 'witch' nonsense, promptly and definitively."
"But Cap'n," Gibbs cut in, apparently continuing an earlier discussion, "is Miss Attle even eligible to pledge?" The other pirates present grunted their similar concern.
His dancing hands held out to quiet his men, Jack acknowledged their interests, "Be assur'd Mister Gibbs, I have extensively examined her eligibility in this matter and find her applicable to most, if not all, the requirements for piracy."
"What 'bouts the blood?" Terrel, the half-deaf gunner, spoke louder then necessary, "spilt in battle o'er the Pearl. Even ye ca'n be ignorin' that requisite Cap'n."
"Actually," one elegant finger was procured to emphasize his point, "the Code technically states that blood must be spilt in service o' either ship o' cap'n. It does not specify how the blood must be spilt and gentlemen," Jack's grin grew devilish and golden as he leaned over the table conspicuously, voice hushed and throaty. The crewmasters found themselves involuntarily mimicking his actions, "Believe me, Miss Attle has spill'd blood in me service, quite enthusiastically in fact."
Cheers and knowing chuckles punctuated his point nicely, all except Anamaria who snorted under her breath, "Men be such pigs."
"Suffice it to say, boys," Jack smoothed down his moustache, "there'll be one hell o' a party tonight, but business first." Gesturing to the papers and parchments before him, Jack explained, "Here's the skivvy in short form; set a course for El Carcelero, o' what's left o' it thanks to yers truly," he smirked to some private joke, "Locate Gibb's man with the info of the Spanish patrol, lay low in Carcelero 'til the opportune moments presents itself, and onward to La Cabra Robada. Any questions?"
There were always questions, no matter how clear Captain Sparrow had thought he made himself.
