Chapter Twenty-seven: Fresh Water
"Quick Pet!" Kristy shouted from top deck, "It be rainin'!"
And indeed, it was. The grey hours that hovered over the ocean a little while before sunset had sprouted warm morning showers that streaked silver against the black wood of the Pearl. It was just what Maren had been waiting for. A great clamor of clang and curses and the bustling medium appeared from the stairwell, three tin basins stacked up in her arms. She wore no cloak to shield herself from the pattering weather, not seeming to mind the raindrops that dampened her hair or clothes. Instead, she busily set up the basins that she had borrowed from the mess, one after the other in a little row. To prevent the metal tubs from sliding around on the rocking deck, she carefully placed a large stone in the middle of each, then looked on approvingly as rainwater started to pool at the bottom of the bowls.
Several surrounding pirates peered curiously at her, frankly bewildered. "Miss Attle," Teller spoke up, scratching his head, "Whatya doin'?"
"Need fresh water."
"Oh," his eyes drifted from the basins to Maren and back, "Reckon Cook Brewster has some-."
Swiping several wet strands of hair from her forehead, Maren snorted, "Cap'n Sparrow says I'm not to touch the ship's drinkin' water for anythin' but drinkin'."
"Er," confused, Teller asked, "Why else would ye 'quire fresh water?"
"Fresh water has many uses," she answered evasively, nose in the air.
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The concept of keyholes was not something that Nathan had never truly contemplated before this day. Really, what was there to think about? Key goes in, twist and lock, nothing goes in or out, plain and simple. It wasn't so much the actual keyhole that mattered in the equation, but the mechanics hidden in the door. So why bother reflecting on a mere byproduct of the locking process? Because, Nathan decided, keyholes were altogether far too small!
The Irish cabin boy had his face pressed against the splintered door of the guest quarters, one winking eye hovering over the controversially tiny keyhole. It cast a yellow glow over his face from the candlelight inside. Everyone once in a while, a flutter of cloth or wisp of pale hair or a flash of bare limb would pass into vision through the gap, but it was a mere glimmer of what Nathan was praying to witness. Damn the man who invented keyholes so cursedly miniscule! How was he supposed to spy on a bathing Maren through an opening no bigger then his finger?
The Black Pearl kicked underneath him as she broke over tide, heading straight to Carcelero. They were due to arrive that afternoon and Maren, mindful of an approximate week of sailing with a ship full of sweat-soaked, salt-caked, and very stinky men, was keen on washing up before returning to civilization. Not to mention, Jack's personal stench was starting to rub off on her.
So for this venture, she had recruited the help of Nathan, who was all too keen on aiding Maren in heating the rainwater she had gathered earlier that morning and delivering it personally to her cabin. What Maren didn't know was that Nathan was also keen on catching sight of her in the buff, hence the present struggle with the keyhole. Nathan shifted his weight on his sore knees and felt his heart leap (among other parts of his anatomy) as he spied nude shoulders.
The sudden sound of a throat being loudly cleared almost startled the boy out of his skin. Guiltily, he jumped to his feet and spun about to face Captain Sparrow smirking at him with his eyebrows cocked. Looking frantically from door to Sparrow, from Sparrow to door again, Nathan struggled to invent a viable excuse for his current situation, but his panicked brain was not being very corroborative. All he could manage was to sputter some sort of inarticulate apology.
To the boy's great relief, Jack didn't say a word, just chuckled softly to himself. He swaggered right past the boy and down the hall, pausing at the corner to glance over his shoulder and pointedly nod his head in Nathan's direction.
Nathan's forehead scrunched in confusion.
A little more obvious, Jack motioned again, making his beaded hair jiggle.
Nathan blinked stupidly.
Muttering and slapping his head, the pirate captain marched over to the cabin boy and grabbed him by the collar to tug him impatiently along. Some people just couldn't take a hint!
"I-I'm sorry, Cap'n sir," begged Nathan, tripping over his own feet as he was hauled after Jack, "Did'n mean no harm, honest!"
"Relax boy," releasing his shirt, Jack paternally mussed Nathan's red hair, which only bewildered the youth more, "Far be it for me to fault 'nother man for wantin' to see a naked woman." Abruptly, Jack turned a sharp right and Nathan obediently scuttled after him. They entered the iron hold, having to duck down to accommodate the low ceiling. Most of the ship's tools and supplies for haul repair and pumping were located here, tied down in an orderly fashion.
"Then," he gulped, "yer not angry with me none, Cap'n?"
Jack placed his flittering fingers against the wall as he walked further into the hold, sliding his hand along the wood. "Course not," he barked in amusement, "It only occurr'd to me that perhaps ye might fancy a more revealin' angle then the one permitt'd by that unsatisfactory keyhole." His fingers arrived around an insignificant, round knot in the woodwork and using his nails to pry it out, opened a hidden hole.
Nathan's mouth fell open, when Jack benevolently motioned, like the pope granting a pardon, for the boy to have a look. On the other side of the wall, faint splashing was heard along with Maren's cheerful humming. Jack winked wickedly and pressed a finger to his pursed lips for silence. Nodding, Nathan leapt forward and shoved his hazel eye against the gap. It took a few seconds for his vision to adjust to the soft candlelight. The secret opening was low in the guest quarters, hidden on the leeside of the dresser, and it permitted a wonderfully clear view of the resident medium.
Slightly disappointed, Nathan noticed that Maren was wearing her chemise, but luckily it appeared as though she had only recently put it back on, because it still clung to her wet skin in ways that made Nathan's voice crack. Her damp hair leaked more water along her shift, adding quite pleasantly to the 'wet linen effect'. She was presently washing laundry in one of her steaming basins and when she turned to grab a pair of stockings, Nathan witnessed the bodice stick intimately over her generous bust. Giddy excitement pulsed in his blood. The shift was practically transparent! And was that a pink nipple he spied! Sweet siren, the God of Cabin Boys was feeling magnanimous today!
Giving Nathan a friendly rap on the back, Jack leaned over and whispered in a slur, "After she's done bathin', mind ye clean up in here when yer finish'd, savvy? I'll be very piss'd if I return here and step in somethin' unpleasant." Conspicuously, he tapped his nose and rose to leave Nathan to it. After all, Jack mused, every strapping, young lad should have a decent wank every now and again; good for the heart and Maren wouldn't belittle something that was beneficial to the lad's general health, would she?
"Lookin' like she done bathin', sir," Nathan whispered back, informative and helpful, but not moving an inch from his place over the crack, "She be doin' yer laundry now."
"My what?" his eyes wide and panicked, Jack inadvertently shoved Nathan aside rather roughly and peered through the hole. There was Maren, flushed pink from her recent wash, now scrubbing one of Jack's dingy, white shirts. Why of all the daft things! "No!" Jack stood up and ran as fast as one can while bent over, bursting out into the corridor and still reciting his denial, "No, no, no! No good, stop! Halt!" Nathan gawked after him, then with one last stolen glance at partially clad Maren, begrudgingly replaced the knot into its opening, deciding that Cap'n Sparrow might not appreciate being spied on, especially when he was bellowing that loudly.
BANG! The door was swiftly kicked open.
Oh Christ in Heaven, she cleaned!
Maren shrieked in surprise and covered herself and her chemise with the soapy shirt, but relaxed marginally when she realized it was only her eccentric lover, wide-eyed and fuming. Overhead, tied to the bedposts, were two lines of twine that Maren had borrowed from the galley hold. Strewn about on these makeshift clotheslines was a large part of Jack's assorted wardrobe, now soggy and lye smelling.
"My clothes," near hysterics, Jack stormed over to a pair of trousers and ripped them down, "The clothes are clean!"
"Aye," puffing out her considerable chest and smiling proudly, Maren nodded, "The clothes are clean."
"Why are the clothes clean?"
"Well," Maren humphed, "I decid'd since ye already order'd me to play seamstress and sew yer damn buttons back on yer waistcoat-."
"Hey, ye break it, ye fix it. Ye're the one that tore them off, might I minds ye!"
"Did'n hear ye complainin' at the time!"
His temper sparking, Jack started pacing in agitation and his arms flailed about, "But why are the clothes clean!"
"'Causin' I could'n stand the stench o' them anymore," Maren brandished her hands around to equal Jack's feverish gestures, "How do ye 'pects me to replace them buttons ifen me eyes wo'n stop waterin' from the smell? And once me mind was set to be washin' that waistcoat, I went 'head and scrubb'd the rest o' it! Got a problem with that, Cap'n!" having said the word 'captain' as one would say 'plague rat'.
"Aye," frustrated with palms itching to shake some sense into Maren, Jack threw his fresh britches into the closest basin, "Washin' is the worst thin' for clothes, ye stupid git. Rinses the warmth right out o' them, that's common knowledge, that 'tis."
"That's bullshit, that 'tis."
"-and the stitches unravel and the threads break and the fabric fringes! In a matter o' weeks those clothes will be nothin' but tatter'd ruins-."
"No, they were in 'tatter'd ruins'. I should know, should'n I? I just spent near two hours sewin' up rips, and hems, and tears, and slits, and bloody, bleedin' bullet holes!" she began to shout, "Bullet holes, Jack! Is it too much to be expectin' a wee bit o' gratitude, considerin' I didn' even want to be ye damn seamstress in the first place!"
"Who ask'd ye then, woman!" he hollered back, approaching her like a cat prowls, "Seamstress maybe, but I only want'd ye to fix the buttons ye ripp'd off! Never ever did I order ye to act as a laundress!" They were nose to nose, breathing in each other's hot breaths. Chocolate and indigo eyes flashed dangerously at each other. A brief staring contest ensued.
Jack hissed, "Why are the clothes clean?"
Maren seemed to deflate a little, "…I just want'd to do somethin' nice…for ye."
…such a clever bitch, a haggard sigh fell from Jack's lips. "Damn it," he muttered to himself and abruptly surrendered his temper for a more satisfying emotion, delivering a lip-crushing kiss. Squeaking, Maren quickly overcame her surprise and returned the bruising embrace with equal passion. He was squeezing her arms and stealing her very breath away. Abruptly, Jack released her, feeling properly sated for the moment.
Brushing their noses together in a teasing manner, he spread his arms out with opened palms as if to placate her. "Look, I 'ppreciate the thought. It be quite evident ye thought ye were doin' me a favor and that's somewhat sweet, I'll concede. But people have certain standards as it pertains to pirates, me dear, and one o' those standards is a certain 'naval fragrance' that takes years o' sea air and sun sweat to cultivate. I have a reputation to adhere to, savvy? Besides, 'twas a definite waste o' yer time, to be sure," he shrugged, apparently finding some humor in the situation, "I'm so filthy, I'll have me personals back to normal in no time flat."
An evil smile graced Maren's pouting lips as she slowly drew closer to Jack and he found himself involuntarily taking a step back. "What ye reckon that water is for?" she pointed to the extra basin, still steaming with hot water.
Jack took another step back, shielding Maren away with his arms, "Oh, no."
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"Ooh, yesss," Jack groaned appreciatively, his head lolling back as Maren grazed the warm washcloth over his neck and down his shoulder blades. Arching his back into her kneading hands, he shivered pleasantly while little treks of cooling water slid down his torso. He practically purred.
"See, silly Cap'n? Almost done," soothed Maren, leaning down to soak the rag again, "Washin's not so bad, is it?" She held out his left arm so she could run the soap over his forearm and bicep, grazing over the trailing scars and his boatswain tattoo.
Perched in the middle of the guest cabin, Jack sat on a stool in his Muslin drawers, his feet soaking in the basin. Relaxing, he kept a contented smile on his face and his eyes closed. "On the contrary," he pointed his index finger in the air, "Washing is still a wretch'd and superfluous pastime. However, being wash'd is a different matter entirely, would'n ye agree? A very pleasurable practice, if I may say so, and a capital engagement on the condition that the washer be a bonnie, buxom, and beautiful lass."
"I swears," she huffed, indulgently passing the rag over his sculptured chest again, even though she had already washed it thrice. She couldn't keep her hands off that lean physique! Beginning at the collarbone, Maren traced along his sternum and wrung the cloth, letting water droplets dance down his stomach. She wiped along his abdomen, every pass moving further down. Her empty hand was also pawing at his body, caressing her palm over the smooth muscles of his stomach and grazing her fingers teasingly under the hem of his drawers. His eyebrows rose in interest, but Maren ignored his dark stare and straightened out, "Ye could charm a crocodile to tears, Jack, but there's no chance in Hell ye can con yer way out o' one o' me washes."
Shuddering when Maren's breasts lightly brushed his shoulder, Jack snorted, "Still a waste. Why I had meself that bath at the Turner place not too long ago. Ca'n 'member the last time I had two baths in such close proximity."
"Ups with yer arm," she nudged his shoulder, urging Jack to obey, then began to aggressively scrub his underarm, "this be the last bit." It admittedly tickled, but Jack tried his damnedest not to giggle like a horse's arse. Maren passed the sopping washcloth over his skin, rinsing away the drying soap and grime.
Satisfied with a job well done, Maren stepped back to admire her handiwork (and the mouthwatering view). Shirtless and trouserless, Jack glistened in the lamplight like polished bronze. His body was clear of dirt and sweat, his tangled and damp hair was freed of the faded kerchief, and his face was momentarily clean of kohl. This permitted the brown color of his eyes to lighten a shade, causing Maren to peer curiously at him. Perhaps it was a trick of shadow or maybe…Maren's brow scrunched as she gently grasped Jack by the chin, turning him this way and that, all the while staring at him intently. With his hair slicked back, his eyes so bright, and that healthy glow to his skin, Jack appeared…rather pretty, to tell the truth.
Suddenly, an epiphany struck Maren and some things started to click together like delectable puzzle pieces in her mind. The dreadlocks, the raggedly clothes, the beaded trinkets, the dirt, and yes, even the kohl were not just mere decorations or expressions to Jack, they were also distractions- distractions from his more aesthetic elements. Jack was covering up the fact that he was a pretty boy! Well, that was interesting. Confident, arrogant, always-so-self-assured Jack might actually be insecure about something! He tried so hard to change his natural beauty into a strange exoticness, to disguise his all around loveliness for something much darker and handsome. Very interesting, another clue to hint at the enigma that was Captain Jack Sparrow…
"What?" paranoid, Jack asked. A pensive woman was usually a woman up to trouble.
"Nothin' really," Maren grinned and, noticing Jack's golden smile in return, inquired curiously, "Just wonderin' how ye lost them pretty teeth o yers."
"Syphilis."
Breath catching in her throat, the color of Maren's face paled to a foamy green.
"Jokin'!" Jack laughed and immediately had to ward off the punishing slaps and punches Maren was assaulting him with. "Oh, stop it, I was just havin' a bit o' fun. Sorry luv, could'n resist. But ye should'a seen the look on yer face- ah! Ah-ouch!" Maren's hand shot out and was mercilessly twisting his left nipple, "Ah! Oh-okay, I surrender! Have mercy! Jesus Christ, letgoletgoletgo!" she did, smirking in triumph. "I lost me ivories in a bar brawl. Some cowardly dog clobber'd me mouth with a wooden club," he shrugged, hand hovering protectively over his left pectoral, "Happy, ye hellcat?" Before Maren could make a properly snide remark, Jack wrapped his arms around her, playfully capturing her against his warm body. "Ye forgot to wash a certain somethin'," in his huskiest voice, Jack cooed into her ear and caught her hand, blinking innocently. He then proceeded to guide said hand towards the wet Muslin that still covered his nakedness, "I'd hate for ye to miss a spot."
A brassy bell started ringing on deck, causing Jack to roll his eyes and abruptly release the flushed medium in his embrace, "Bullocks."
"What 'tis it?" the disappointment in Maren's voice was all too evident.
"We're drawin' close to Carcelero," Jack was already gathering his dry clothes and throwing them on, slurring, "They need me topside."
"But Jack," Maren attempted to stop him from pulling his britches on, but not for the reasons Jack would've hoped for, "At least put on somethin' clean, after all the work I did."
Tossing his old, linen shirt over his head, Jack shrugged innocently and gestured to the hanging laundry, "Everythin's wet, sweetheart. Why that would be positively deleterious to me health, absolutely detrimental to be sure. Would'n want to catch a cold, now would I?"
"But Ja-ack-."
"But Ja-ack," teasing, he mimicked her in a most unflattering falsetto and swiftly dodged one of his flying stockings that Maren had sequentially thrown at his head. Jack stepped into his boots, knocking his heels on the floor to scoot his feet in. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed his repaired waistcoat and snatched it up to inspect the buttons for himself. Each black button was tight and secure, threaded over six times alternately, like Kristy had taught Maren when she was a girl. There was also a tear in the back and a loose hem that had been meticulously mended with dainty little stitches. It was obvious that Maren had put forth a tremendous amount of effort for Jack. Smirking faintly, Jack brushed his fingers along the tiny threads.
He became of aware of Maren watching him, waiting meek and expectant. Nodding approvingly, Jack overlooked the fact that the vest was still slightly damp and put it on anyway. The happy smile on Maren's face would've put the sun to shame! How simple it was to please this woman! Hurriedly, she grabbed his kerchief and tied it around his head, while Jack held up his charmed hair. Overcoat, affects, and assorted bands and jewelry followed.
"Oh yes, 'fore I forget," three inches from the vanity mirror, Jack was reapplying his kohl. His jaw gawked open while he traced the bottom lids and his eyes fell on Maren's reflection, "Gotta close the guest quarters for proper vacancy soon. Ye're certainly not the obligatory 'guest' the circumstances should require anymore. Ye're a crewmember now, best start treatin' ye like one."
Behind him, Maren's expression grew anxious.
Shutting one eye as he moved to the top lid, Jack chuckled at Maren's concern, "No worries, pretty one. I shan't be tossin' ye to the hold to bunk with the slimy bastards I call me crew. What sort o' brute do ye take me for?" He switched eyes, "No, I have a better idea. There's a repository, more like a spacious closet really, in the stern corridor, very near me own cabin in fact. Understand, it's not much to gander at, kind o' cramp'd, but I'll have it clear'd out soon 'nough. Some old furniture in there too, so ye can store yer whatnots and other necessities. Now there's no bed, just a hammock. But that hardly matters now, does it? Ye'll not use it, considerin' ye're me official bedwarmer, since I've lost me coal tin."
It was true (at least the part about sleeping in Jack's bed; as for the coal tin, it's doubtful he ever even owned one in the first place, using the excuse of losing the imaginary coal tin to warm his chilled toes on Maren's legs whenever he damn well pleased). Since returning from Port Royal, Maren had yet to actually sleep the night in the guest cabin. She'd pass out sated and exhausted in Jack's bed and would awake, contented and rested in his arms come morning- well, there was one exception, two days ago. The night at the helm (a hot blush crested her cheeks at the memory), after her eyes were drooping and her head kept nodding off, Jack finally ordered Maren to go to bed. 'But which bed?' she had wondered. She didn't want to be presumptuous and invite herself to Jack's cabin. After all, he wouldn't be there and they hadn't technically fornicated that night. Did she have a right to expect to bed with Jack, even on nights when 'sleeping' was the only activity on the agenda?
Maren had decided to play it safe better the sorry; she slumbered in the guest chamber, but was awoken a few hours later. Clad only in trousers, Jack had tiptoed into Maren's room and quickly slipped into bed. Half asleep, Maren mistook his intention for coming and attempted to roll over and initiate some sexual play, but Jack shook his head, pressing her back down, "Hush luv, did'n mean to wake ye. Go back to sleep." Gratefully dozing back off, Maren felt the comforting heat as Jack spooned against her and whispered into her ear as a shy explanation, "My sheets were cold." Since then, Jack had made of point of 'ordering' Maren to sleep in his bed every night and warm his sheets properly in lieu of his phantom coal tin.
"Savvy?" Jack's slurring drawl disturbed Maren from her thoughts. Having finished his kohl, Jack was staring at her expectantly.
"Aye Cap'n," she said.
"Splendid," swaggering in his blatantly sexy style that made Maren's mouth water, Jack approached her and ran his hand appreciatively over her thin chemise, "Get dress'd quick, littl' laundress. Ye're to come with me and Gibbs to Carcelero for me triumphant return." His chapped lips scraped her brow in a brief kiss, then Jack abruptly spun about and left the room. The heavy tread of his boots faded down the hall.
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"Walk it down, ye lazy bilge rats! First man that falls that boat, gets to court me cattails tonight!" Anamaria was bellowing at the men lowering the rowboat by pulley. Jack watched on approvingly with Gibbs next to him, who was spitting in his hand and smoothing his wiry hair down in a sad attempt at hygiene. The Black Pearl was anchored at high noon in Padre's bay, a deserted bit of land located near a farmer's road that led straight to Carcelero. Things were going splendidly. They had yet to be spotted by either peasant or officer and the weather was fair.
"Miss Anamaria," calling her over, Captain Sparrow procured a small bag of dates from his many pockets and began munching on the sweet fruit. He spoke around his full mouth, "Stay still and quiet 'till dusk falls, then sail the Pearl to the port and make harbor 'round six o'clock. Be extravagant 'bouts it, big production ifen ye get me meaning. Pick thirty men, punctual men, who can be trust'd not to get too carri'd 'way. Rendezvous with me in the main square. Have we our orders?" As an afterthought, he offered Anamaria some dates.
"Aye sir," yet she shook her head at the proffered bag, "Wait here tills sunset, birth at six, thirty men to meet ye."
"Wonderful," he popped one last date into his mouth, tucking the sack away, "Have I express'd just how much I appreciate yer dependability and diligence as o' late?"
"Not half as much as ye should, Cap'n."
"Gibbs, how long shall ye require to locate Mister Izmir?" addressing his First Mate, Jack turned his face to loudly spit out a few seeds.
"Depends," the grimy pirate answered evasively and flicked one of Jack's stray seeds off his boot, "Izmir be a cranky coot, paranoid as Lucifer in a convent. Even when I finds him, he'll be jumpy 'bouts meetin' ye face to face. He be wantin' security on his terms."
"If I do'n see him personally, we do'n do business. No compromises."
"Aye sir," Gibbs nodded, "Give me an hour o' two to warm him up, pump a few drinks in the ole devil. He'll be trustin' me soon 'nough. Why we were almost kin once, did I e'er tell ye that? Aye, Izmir was briefly engaged to me second cousin, Anne, God-rest-her-soul." Crossing himself, Gibbs absently drank from his leather flask, "But Anne's brother put a stop to that, could'n stand Spaniards as I recall."
Tsk-ing, Jack ignored the incessant gossip of his First Mate and glanced about for other matters to attend to. And found one standing at the railing, Maren was bent over the edge, giggling at the water. Curious and leaving Gibbs to continue his story to thin air, Jack swayed over to the merry medium. He glanced down at the blue waters and was pleasantly awarded with the blessed omen of dolphins gathered round the hull. They were jittering and swimming about as Maren laughed and cooed at them.
"That's good luck, that is," he startled her. She jumped a little, but smiled sheepishly when she realized it was Jack.
"I think they're absolutely adorable! Ne'er seen them so close 'fore."
"Smart littl' buggers, they waitin' for us to toss the trash out, so they can pick through for scraps," explained Jack, "Bill once told me dolphins be the reincarnations o' drown'd sailors. That's why we do'n eat dolphins o' hunt them. That's also why they swim in a ship's wake, they want to remember," then added in a bit of melancholy, "I wonder if Bill counts as a drown'd sailor."
Suddenly, there was a great commotion among the porpoises. Several were clicking loudly, splashing and anxious. Some started to jump high out of the ocean and a few were spitting water from their mouths and blowholes. It might have been Jack's usually intoxicated imagination, but he thought they appeared royally pissed off. He muttered, bewildered, "Ne'er seen them do that."
"It's Kristy," sighing, Maren watched the ghost hovering above the water, making crude faces at the marine animals.
"Come on, ye blubber-brain'd, cock suckin', sorry excuse for fishes!" Kristy taunted them, laughing maniacally as the dolphins flailed about in agitation, "Yer mother be walrus' cunt and yer father be a pirate's supper."
"All set, Cap'n Sparrow," Anamaria shouted from the rope ladder.
"Very good, call the men, Madam Bosun," bellowing back, Jack tugged on Maren's elbow, "Do ye speak Spanish, luv?"
Shrugging, the medium followed Jack to the bow of the ship while Anamaria yelled at the men to 'fall on deck' for the Captain's departure, "Only the wee bit I need'd as a barmaid. 'Uno-dos-tres', tequila, 'pagame, bastardo' and the like."
"That's it?" Jack asked.
"Well," itching her scalp, Maren's voice lowered conspicuously, "Ifen I comes 'cross a Spanish haunt, I can always use the ghost as a translator."
Jack appeared genuinely impressed, "Ye can do that?"
"Aye," Maren smugly furthered, "Ye see, ghosts do'n actually speak any sort o' language, that's how I understand them all. But they remember how, that's the important thin'. They remember their native tongue and if I'm there to make them 'ware o' the words being said, they can turn 'rounds and explain the meaning to me."
"Whoa," truly impressed, Jack paused, watching his crew stand at attention.
"Only trouble is I can understand the language, but I still ca'n speak it."
Waving her off to continue the conversation another time, Jack spoke grandly at his assembled men, "Gentlemen, I leave ye in the charge o' Anamaria. I trust in yer obedience and character-."
"Arr-wind in his sails!" Mr Cotton's parrot interrupted.
"-have a pleasant evenin' and I'll be seein' some o' ye soon. Now have off and get back to work, ye bile-ladden sons o' cows! Someone man them nets, there's turtles to be had in these waters! And damn it, so help ye bastards if I return and there's still garbage in the mess!" There was a great bustle and scurry as no pirate wanted to be the last man standing still. Jack turned around with the coy satisfaction that only comes with absolute unquestioned authority, "Shall we Miss Attle? Mister Gibbs?"
Both First Mate and medium nodded, following Jack down the rope ladder, into the rowboat, and slowly to the road to Carcelero.
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Translation: Pagame Bastardo! - Pay up bastard!
