Chapter XI – Mistaken Identity

Michael patted Jack on the back sympathetically.

"We got some rum, sir."

Jack nodded pathetically and stood along with his first mate.  Then he went to the helm, Michael following along and standing a half-step behind him.

Rachelle looked wildly around her.  These men were horribly barbaric, dirty, smelly (although there was a woman, but she didn't seem much better than the rest) and that captain and whom she suspected was his first mate (her little lesson on the now-burning and sinking ship taught her something) looked even worse.  By God, they were wearing makeup!  And what was with their hair?  Not only that, what was in their hair?  Beads and feathers . . . the captain had a coin she could tell, but the taller man had what looked like a tooth dangling from his.

What was happening dawned on her then.  Her ship was sinking fast with most of her possessions.  The others had run off like dogs with their tails between their legs.  And she was on the Black Pearl.  Gulping, she realised the full extent of all this.  She had been kidnapped by pirates.  Pirates!  The scum of the earth, the worst things to ever pass God's gaze.  And they were all leering at her, grabbing at her dress.  Screaming anew and lashing out in any possible way, kicking and thrashing, she attempted to escape.

Jack knew what she was trying to do and just snickered.  "Where ya gonna go, love?  Back to yer fine ship than?"

She slowed down and glared at him.

"There's a lass."

Michael hadn't said anything; he was just staring, unable to believe what he was seeing.  Nervously he began picking more lint off his trousers, rolling it between his fingers and dropping it to the deck.

Peering at the first mate once she had tired herself out, Rachelle's heart skipped a beat.  He did that just like . . .

"Jennifer!" she cried, trying to break free of the men holding her.

"Cap'n?" a crewman by the side said, his voice breaking through the shock, everyone shaking it off, "there seems to be a dog swimming beside the ship."

"That's my dog!" the woman screamed.

They all looked up at the lone Jack, who shrugged.  "Git it."

Rachelle frowned, Michael standing from tugging at his boots, and tried again.

"Jennifer!"

Everyone looked at the captain, who was still standing alone.  He looked about as befuddled as they did.  Michael scooped Monkey up who had been running around his feet like a brat.

"Jennifer!  It's Rachelle!" she cried at the pirates behind the wheel.  The crew looked back at the captain who was very confused.  Monkey had pick-pocketed his master and Michael grabbed his bag up off the floor then stood up, noticing that everyone was staring strangely at the woman.

"I think she thinks the cap'n's a woman," one of the larger men whispered loudly, sounding both alarmed and bemused.

That made Michael snort and turn to Jack.  "Did the fight tire you out, Jacklyn?"

The crew howled at their captain's stunned expression.  Rachelle didn't laugh, however, she went red.  Michael studied her, expression hard.  He hopped off the helm, to the deck and strolled jauntily to her, tossing his purple loot filled bag in the air.  Monkey chattered on his shoulder, staring at the woman.

She tried to back up, but was met with the stinking but generally very firm bodies of pirates. 

He took her chin in his grubby hand, smirking as his blue eyes scanned her face.  She stared back up at him, green eyes trailing along the fading scars.

Leering at the men, he said, "She stays in my room and no one touches her.  Savvy?"

The crew laughed and lifted her up onto their shoulders, agreeing immediately.

"Take her things down to my cabin and leave 'em outside my door.  I'll bring them in me self."  He licked his lips, studying her squirming, fighting body.

"Gonna pass 'er around afterwards, matie, Cutthroat sir?  Once yer done wit her, o' course?"

Michael shrugged, tossing his loot up a few more times.  "Perhaps."  He snorted and turned to the captain.  "If Jacklyn's delicate constitution will allow it."

Jack glowered at his first mate who just shrugged nonchalantly and returned his gaze to his fellow pirates.

"But fer now: ye touch her, I slit ye."

The men nodded and took her across the deck to the hatch.

"Cutthroat?!" the woman yelped, being hauled down the stairs, the men procuring a few, healthy glimpses of her legs, but intent on obeying Michael's orders.

Chuckling, Jack walked to Michael and patted him on the shoulder.

"Good show lo . . . lad.  Good show.  Now crack open that rum."

Rachelle sat on the dirty, ragged bed in Cutthroat's room, trembling.  Jennifer had been brought to her, along with her two trunks.  The dog was soaked and lying on the even dirtier floor beside her.  Although she wanted to cry, Rachelle was too scared to even begin.  She didn't know what to do.  Perhaps beg for her life, saying that if she was returned safely her father would pay.  The Commodore too.  Pirates always thought with their greed, didn't they?

The door opened after an hour of her silent, scared contemplation.  Cutthroat entered his room, went to the far corner and cleared off something.  He then grabbed it; it was rather large and opened it up.  Then he and began filling it with the things he had taken off it, and the things seeming to surround it.  When finished this eccentric work, he walked right back out, shutting the door behind him with his foot.

Well, that had been strange to say the least.  She was so shocked at his behaviour – he hadn't even leered at her – that she just stared at the shut door, confused.

The way he had stared at her earlier, the way the others had been grabbing, talking and laughing made her sure she was going to be raped the first change they got.  And there had been his chance.

What was going on?

Dropping the crate in the corner of the captain's room, he set everything inside it up quickly around and on top then went to Jack's bed.  He grabbed the rum away from him, and finished the bottle off.

"Ye'll need that," Jack grumbled, taking a fresh bottle out of the crate beside his bed.

"Aren't any of the crew gettin' any?" Michael wondered, realising that the captain had taken all the rum they had.

With a sneer, the captain asked, "I thought that was up to ye?"

Michael rolled a cigarette, spat on the floor and snapped, "Very funny."

Smirking, happy to put his first mate on edge – revenge for the Jacklyn cracks – he nodded towards the corner.  "Whyja bring that in here?"

"She's a Christian."  Michael looked at Jack meaningfully.  "Savvy?"

He nodded and drank deeply.  "Savvy, mate," he mumbled past the opening of the bottle.

That night, Rachelle lay with her hands behind her head, staring up at the boring ceiling.  Cutthroat still hadn't come into his room, hadn't recognised her (so she knew it had been a moment of idiocy on her part), and she was becoming very confused.  The events of the day, her situation and the uncertainty kept her from being bored.  In fact, her mind was racing and unable to grasp a single train of thought.  However, later into the night, she understood why Cutthroat hadn't entered his room yet.  She could hear him working with the captain next door. 

Turning over in the filthy bed, she rolled her eyes, wondering why men had to be so loud all the time.

~~~***~~~***~~~***~~~***~~~***~~~***

Well, Mika is still MIA.  Oh well, she'll turn up somewhere.  *Sends out search party.*  And  to r80: if it hasn't been explained yet, there's a reason :P  Something that prominent isn't there by mistake, I can assure you of that.  Sorry if I'm vague or sound mean or condescending, but I want to give away no hints or clues or meanings.  Neither does Mika.  It's all eventually explained.

Please review? 

Sukkumbus and the absent Mika