Rating: R
Disclaimer: "Pirates of the Caribbean" belongs to Disney.
A/N: I'm TERRIBLY sorry for the cliffhanger and the delay, dearies! Special hugs for BlackJackSilver, Eldrid, Alori Kesi Aldercy and Alteng. Very special hugs and apologies to Cupcakeswirl. I'm so very ashamed...
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IV
I don't know this voice. A well-educated, well-mannered man in his thirties. Norrington? No, it's not him. Do I know any other well-educated, well-mannered man in his thirties here?... No, it's only the Commodore and me... Oh, my brain refuses to work. Inci, if I get killed, it's because of you.
He reaches for my pistol in one sure move. All right - he knows his weapons... a soldier... an officer?... Is it Norrington who sent him for me? But he wouldn't be alone then, and he'd show me an arrest warrant - since he didn't shoot me on the spot... No, he didn't come here to arrest me.
"Really, officer," I say politely, while he continues searching me, "we don't have to begin our talk in such a rough way. I'm already disarmed."
His hand, on my left boot, stops for a moment.
"Do you know me?"
"Regrettably, no," I answer. "But a short introduction would suffice..."
He doesn't dignify me with an answer, of course, straightening up, probably relieved to see that I don't have any weapons except the pistol and the dagger he pulls out of my right boot.
"Good," he says, grabbing my arm. "Turn around. Slowly, and hands up, if you value your life."
I sigh, doing as I'm told, putting my hands behind my head.
He holds me at gunpoint, watching me cautiously and frowning. His eyes are fixed on me gloomily, but they seem very bright in his tanned, handsome, slender face. Oh, he's trying to be scary, but he looks so young and, well - there is no better word - innocent. He may be less than thirty.
I'm so tired I don't know what to do, now I'm sure he's not going to kill me. The morning sun is filling the whole room; the golden braid on the officer's uniform glitter glitters triumphantly. My eyes sting, I look longingly at the messy bed. Let's talk already, I want to go to sleep. I have to be at Inci's in the afternoon. What is he waiting for?
I suddenly realize that his eyes don't meet mine any more. He's looking at my neck, blinking... ahh, I have a bloody mark there - my little demon bit me. It's amazing to watch how much it impresses the officer, though; he seems to be disgusted and curious at the same time, just like the ladies who were looking at Inci in the church. His cheeks are flushed... awww, he's really a novice. Too bad. Novices tend to act hastily.
"You've never had such a mark, officer," I observe, grinning. "Are you that indignant, or is it out of envy that you're staring at me? Let's proceed to business, if you please. I'm sleepy as hell."
"It's me who gives orders here, not you." He flushes even more, but his voice is sharp.
"All right, whatever. Give them quickly, then."
He grabs the chair and is about to sit, but then he obviously realizes that if I'm to remain standing, he'll have to look up at me, and it's not a very respect-inducing position.
"Sit on the bed," he orders gruffly, placing Norrington's pistol - my pistol - on the table.
"Ah, thank you so much," I say, sighing with relief. He frowns, surprised. "I'm so tired I was going to fall asleep just like that. Can I put my hands down?"
"No, you can't. You will move only when I allow you to, pirate."
"I'm not a pirate," I murmur, leaning my tired hands on the window-sill behind my neck.
He narrows his eyes.
"Oh, that's interesting," he says. "Who are you, then?"
"I'm a musician."
He smiles and gestures theatrically, sweeping his hand through the room.
"I can't see any instruments here."
"Look into the bag I've put on the floor," I say quietly. "There's my lute in there."
"Which you stole a while ago, most likely."
"Give it to me, please," I propose, leaning forward. "I can play and sing anything you wish - a Spanish villancico, an English ayre, a French rondeau, an Italian madrigal, anything. Just let me touch my lute and I'll show you that my lute knows me and my music."
"That's not enough. Pirates do have musicians on their ships as well."
"But I'm no pirate, honestly," I say, projecting falsely-accused innocence. "No pirate would be so stupid as to come to Port Royal while it's being protected by Commodore Norring..."
He backhands me hard; I lose my balance, but in the very moment I let my hands down I have the barrel of his gun straight under my chin.
"Don't move," he whispers, pressing the gun against my throat. He's furious with a cold fury, the most dangerous of all, I can see it in his eyes that are only an inch from my face, just as he's only an inch from shooting me now. Who the hell is this short-tempered youth and what did I do to him?...
"You take me for an idiot?" he asks me quietly, but very matter-of-factly.
"No."
"I prefer that way of answering questions. Short and to the point. I'm not interested in your opinions concerning pirates or music. Or anything. Show me your hand."
I show him my left hand, looking him in the eye. He presses the pistol harder.
"Your right hand. Without that wrapped cloth."
"I need to put both my hands down for it."
"No, you don't. Use your teeth. Be quick."
He backs a little to allow me to unwrap the cloth from my right hand. I try to be as swift as I can, but the tiredness is showing itself; I'm simply clumsy. He sits by my side in complete silence, and as I still don't have a clue who he is and what he wants from me, I'm beginning to get scared. I raise my eyes to look at him slyly; I don't want him to lose his patience with me.
I sense a strange tension in his gaze as soon as our eyes meet, and he seems taken aback by my pleading look. He bites his lips, as if ashamed, but it's me who should be ashamed now, he's gotten me into his childish trap so easily... Inci is right, I shouldn't even dream about cheating Sparrow, if I can't defend myself from ambitious young officers of the Royal Navy... I show him my right hand with the P letter without a word.
"You lied to me." It's simply a statement, with some amount of relief, surprisingly enough. "Well, anyone in your place would."
"Anyone in my place would," I agree, "but I didn't lie to you."
He frowns, looking at me with disbelief which does him real credit. Hm, maybe he is older than I thought.
"You won't believe the truth, but I'm no pirate anymore," I say with a weighty sigh. "Nobody would believe the truth, in fact, so I don't even bother to explain things to people. I just hide this brand under a piece of cloth and try to make a simple living, like everybody else. I'm really a musician, and a good one. I can prove it. And if you still don't believe me, just arrest me and take me to Commodore Norrington. I don't think it'll make him happy, though."
The pistol is at my neck again. Gosh, I could become really nervous in this state of affairs.
"Who the hell are you?" he asks me through clenched teeth. His fist is already clenched on my shirt's front.
"Why don't you take me to your Commodore, officer?" I whisper back.
"I have no intention of taking you to him, but I'm strongly tempted to shoot you on the spot instead. I'm afraid I might yield to this temptation very, very easily."
"Go ahead," I say, looking into his eyes, "I'm unarmed. You'll never know whether you killed a man who was innocent or not, but whatever. Go ahead, don't be afraid."
There is too much surety in my voice, because there is too much desperation in his. He is trying to hide it, and this is why he treats me so ruthlessly, but he needs something from me. He has no intention of turning me over to the Royal Navy, neither has he any intention of killing me.
"I won't kill you," he says in a harsh voice, "not yet. I want to know your name and why... why you are persecuting Commodore Norrington."
Persecuting?!
"What the hell are you talking about?!" I scream, forgetting everything. "Are you insane? How could I possibly PERSECUTE your Commodore? Who do you think I am, a king of Spain?!"
"Shut up. I was here three months ago. I saw you with the Commodore. He hasn't been himself since that day. He works all the time, he doesn't sleep or eat properly, and he refuses to meet people. I didn't want to think that it's because of you, but it seems to be the case, especially after what I saw yesterday at church. I think I've guessed the nature of your acquaintance with the Commodore, but I want to hear it from you."
"You think you've guessed the nature of our acquaintance," I repeat slowly, trying to gain time, "and you don't like it. You already prepared my death warrant, you only want me to sign it. What if I refuse to speak?"
He smiles triumphantly, his eyes sparkling with hatred.
"I have two pistols, pirate, and I have no objection to spending one or two bullets on you... let's say, you refuse once, I shoot you in one leg. You refuse again, I shoot you in the other. It hurts, and you can't run away; and I know how to shoot so that you don't bleed out too quickly."
I can't help smiling, but I shake my head.
"Point for you," I say with a sigh. "Seems I don't have a choice. I'll speak."
Just be so kind as to give me some time, so that I can figure out a reason why Commodore Norrington would be afraid of me, I think, looking at the officer. Something about him bothers me greatly; he's shaking with an internal passion. He hates me... or rather he seems to hate one particular thing about me. What can it be? What possible threat to Norrington can I bring, and why is he so eager to protect him from that threat? Why is he alone, why is he acting in secret?...
A secret, a shame... ah, how come I'm this dull this morning?... I can't believe I didn't realize that from the beginning!... Now, Ritchie, play wisely, tread carefully.
You know what, officer? I am good at guessing things as well; perhaps I'm better than you. I know what made you come after me, I know what made you so desperate as to put your pistol at my throat. It's this heart-rending sense of brotherhood between Norrington and you, isn't it? You feel in him the same suffering and struggle that has been your share since you can remember; you feel that he's tormented by the very secrets and shame that you are hiding. You want to help him, but you can't approach him; the only thing that you can do is to watch over him from a distance, and to try to spare him the suffering that may become yours some day... All this is highly respectable, but you made an amusing mistake, taking Ritchie Brown for the Commodore's enemy. In fact, officer, I am an unwilling saint who's going to get you both redeemed.
"You were spying on me and Commodore Norrington," I mutter, pulling back, with my eyes on my captor. "That night in the Red Stocking... you were behind that door, peeking through the chink... right? What did you see, officer?"
He clenches his teeth even more; there is a clearly visible vein on his temple, with a pulse beating wildly.
"You didn't see anything, probably 'cause I snuffed the candle," I continue cheerfully. "All you could see was that we kissed. Oh no, not 'we'! I kissed him. You should have noticed that much."
"Yes, I noticed that," he says in a croaking voice. "You made him..."
"I made him do nothing. My offer was rejected. You surely noticed... uh... heard that as well."
"Don't try to lie to me."
"Then don't try to tell me that you saw and heard everything. I left the room at dawn and it wasn't you who was guarding the door. It was a Navy officer, sure, but not you. I remember him, he had a round pink face and big nostrils. And he was sleeping."
"I know he was sleeping. He called me away and we had another drink, and then..."
"And you obviously don't know what happened in the room. You two weren't guarding the Commodore, in fact. Oh wait, one of you was, but on the pretext that he was only having a Saturday drink. That was you, officer. The other one noticed the girl who tried to steal the Commodore's purse, but it was you who noticed me. You couldn't guard the Commodore openly until your companion got drunk, but you missed all that happened in our room. And you began to worry."
"Stop talking rubbish."
"You really believe that Commodore Norrington is being blackmailed by me?"
"Prove me wrong, scum."
"Don't call me names, officer, I am being honest with you," I say, looking at him with widened eyes. Ahh, funny how often it works. Never worked with my Captain, though; he knew all too well that I'm lying most outrageously when I look most innocent.
"Don't underestimate me. No one would trust a pirate."
"See? I don't even have to prove you're wrong, you just did it yourself. No one would trust a pirate. I can very well appear on the main place of Port Royal and shout that Norrington is a sodomite, and all I will gain is the gallows, for he only needs to show them my brand and tell them my name."
"Which you'd better tell me now, too."
"My name's Ritchie Brown."
He frowns and narrows his eyes.
"You were Barbossa's comrade."
I can't hide my surprise. How come he knows me, if even Norrington didn't?
"Have we met before, officer?"
"No. But there are rumours that Barbossa is alive. We are digging up the old reports and records. Your name comes up quite often."
Oh, I do hate publicity. I've always laughed at those pirates who tried to build up their own legend like Blackbeard or Rackham... or Sparrow, for that matter. I grin to myself, while the part of me that is responsible for lying screams:
"Barbossa is alive?! Oh God, then all my suffering wasn't in vain!"
My officer looks at me with utter bewilderment.
"I can redeem myself further," I continue, with a zeal worth of a newly ordained Jesuit. "He doesn't know I've repented my ways. He has no idea I'm the Royal Navy's informer. He'd allow me into his presence without any suspicion, and I can lead him straight into the hands of the law. Now I can do some good. Now I will turn over somebody much more dreadful than a mere pirate. Now it will be the turn of a man who was the curse of the Caribbean for almost twenty years."
"You are... the Navy's informer?"
"Why do you think the Commodore didn't have me arrested in the church?... Well, the whole blackmail idea isn't that bad, given that you were a witness to a rather unusual scene, but it's very easy to explain. I was ill and hungry at that time. Your Commodore bought me a meal. I wanted to repay him with the only coin that I had, but he refused it. Then I offered to become his informer, as I know about people and places and things that the Navy has no access to." It's so difficult to spin the thin, strained thread of my words now; I sigh and pause, trying to collect my thoughts. "This time I was accepted. That's all."
I sigh. I am very, very tired. My mouth is dry, my body sweats with that cold sweat of a sleepless night and I feel as if I've fallen into an empty, bottomless gorge of apathy. Nothing is going to pull me out of it. I don't care what will follow, I don't care if he believes me or not. I don't give a damn about my own case anymore; I want to rest a little. My eyelids are unbelievably heavy now, I can hardly see my interlocutor... awww, Ritchie, you lazy animal, stop it now... Your ghost will have to go back to Inci and to tell her: "sorry, love, but I fell asleep in front of a loaded gun, and here I am", and it'll be really scary...
"That's all," he murmurs to himself, echoing my words. "That's all, you say. And I am expected to believe in it. I wonder why I haven't... why your name figures only in the old records, along with Barbossa's, and not in the newer ones."
He's strangely calm, as if he's forgotten about me already. He seems to talk to himself, not to me. Some time ago I had a similar conversation with his superior. This young officer is lonely just like the Commodore, and - like him - he wants to hear things that he already knows, but which need to be voiced so that they can come into being.
I can catch him off guard now. He's deep in his thoughts, he has almost stopped watching me. It would be so easy to snatch the pistol from him; but no. It's better to turn this passionate youngster into an ally; he'll come in handy later. All right, what is he meditating on?... The threat is no longer a threat, the riddle is solved, now there is only that little matter of believing. Let's have the gruel boil a bit more.
"The Commodore wants it to remain a secret," I say. "I don't know how many officers have been informed about my humble self. Maybe there's no trace in the reports now. Maybe he wants everybody to forget about me for a while." I pause and sigh again. My words fail me, I have to chase them and to hold them firmly. "Anyway, I can suggest something. Just take me to him. He won't be happy, but he won't be afraid of me either. I pose no treat to him. As I said, your idea was pretty understandable, but if I tried to blackmail anyone of your Commodore's position, all I would get is a death sentence. And how can I accuse him of being a sodomite, if there's not a single piece of evidence for that..."
I catch a quick bat of his lashes; he averts his eyes so he doesn't look at me for a moment. Oh, I see, it's the most innocent of my lies that upsets him so. I lower my voice, making him look at me again.
"Don't worry about your Commodore, officer. He is safe from all accusations like this, I can test to it. I swear on the Virgin's Seven Joys that he still thinks of Mrs Turner."
He gazes at me, baffled.
"You swear on what?"
"Oh... um... I'm a Catholic, you know. But if you want me to swear on something else..."
"You're a Catholic?!"
"What, is this a worse crime than being a former pirate?"
"In England, certainly it is," he says dryly. "It's strange that you are so eager in admitting it to me."
"I'm honest with you, I told you that. I'm not lying to you now, neither about my faith nor about the Commodore." I narrow my eyes; the time to attack has come. "I wonder what kind of proof you want from me, in fact. I cannot reassure you in any other way than swearing on my religion that the Commodore does not fancy men."
I pause for a moment to look at his confused, flushed face. No, I'm not mistaken. He doesn't know how to handle my assertions; he wants to look relieved, he wants to look happy, he wants to look calm and composed again, and he fails miserably.
"Or would you rather prefer that he does, officer?" I ask him thoughtfully. "Would it be better if he fancied men?... Well, to tell you the truth, I am of the same opinion. It would be better for all three of us. He wouldn't be suffering because of his ladylove, I could have repaid him that time..." I shake my head sadly, watching him with the corner of my eye. "...and God only knows how much I wanted to. I still hold to my want."
This look of dismay and horror that appears in his eyes is a real reward. He almost holds his breath, his gaze fixed on me. I lower my hands very, very slowly, resting them on the bed. He cocks his pistol, just as slowly. I shake my head again, patient and smiling and persuasive.
"Come on, officer. You desire the same thing. This is what we have in common."
"There is nothing we have in common."
"Nothing except this one particular trifle that led you to me," I say drawing nearer to him, despite the pistol. Thin ice, Ritchie. "I can play the villain, if you want me to, but in fact I'm only being honest. I fancy the Commodore just like you do. We're of the same kin."
"Stop it." He's forcing himself to say something.
"Why should I? Ain't it the truth?... It's ridiculous that you suddenly have so many scruples."
He notices this little word 'suddenly' and frowns, unsure of what I mean.
"You have me at gunpoint," I say. "What else do you need?"
He's gaping at me, almost forgetting to breathe; he knows what I'm offering him. Despite his innocence, he is truly clairvoyant in guessing feelings, and he cannot find a false note in my voice now; yet it's this very innocence that prevents him from taking his chance. I feel a shade of sympathy for him now; if he's unable to make the first step, I'll push him.
"Look," I say with a smile, "if you're so afraid of me, I can do without my hands."
I cross my hands behind my back, kneel slowly on the bed, and fighting back laughter, draw my face near his, as near as possible. His eyes look at me, half-horrified, but already half-intoxicated. I raise myself a little to touch his forehead with a mockingly encouraging kiss.
He shudders.
"Easy," I whisper, catching his upper lip with my teeth, then my lips.
He wants to say something, to move.
"Don't," I warn him, my breath hot against his mouth. "Don't move, or I fall."
But it's him who is destined to fall, and finally I have his pistol dropped between us and his fingers digging into my shoulders. Which is rather painful, and I'm beginning to lose my balance. He reaches for my hands, untangles them, brings them to his face, to his neck, as if he wanted to convince himself that he's not dreaming. Is it possible that he always longed to be with a man, but he didn't dare to try?... He literally clings to me and doesn't let me go; it would be touching if not for the simple fact that it's not me that he wants, and it's not Norrington either; now anyone of the same sex would do.
"Wait, wait," I say, trying to pull myself back a little. "We need some space to proceed." And then, remembering the lesson with Norrington, careful not to scare him away, because you never know with those proper fellows, I start to unbutton my shirt as fast as I can.
"Wh... what are you doing," he murmurs, his face flushing dark purple.
"Try to guess, riddle-solver. I'm undressing for you. You do the same."
He raises his hands to the upper buttons obediently, but then he stops, as if he forgot something. What's the matter?
He apparently wants to protest, to take back all of what was said and done, but his voice seems to fail him - I'm already half-naked before him. No, I won't let him get away now. I've made up my mind: I need an ally in the Royal Navy, even if I have to undress him with my own hands every time we go to bed.
"All right, I'll do it," I whisper, pushing his pistol aside with my knee and reaching for him. He tries to shake his head, to push away my hands, but I know that nothing draws attention better than a kiss when it comes to half-hearted protests. He forgets why he was protesting, but it's my turn to stare in bewilderment.
"Awww, mate! What the hell do you have here?!" I exclaim before I can think.
"Doesn't matter," he mutters.
It's such an unbelievable thing to see an English officer wearing sackcloth - it can be compared only to an English officer taking said sackcloth off before going to bed with another man. I touch the raw hempen material. It's seemingly worn out - is he using it every day or what?
"Wait," I say. "It matters very much to me. Why are you wearing this thing?"
"Because I not only have to hide my faith like you, but also to lie about it every day," he says plainly.
Hell, no. It's not the right place or time to discuss the martyrdom of English Catholics.
I smile at him coyly.
"You see," I say, casually stroking the reddened flesh on his chest and shoulders, "there are more things that we have in common than I thought. It's not just a coincidence that we met, and we'll make this morning worth remembering."
He lets me do with him what I want, probably because it's so pleasant to him - I know where to touch, when to kiss, how firmly to hold, how long to lick and how strongly to bite. As for me, I'm showered with caresses as passionate as they are rough. I'd be laughing, if not for my body that was aching already, and the thought of Inci, who's going to see all these new marks this very afternoon. Well, it's time for him to have everything exactly the way that he wants. And as he doesn't seem to admit that he's the conquered, and wishes to play the conqueror, I let him to lay me on my back, to strip me from the last of my clothes, to...
Oh no, there is always this little problem with the inexperienced. I have to stop his hands that are spreading my legs, and to sit on the bed. He refuses to understand and wants to push me back rather brutally. Very good, I note, smiling to myself.
"It's all right, we just need something to smooth the way," I say, "or it's going to be unpleasant for us both."
He raises his hand to spit into it, but he doesn't say a word; I can't help laughing. So he's heard some stupid stories, but apparently never tried anything himself.
"This," I say, stopping him, "doesn't help a thing. We need something greasy. Go to the kitchen and get..."
"I'm not going anywhere," he says, and I recognize a threatening, suspicious note in his voice, "and neither are you."
"And I'm not going to be screwed without anything," I say, leaning on my elbows. "I may be a Catholic, but a martyr I am not. And neither are you."
He sighs impatiently.
"So what are we going to do?"
I bit my lips with confusion, but then I remember that I had some oil for gun polishing somewhere.
"You won't need it anyway," he remarks quietly, while I'm searching for it.
"Why?"
"I should give your pistol back to the Commodore."
I laugh quietly just to relax him, and snatch my pistol from the table before he's able to realize what's happening. The next moment he has the barrel between his eyes. There's a long silence.
He freezes, sitting on the bed, and for a moment his face seems completely hollow. He doesn't know what treachery is. He doesn't know the bitter feeling of being deceived. He still trusts people, and even though he's unlearning, it's much too slow. So many things to teach him, and not all of them pleasant, I think, putting the pistol back on the table.
"It's not a wise thing to trust anybody," I say, "but you will trust me. I had your life in my hands, you had mine, and we share a secret. And the most important thing is that we're celebrating this morning together, and we'll celebrate the next as well. That's all you should worry about now, and not pistols. And now," I add sitting by his side and taking his hands, "concentrate on the oil first."
Then I let him have his way with me, just as I planned. The main dish that I get isn't much more delicate than the side dishes. He likes to hear me moan, but he doesn't give a damn if it's because of delight or because of pain, and when I become quiet, he increases his pace to make me scream. And scream I do, for I want him to come and let me sleep at last.
Is it the tiredness that I can't wait for it to end, or is it something more, I wonder, watching him watching himself move between my legs. He doesn't look for approval in my eyes, not even once. He knows that I can't say 'no', although he doesn't ask himself why; there's only this moment that he lives in, he enjoys what he's doing to me, and it's all that matters. There is nothing wrong with it, I lost and I have to pay... but is it worth the price? Maybe I should have killed him when I had the chance?... I can recognize this peculiar mix of scruples and self-indulgence in him; he'll probably wear his sackcloth again, for he wants to be at good terms with God above him and the devil inside him, to be on both sides at the same time. I don't know which power he'll choose to serve when he finishes with me. Maybe I should finish with him.
I take my hand off his back and lower it slowly, searching for his pistol on the floor, when I feel his hands on my face. I blink with surprise at the sight of his widened, bright eyes, suddenly seeking contact with mine - it's as if it just occurred to him that he's fucking me and not his own hand. Ah, so he likes to watch me only when he comes, I think, while he's muffling my final cries with kisses. Well, it becomes interesting; maybe I should wait and see if there's more to this young officer. There aren't many men who like to kiss. Or maybe I have yet to meet them.
"You mean that you've slept with so many?" he asks me, shocked, still panting.
"Not so many," I say, offended. "More than you, that's sure, but it's not my main vocation, if that's what you suggest."
"Uh... I'm not suggesting anything, I'm... I'm just curious," he says, leaning his head on his hands, so that he can watch me from above. "You look very young, Ritchie."
"I'm not that young. I'm thirty," I answer, feeling that I'm drowning in the bed. Hell, I'm so tired. How can I serve Inci tonight? Ah, somebody shoot me in the head...
"Really? You're two years older than me, then."
"Heh... and I'm your first?"
"Yes." He laughs, embarrassed a little. "How old were you, when... when..."
"When I slept with a man for a first time?... Oh, I was much younger, but it doesn't count... maybe like eleven... twelve?..." I try to understand a strange look in his eyes, but I fail, and I'm too sleepy to think about it. "Anyway, it doesn't matter, mate... um, wait, what's your name?"
"Theodore," he says with a sigh. "Theodore Groves."
"Ah, well met," I mutter. My eyelids weigh twenty pounds each. "Um, listen, Theodore, please do me a favour... uh, excuse me, I've forgotten to ask about your rank..."
He's looking at me with worry.
"What's wrong with you?"
"Sleepy," I mumble, dissolving between the sheets. "Listen, Officer Theodore, pl-please d'me a favour an' wake me up in the afternoon, b'fore the sun sets... I mean, I'm not sleeping, you can talk t'me, it's just that I may be not answering, and please make sure that I go out in the afternoon..."
...And the next time when I see Groves - he informs me kindly that he's a lieutenant - is the afternoon. I don't know how on earth he could stay in the Red Stocking with me, but he did. He has a hard time with me, but the vision of Inci the Furious helps me to finally get up.
The reddish light of the sun licks the dirty walls of the room; there is fresh water in the basin and wine and bread on the table. Groves is sitting on the bed half-dressed, in his breeches and unbuttoned shirt.
"No bloody sackcloth?" I ask him, grinning.
He shakes his head and frowns.
"I don't want to talk about it."
"As you wish," I agree cheerfully over the basin, feeling his eyes on my bare back and shoulders. There is an awkward silence. I smile to myself and turn back to him to take my clothes from the floor. He stops me, taking my hand.
"I have to go soon," I say apologetically.
"No, I just wanted to... how did you get all this?"
"All what?"
"Scars."
"I wasn't born a prince," I say sharply. "And you're a military man. Don't tell me that you mind sleeping with me because I happen to have scars."
"Hell, that wasn't what I meant, Ritchie. It looks like... some of them... somebody tried to inflict a lot of pain on you."
I can hardly suppress a laugh at his hands touching me again and at the fascination in his voice.
"Well," I say matter-of-factly, "that somebody had to wait several years until he got his hands on me. No surprise he took his time, you know. But we'll talk about it tomorrow morning, if you please. I must be on my way now."
He takes his hands off me reluctantly, but he's doing his best to trust me. I notice with inner triumph the sparks of lust in his dark eyes. It's me who fanned this flame, and it will burn brighter and brighter, once it has won over the ashes.
There is no carriage at Inci's gate. She was apparently waiting for me, because when I arrive at the abandoned house across the street I don't even have to play the lute - the window on the villa's second floor opens, and Inci waves at me impatiently, her slender hands in delicate beige gloves, her elbows barely visible in foamy lace.
"We have to hurry," she whispers, leading me up the staircase. "There's too many things happening already. I feel like, uh, in the sledge that is sliding down the hill very, very fast."
"Any bad news?"
"Well," she says, "there's nothing definitely bad, but we have to be careful. We're going to have a guest soon. I was waiting for you."
"A guest? Ah, and I thought this fine dress was in my honour... But you surely don't mean Swann, do you?"
She shakes her head and opens the door to her headquarters. I stop in surprise on the threshold.
The whole room smells so strongly of various herbs and fruits that I feel dizzy. There is a basket of strangely shaped leaves and grasses, all dried, carefully bound and divided into small bunches. A wooden box under the table shows a battery of tiny bottles; a little mortar on the window-sill is full of half-ground black seeds. The pile of scores on the chair is stained with yellow, and there is a pair of old fabric gloves on it, but the gloves are green in turn. She learned how to make medicine, when she was living in Thessaloniki, but it seems that she's still studying...
"What are you doing?"
"We need some nice potion," she says, taking the gloves off and showing me yellow-stained fingers, "to put Gibbs and Sophie to sleep. But its power should vary, Sophie is much weaker than him. I must prepare it carefully, but I can use the kitchen only when they are asleep, so I mainly have to work here."
It's only now that I notice dark circles under these sweet eyes, and the paleness of these full lips that are not cherry today, but only pink. I feel my heart bleed.
"Inci, my poor little devil!..." I say, embracing her and holding her tiny hands in mine. "Forgive me, it's the last time you lose sleep because of me... and I know what it means to be deprived of sleep, believe me..."
She smiles, but then blinks suddenly and raises her head to look into my eyes.
"Why, I do believe you, Ritchie Brown," she says very sharply. "You sound too bloody convincing, and did you see any mirror today?"
I must have a very stupid face now.
"You look worse than me, and I look really bad. And you smell..." she starts sniffing me. "I smell today too, but me, it's only herbs... and you reek of... of..." and she opens my shirt before I manage to catch her hands.
"Uh, Inci, it's nothing..."
"Sure, sure, I can see it. Who did all this to you, sweetie? I don't believe it was a woman, and there's not a woman's scent on you."
"Well, you're right... 'twas an officer of the Royal Navy."
"Only one? Not the entire Navy?..."
I roll my eyes.
"Oh, I see, I'll stop being nasty. At least you're not wasting your time. A Navy man may come in handy when we need him."
"It could have ended less pleasantly," I say; then we sit down and I tell her the whole story. Inci listens to me, furrowing her brows and biting her nails.
"Our street begins to narrow," she concludes anxiously. "Are you sure he didn't follow you here?"
"I may be tired, but not that much," I reply.
"It's becoming difficult, Ritchie. I am being watched. I couldn't receive my old pudding here, because I don't want him to think that I'm playing some soror mystica or witch. It's only a matter of time before he becomes suspicious. I can talk stupid things out of his head, but I have the whole family against me, including his daughter... and she is quite crafty. God knows what she thinks of me now. She doesn't wish me ill, but I'm not so foolish to think that she'll welcome me as her stepmother. And you, sweetie, you can't whore your way out of every danger."
"That's very true," I say. "We have to act quickly. Lock Gibbs out of anybody's sight, wait a couple of days, then I'll go to talk with Sparrow."
"I don't like this business," Inci murmurs, "I don't like it at all. Too many strings to pull, and only two of us. All too easy to be strangled by one. I wish we had a friend."
"We have Groves now." I don't believe my own words.
"He's no more friend than Elizabeth. We can't trust him. He tried to kill you, and what if he finds out that you're deceiving him? He's only a tool, Ritchie."
She rubs her temples in a impatient gesture. That reminds me of something she said before.
"You told me you're awaiting a guest."
"Oh, hell, I forgot." Her eyes fill with even more anxiety. "God, I was waiting for you. He may be here any moment. I've sent Sophie away."
"Who is he? Norrington?"
"What are you thinking about, sweetie? Try again."
"I don't know people in Port Royal, Inci."
"You should know this one."
"Come on, we have no time."
"One William Turner. The Governor's son-in-law."
"I don't know him."
"Are you sure?..." She narrows her eyes. "But you knew the name Turner."
"Sure I know it. So what?"
"Gawd, Ritchie, wake up!... He's Bootstrap's son!"
"You're joking."
But she is looking at me tensely, with her lips tightly pressed together. Ah, so this is why that young wig standing in the front row of the church seemed so familiar to me!... I've heard about Sparrow's exploits and I knew that he enlisted the help of some poor blacksmith named Turner, but it didn't occur to me that said blacksmith could be related to Bootstrap in any way. How come a pirate's son has married the Governor's daughter?
"You saw my old pudding," Inci says, surprised by my silence. "He can't resist women, be it even his own daughter. She didn't want to hear of anyone else but Turner. And your captain helped them a lot, turning up here and taking Elizabeth with him, so that Turner could hasten to her rescue with that sea beggar, Sparrow. She came out of the whole adventure with no more than a scratch on her hand, but your captain has paid with his life, and you've to give equal thanks for it both to Sparrow and to Turner."
I sigh.
"Inci, love," I say, "if you want me to kill Turner, I will do it for you. I don't need any other reason. I just thought you wanted to spare his wife. Why the hell is he coming here? If Swann learns about it, he'll throw Turner out of his house."
"You won't believe that. He's as daft as Elizabeth, only he hasn't got so much wit. Wrote me a little letter, threw it over the fence when I was picking some herbs in the garden. He probably heard some unpleasant things from his father-in-law, maybe guessed that it was me who set him up, maybe not. He wants to parley with me."
"Are you going to receive him here? If you're being watched, it'll be a hell of a proof."
"I can always say he broke in without my consent, while my servant was away. Besides, I have my reasons to think that it was him who told Swann that I'm receiving young men. You haven't been in Port Royal long enough for anybody to notice. It may be just Turner making things up so that the old pudding finally breaks with me. Who knows."
"How can I help you?"
"Just hide behind the living room door. Not on the corridor side, on the other. There is a small parlour there." Her voice is crisp and cold. "If he comes here to try to threaten me - to blackmail me - to make me flee Port Royal, because he knows anything about you, he's not to be left alive, Ritchie."
"I suppose nobody knows he's going to visit you."
"Unless he's extremely stupid."
Suddenly I notice a flicker of resolved, concentrated fury in Inci's eyes. I've seen that flicker only a few times, and when it becomes a fire, it burns everything in its way. What did Bootstrap's son do to earn such hatred from my little devil? Did I know her less, I would be really worried... maybe I should ask her, after all. I take her hands carefully in mine.
"Did he hurt you, Inci?"
She blinks.
"Why? What do you mean?..."
"What did he do to you? You don't have to talk to him. I'm here at your orders. You want him dead, he's dead."
She sighs and stands up clumsily. Ah, it's so easy to forget that she's pregnant. The sad, tired look is back in her eyes, the ominous flicker gone.
"No, he hasn't hurt me yet, sweetie. I don't want him dead that much, it's just... you'll see. Let's go to the living-room, and you wait for me. I have to listen for him knocking at the gate. And to put my bloody gloves on."
I was awakened from my slumber behind the parlour door by their voices, or rather by William Turner's voice. I could imagine Inci's face even before she sat on the sofa, I could imagine her glassy eyes saying nothing, along with her mouth that probably got shut after the obligatory remark about the weather. He was talking about the weather constantly, though, unnerved by Inci's stubborn silence.
Now all the scene before me seems like a dream in which my past and present has met; I never thought I'd see Bill Turner again, and his son resembles him so much! The same thick curly hair, the same angry eyes and thin lips full of scorn. Even the way he moves - gracefully and proudly - is the same. And I remember his father so well, much though I wish to forget him... When did it all start?... We were fighting under Captain Barbossa's command for a long time, and one of us was always repaying another with the red-hot coin of hatred. It was Bill who won - or rather, he managed to get his revenge in a truly formidable way. I can still see that look in his eyes when we glanced at each other for the last time - he was scared himself of the fate he had prepared for me, he hoped it would be worse than death. And now - now death is his share, and his son is sitting under the merciless scrutiny of my little devil.
They are watching each other in silence so deadly that I can hear the birds in the garden. Young Turner seems to be very ill at ease, for Inci doesn't encourage him in any way. No polite word escapes her lips, there is not a shade of a smile on her face. I can guess that it's the first time that he's encountered Inci alone, not in the Governor's company, and he certainly didn't expect such hostility. His big brown eyes start to assume a pleading look.
"I am really sorry to intrude like this, Miss Dou," he stammers, desperate to break the silence.
"I am sure you can explain, Mr Turner," says Inci.
"I assure you that I took every possible measure not to be seen..."
"I do not doubt that."
Silence.
"I must have scared you by such means of communication, but... there was no other way to contact you."
"It was slightly... unusual, I must say."
Silence.
"My wife paid you an equally unexpected visit the other day, Miss Dou. I should apologize for it. She didn't mean anything... impolite. In fact, she spoke very highly of you."
Silence.
"Miss Dou, why I came here..."
For the first time since they sat down, Inci moves on her sofa. She leans forward slowly, very slowly, crooking her neck, as if she wanted to look at her guest closer before devouring him - now she reminds me of a Chinese dragon even more. Her narrowed eyes are full of mischief and malice.
"Why did you put off your precious wig, Mr Turner?" she hisses quietly.
I can almost smell his fear. He's lost for words, gaping at Inci, forgetting everything, as if he saw a demon. But oh, does she look scary!...
"Mr Turner?..."
He blinks in bewilderment.
"I'm sorry, Miss Dou... I didn't want to offend you. I thought it would be better if I came to see you in the attire of an ordinary man... so that nobody recognizes me too easily."
"No, Mr Turner. It's not the reason of your not wearing the wig. You came here in order to speak with me honestly, didn't you? You didn't want to hide your worries behind some etiquette; let it stay that way. There's no need to stand on ceremony when you have real problems. Tell me, please, what brings you here."
Now Inci's voice is so tender, so sweet and understanding, that young Turner seems as if he wanted to kiss her hands in joy. He doesn't ask himself where that previous enmity came from and where it's gone; he doesn't realize that it's only lying in ambush.
"Ah, you're so right, Miss Dou," he says, and his honest brown eyes scream 'ah, I KNEW you were a good girl!' "In fact, I have a very delicate matter that I wanted to discuss with you."
"Please, do tell me what it is, Mr Turner."
"It's about my... it's about Governor Swann." He sighs heavily. "I know he paid you a visit yesterday... we weren't expecting that he'd be back so soon. He was extremely upset... I've never seen him so anxious and restless. Then it turned out that he suspects me of... of..."
"Of what, Mr Turner?"
"If I have your permission to say... he's suspicious of me... he thinks I'm trying to seduce you... that I'm in love with you, persecuting you, and... yes, yes, I know it's insane..."
He's ready to laugh and he only waits for Inci, but her face is severe and cold.
"Uhm," she says thoughtfully, "this is a real problem. And you want to dispel his suspicions by coming here? That was very unwise of you, let me tell you that."
"I know it's a foolish thing to do, Miss Dou... but I thought it to be a thing of concern to us both."
Inci raises her brows.
"What makes you think this way?" she asks coolly.
"The Governor is suspicious of you as well..."
"I am not frightened in the least," she says, her voice cheerful. "I have nothing to hide, Mr Turner. Or do you think otherwise?..."
I watch young Turner's face carefully. If Inci's fears of him spreading the gossip about her possible suitors are justifiable, now is the moment to find it. But no. His eyes widen, he starts to blink. He's innocent.
"No, Miss Dou," he says plainly, "how could I?"
"Why did you say that the Governor is suspicious of me, then?"
"I didn't say it... I mean... I thought our situations might be similar."
"Well, it's not," says Inci sharply. "The Governor happens to trust me."
He hangs his head, ashamed.
"Moreover, he loves me," she continues mercilessly. "And he is the father of my child... although it may be difficult to understand for some people. If you want to compromise me in his eyes, throwing me letters over the fence and coming to my house, Mr Turner, let me assure you it's not the right way, because, as I said, he trusts me and he has every reason to."
"Miss Dou, please!... It wasn't my intention in the slightest!..."
"Mr Turner," says Inci, smiling sadly, but patiently, "do not underestimate me."
"I swear I didn't come here to damage your reputation," he whispers. "I came here to ask you a favour."
Now Inci seems to be taken aback, but she controls herself quickly.
"Oh," she says simply, pleasantly surprised.
"I know the Governor trusts you more than anyone else. I know it's your word that matters. Please, Miss Dou, speak that word for me. Please, tell the Governor that it was a mistake, a stupid gossip, anything, and he will believe you. And I will be eternally grateful to you. I cannot stand the Governor's distrust. He's trying to estrange me, and for me, it's hard to stay in society without his support."
Inci is silent.
"You know who I was, Miss Dou. I won't hide it from you... you probably know it, but I'll tell it to you anyway... my father, he was a pirate. I was always thinking that he was a merchant sailor, but his... his good friend, who was a pirate too, told me the truth. I never wanted to believe this, I still don't, maybe. When I was a boy, I dreamed of my father coming for me, taking me away from the smithy. I believed he had money and position, I believed he would help me to get Elizabeth back. You know, I was allowed to play with her, when we were children, and when we grew up, she was taken away from me, she went to England... I waited for her and for my father... she came back, but my father never did, only his name... and in the way I started to hate it. I want to forget him now, I want to lead a better, honourable life... I want to be worthy of Elizabeth, to be a real gentleman, so that she won't feel shame for me when we get back to England and meet her family... and I need the Governor's support for it."
Inci sighs impatiently, toying with her gloves. I smile to myself, remembering that there's no worse way to try to soften Inci's heart than telling her sentimental family tales.
"And why are you telling me that?" she asks quietly.
"I thought that you... you should understand me, Miss Dou," he answers even quieter.
"Yes, you put it quite clearly," says Inci. "We're both using Governor Swann to climb some stairs, is that what you mean?... And it happens that I have more influence than you at the moment, so you're seeking my support. Is that it, Mr Turner?"
"I will be really grateful to you if you speak in my favour."
"You will be really grateful?"
"I will, Miss Dou. If there's anything that I could do for you..."
"Actually, yes, there is," says Inci with a slight smile.
"Please tell me."
"All right, Mr Turner. I convince the Governor that the only woman in your life is his own daughter Elizabeth. You, in turn, convince him that he should marry the mother of his child, that is, me. Do we have an accord?"
He is rendered speechless; it was obviously the last thing he expected.
"Mr Turner?..."
"Miss Dou, I... I'm afraid I cannot do this."
For a very short moment I feel something like respect for this young man who doesn't even want to lie, although it would be the easiest and most logical thing to do; but it's only a moment, for I can see clearly that it's more out of contempt towards Inci, and out of horror at the thought of the courtesan being allowed into the honourable house, than out of honesty and principles. I saw exactly the same disdain and disgust in his father's eyes every time he talked to me or even looked at me - and it might have been ridiculous when directed at me, but it's unforgivable directed at Inci now.
"Of course you cannot," she says simply.
"Miss Dou, please... anything but this."
"And you dared to demand that I should understand you!..."
"Please think," he tries to be reasonable. "There's no way that the Governor can... can fulfil your wishes. I promise I will tell him everything possible to assure your future... and the future of your child, but..."
"Very well, Mr Turner, now you're telling me that the big Swann family has a bowl for one dog only? They can have you, but they can't have me? You're such a big dog that a little cat like me will have to go empty-bellied?... And what do YOU understand? You will always be an arriviste to them, no matter how much you try!..."
"I am a honest man, Miss Dou," he says meekly.
"Oh really? You smuggled a criminal out of the prison! You stole the Navy's ship and let it be destroyed! Your father would be proud of you!"
"I did it to save Elizabeth," he says, clenching his fists, restraining himself. "And my father was a pirate, but he didn't commit any hideous crime that he should be ashamed of."
"I wonder how you can be so sure of it," Inci retorts lightly.
"I wonder if there's anything that you know about my father that I don't," he whispers.
"There is, in fact. Your father betrayed his captain. Before that, he betrayed somebody else and left him to torture and slow, painful death. No wonder you don't know of it, because you've heard of it from his best buddy Sparrow, and he has his own book of fairy tales to tell the likes of you."
"Who... you knew my father? Who are you?"
Inci is silent again, watching him mockingly.
"Who are you, please, tell me... What is... what do you..."
But he isn't sure if he really wishes to gaze into the darkness again. His words die on his lips; it's painful to look at his pale face.
"Go back to your elegant, safe world, Mr Turner," she says, sighing. "You don't want to know the things that I know. Just please, keep in mind that everything has two sides, and usually neither one is entirely right... and as for Governor Swann, here's my advice: try not to seek the support of your foes, if you have nothing that helps you to turn them into your friends. Or to destroy them. Farewell, Mr Turner, best regards to your lovely wife."
He doesn't want to look at her any more, he can't stand being here. I open the parlour door, listening to him running down the staircase. Inci takes a deep breath.
"At least we know it's not him spreading the gossip," she says.
I embrace her and rub my nose against her cheek.
"You don't have to hate him so," I say. "He's quite plain, don't you think?"
"I don't hate him. And yes, he's plain, but he's false as well. Crooked. Tries to appeal to my little black heart, but doesn't like to admit that his own heart is sooty as hell. Wants to save his dignity, pshew!... And all this family talk!... I feel sick."
"You're tired, love. You talked so much."
"We're tired," says Inci quietly, "both of us."
"Yes."
I feel her eyes on me, eyes full of concern and care. This look - her good look - is only for me. I feel like an ungrateful bastard, and suddenly I shudder; it's difficult to breathe for a moment, as if a cold shadow of some evil foreboding has passed through the room.
"I'm doing it for you," she says quietly. "And Norrington. I don't care for anybody else. And Sophie and Elizabeth are not to be harmed."
"I know," I say, snuggling her to me. She rests her head on my shoulder, and we sit for a moment in silence.
"You smell of that Navy man," she murmurs.
"Uhm. Need to wash myself."
"Want to go back to the Red Stocking?"
I look at her, surprised.
"I want what you want, Inci."
"I don't know what I want," she says, sighing. "We should bottle up Gibbs as quickly as possible, but I need at least a day more for one mixture to simmer. You told Groves that you'll be back next morning?"
"That's right."
"We can sleep together till the morning, civilly, like innocent children, and you'll go back to the Red Stocking... but to tell the truth, it's nothing pleasant to sleep here. You'll have a mighty headache next day. I'd prefer to sleep in the living room, but there's a danger that Sophie may see us."
"I'd better simply go back now," I say. I feel hollow. "You have to take some sleep. If you don't need me, it's foolish to risk. The less we are together, the better. I'll come tomorrow afternoon."
"That's the best way," she says, hanging her head.
"Hey, don't be so sad, little devil. I'm not leaving yet. We can dine together."
She brightens up immediately.
"You're hungry?"
"As always."
"Um, Ritchie, do you know what?... If we quit the bed, maybe we can drink instead?"
"Oh, Inci, you read my mind!..."
"All right, now that you're still sober, hear my words. You have a free day tomorrow. Use it at your will, but remember, you must come here after midnight."
"Not in the afternoon?"
"No... I need more time, if we're going to drink now, sweetie. I'm not made of iron. When you come, we're going to take care of Gibbs. Understood?"
"Yes, m'lady."
"You're allowed to do whatever you want with Groves, but don't come here sleepy, or I'll beat you with Sophie's poker."
tbc
Disclaimer: "Pirates of the Caribbean" belongs to Disney.
A/N: I'm TERRIBLY sorry for the cliffhanger and the delay, dearies! Special hugs for BlackJackSilver, Eldrid, Alori Kesi Aldercy and Alteng. Very special hugs and apologies to Cupcakeswirl. I'm so very ashamed...
-----------------------------
IV
I don't know this voice. A well-educated, well-mannered man in his thirties. Norrington? No, it's not him. Do I know any other well-educated, well-mannered man in his thirties here?... No, it's only the Commodore and me... Oh, my brain refuses to work. Inci, if I get killed, it's because of you.
He reaches for my pistol in one sure move. All right - he knows his weapons... a soldier... an officer?... Is it Norrington who sent him for me? But he wouldn't be alone then, and he'd show me an arrest warrant - since he didn't shoot me on the spot... No, he didn't come here to arrest me.
"Really, officer," I say politely, while he continues searching me, "we don't have to begin our talk in such a rough way. I'm already disarmed."
His hand, on my left boot, stops for a moment.
"Do you know me?"
"Regrettably, no," I answer. "But a short introduction would suffice..."
He doesn't dignify me with an answer, of course, straightening up, probably relieved to see that I don't have any weapons except the pistol and the dagger he pulls out of my right boot.
"Good," he says, grabbing my arm. "Turn around. Slowly, and hands up, if you value your life."
I sigh, doing as I'm told, putting my hands behind my head.
He holds me at gunpoint, watching me cautiously and frowning. His eyes are fixed on me gloomily, but they seem very bright in his tanned, handsome, slender face. Oh, he's trying to be scary, but he looks so young and, well - there is no better word - innocent. He may be less than thirty.
I'm so tired I don't know what to do, now I'm sure he's not going to kill me. The morning sun is filling the whole room; the golden braid on the officer's uniform glitter glitters triumphantly. My eyes sting, I look longingly at the messy bed. Let's talk already, I want to go to sleep. I have to be at Inci's in the afternoon. What is he waiting for?
I suddenly realize that his eyes don't meet mine any more. He's looking at my neck, blinking... ahh, I have a bloody mark there - my little demon bit me. It's amazing to watch how much it impresses the officer, though; he seems to be disgusted and curious at the same time, just like the ladies who were looking at Inci in the church. His cheeks are flushed... awww, he's really a novice. Too bad. Novices tend to act hastily.
"You've never had such a mark, officer," I observe, grinning. "Are you that indignant, or is it out of envy that you're staring at me? Let's proceed to business, if you please. I'm sleepy as hell."
"It's me who gives orders here, not you." He flushes even more, but his voice is sharp.
"All right, whatever. Give them quickly, then."
He grabs the chair and is about to sit, but then he obviously realizes that if I'm to remain standing, he'll have to look up at me, and it's not a very respect-inducing position.
"Sit on the bed," he orders gruffly, placing Norrington's pistol - my pistol - on the table.
"Ah, thank you so much," I say, sighing with relief. He frowns, surprised. "I'm so tired I was going to fall asleep just like that. Can I put my hands down?"
"No, you can't. You will move only when I allow you to, pirate."
"I'm not a pirate," I murmur, leaning my tired hands on the window-sill behind my neck.
He narrows his eyes.
"Oh, that's interesting," he says. "Who are you, then?"
"I'm a musician."
He smiles and gestures theatrically, sweeping his hand through the room.
"I can't see any instruments here."
"Look into the bag I've put on the floor," I say quietly. "There's my lute in there."
"Which you stole a while ago, most likely."
"Give it to me, please," I propose, leaning forward. "I can play and sing anything you wish - a Spanish villancico, an English ayre, a French rondeau, an Italian madrigal, anything. Just let me touch my lute and I'll show you that my lute knows me and my music."
"That's not enough. Pirates do have musicians on their ships as well."
"But I'm no pirate, honestly," I say, projecting falsely-accused innocence. "No pirate would be so stupid as to come to Port Royal while it's being protected by Commodore Norring..."
He backhands me hard; I lose my balance, but in the very moment I let my hands down I have the barrel of his gun straight under my chin.
"Don't move," he whispers, pressing the gun against my throat. He's furious with a cold fury, the most dangerous of all, I can see it in his eyes that are only an inch from my face, just as he's only an inch from shooting me now. Who the hell is this short-tempered youth and what did I do to him?...
"You take me for an idiot?" he asks me quietly, but very matter-of-factly.
"No."
"I prefer that way of answering questions. Short and to the point. I'm not interested in your opinions concerning pirates or music. Or anything. Show me your hand."
I show him my left hand, looking him in the eye. He presses the pistol harder.
"Your right hand. Without that wrapped cloth."
"I need to put both my hands down for it."
"No, you don't. Use your teeth. Be quick."
He backs a little to allow me to unwrap the cloth from my right hand. I try to be as swift as I can, but the tiredness is showing itself; I'm simply clumsy. He sits by my side in complete silence, and as I still don't have a clue who he is and what he wants from me, I'm beginning to get scared. I raise my eyes to look at him slyly; I don't want him to lose his patience with me.
I sense a strange tension in his gaze as soon as our eyes meet, and he seems taken aback by my pleading look. He bites his lips, as if ashamed, but it's me who should be ashamed now, he's gotten me into his childish trap so easily... Inci is right, I shouldn't even dream about cheating Sparrow, if I can't defend myself from ambitious young officers of the Royal Navy... I show him my right hand with the P letter without a word.
"You lied to me." It's simply a statement, with some amount of relief, surprisingly enough. "Well, anyone in your place would."
"Anyone in my place would," I agree, "but I didn't lie to you."
He frowns, looking at me with disbelief which does him real credit. Hm, maybe he is older than I thought.
"You won't believe the truth, but I'm no pirate anymore," I say with a weighty sigh. "Nobody would believe the truth, in fact, so I don't even bother to explain things to people. I just hide this brand under a piece of cloth and try to make a simple living, like everybody else. I'm really a musician, and a good one. I can prove it. And if you still don't believe me, just arrest me and take me to Commodore Norrington. I don't think it'll make him happy, though."
The pistol is at my neck again. Gosh, I could become really nervous in this state of affairs.
"Who the hell are you?" he asks me through clenched teeth. His fist is already clenched on my shirt's front.
"Why don't you take me to your Commodore, officer?" I whisper back.
"I have no intention of taking you to him, but I'm strongly tempted to shoot you on the spot instead. I'm afraid I might yield to this temptation very, very easily."
"Go ahead," I say, looking into his eyes, "I'm unarmed. You'll never know whether you killed a man who was innocent or not, but whatever. Go ahead, don't be afraid."
There is too much surety in my voice, because there is too much desperation in his. He is trying to hide it, and this is why he treats me so ruthlessly, but he needs something from me. He has no intention of turning me over to the Royal Navy, neither has he any intention of killing me.
"I won't kill you," he says in a harsh voice, "not yet. I want to know your name and why... why you are persecuting Commodore Norrington."
Persecuting?!
"What the hell are you talking about?!" I scream, forgetting everything. "Are you insane? How could I possibly PERSECUTE your Commodore? Who do you think I am, a king of Spain?!"
"Shut up. I was here three months ago. I saw you with the Commodore. He hasn't been himself since that day. He works all the time, he doesn't sleep or eat properly, and he refuses to meet people. I didn't want to think that it's because of you, but it seems to be the case, especially after what I saw yesterday at church. I think I've guessed the nature of your acquaintance with the Commodore, but I want to hear it from you."
"You think you've guessed the nature of our acquaintance," I repeat slowly, trying to gain time, "and you don't like it. You already prepared my death warrant, you only want me to sign it. What if I refuse to speak?"
He smiles triumphantly, his eyes sparkling with hatred.
"I have two pistols, pirate, and I have no objection to spending one or two bullets on you... let's say, you refuse once, I shoot you in one leg. You refuse again, I shoot you in the other. It hurts, and you can't run away; and I know how to shoot so that you don't bleed out too quickly."
I can't help smiling, but I shake my head.
"Point for you," I say with a sigh. "Seems I don't have a choice. I'll speak."
Just be so kind as to give me some time, so that I can figure out a reason why Commodore Norrington would be afraid of me, I think, looking at the officer. Something about him bothers me greatly; he's shaking with an internal passion. He hates me... or rather he seems to hate one particular thing about me. What can it be? What possible threat to Norrington can I bring, and why is he so eager to protect him from that threat? Why is he alone, why is he acting in secret?...
A secret, a shame... ah, how come I'm this dull this morning?... I can't believe I didn't realize that from the beginning!... Now, Ritchie, play wisely, tread carefully.
You know what, officer? I am good at guessing things as well; perhaps I'm better than you. I know what made you come after me, I know what made you so desperate as to put your pistol at my throat. It's this heart-rending sense of brotherhood between Norrington and you, isn't it? You feel in him the same suffering and struggle that has been your share since you can remember; you feel that he's tormented by the very secrets and shame that you are hiding. You want to help him, but you can't approach him; the only thing that you can do is to watch over him from a distance, and to try to spare him the suffering that may become yours some day... All this is highly respectable, but you made an amusing mistake, taking Ritchie Brown for the Commodore's enemy. In fact, officer, I am an unwilling saint who's going to get you both redeemed.
"You were spying on me and Commodore Norrington," I mutter, pulling back, with my eyes on my captor. "That night in the Red Stocking... you were behind that door, peeking through the chink... right? What did you see, officer?"
He clenches his teeth even more; there is a clearly visible vein on his temple, with a pulse beating wildly.
"You didn't see anything, probably 'cause I snuffed the candle," I continue cheerfully. "All you could see was that we kissed. Oh no, not 'we'! I kissed him. You should have noticed that much."
"Yes, I noticed that," he says in a croaking voice. "You made him..."
"I made him do nothing. My offer was rejected. You surely noticed... uh... heard that as well."
"Don't try to lie to me."
"Then don't try to tell me that you saw and heard everything. I left the room at dawn and it wasn't you who was guarding the door. It was a Navy officer, sure, but not you. I remember him, he had a round pink face and big nostrils. And he was sleeping."
"I know he was sleeping. He called me away and we had another drink, and then..."
"And you obviously don't know what happened in the room. You two weren't guarding the Commodore, in fact. Oh wait, one of you was, but on the pretext that he was only having a Saturday drink. That was you, officer. The other one noticed the girl who tried to steal the Commodore's purse, but it was you who noticed me. You couldn't guard the Commodore openly until your companion got drunk, but you missed all that happened in our room. And you began to worry."
"Stop talking rubbish."
"You really believe that Commodore Norrington is being blackmailed by me?"
"Prove me wrong, scum."
"Don't call me names, officer, I am being honest with you," I say, looking at him with widened eyes. Ahh, funny how often it works. Never worked with my Captain, though; he knew all too well that I'm lying most outrageously when I look most innocent.
"Don't underestimate me. No one would trust a pirate."
"See? I don't even have to prove you're wrong, you just did it yourself. No one would trust a pirate. I can very well appear on the main place of Port Royal and shout that Norrington is a sodomite, and all I will gain is the gallows, for he only needs to show them my brand and tell them my name."
"Which you'd better tell me now, too."
"My name's Ritchie Brown."
He frowns and narrows his eyes.
"You were Barbossa's comrade."
I can't hide my surprise. How come he knows me, if even Norrington didn't?
"Have we met before, officer?"
"No. But there are rumours that Barbossa is alive. We are digging up the old reports and records. Your name comes up quite often."
Oh, I do hate publicity. I've always laughed at those pirates who tried to build up their own legend like Blackbeard or Rackham... or Sparrow, for that matter. I grin to myself, while the part of me that is responsible for lying screams:
"Barbossa is alive?! Oh God, then all my suffering wasn't in vain!"
My officer looks at me with utter bewilderment.
"I can redeem myself further," I continue, with a zeal worth of a newly ordained Jesuit. "He doesn't know I've repented my ways. He has no idea I'm the Royal Navy's informer. He'd allow me into his presence without any suspicion, and I can lead him straight into the hands of the law. Now I can do some good. Now I will turn over somebody much more dreadful than a mere pirate. Now it will be the turn of a man who was the curse of the Caribbean for almost twenty years."
"You are... the Navy's informer?"
"Why do you think the Commodore didn't have me arrested in the church?... Well, the whole blackmail idea isn't that bad, given that you were a witness to a rather unusual scene, but it's very easy to explain. I was ill and hungry at that time. Your Commodore bought me a meal. I wanted to repay him with the only coin that I had, but he refused it. Then I offered to become his informer, as I know about people and places and things that the Navy has no access to." It's so difficult to spin the thin, strained thread of my words now; I sigh and pause, trying to collect my thoughts. "This time I was accepted. That's all."
I sigh. I am very, very tired. My mouth is dry, my body sweats with that cold sweat of a sleepless night and I feel as if I've fallen into an empty, bottomless gorge of apathy. Nothing is going to pull me out of it. I don't care what will follow, I don't care if he believes me or not. I don't give a damn about my own case anymore; I want to rest a little. My eyelids are unbelievably heavy now, I can hardly see my interlocutor... awww, Ritchie, you lazy animal, stop it now... Your ghost will have to go back to Inci and to tell her: "sorry, love, but I fell asleep in front of a loaded gun, and here I am", and it'll be really scary...
"That's all," he murmurs to himself, echoing my words. "That's all, you say. And I am expected to believe in it. I wonder why I haven't... why your name figures only in the old records, along with Barbossa's, and not in the newer ones."
He's strangely calm, as if he's forgotten about me already. He seems to talk to himself, not to me. Some time ago I had a similar conversation with his superior. This young officer is lonely just like the Commodore, and - like him - he wants to hear things that he already knows, but which need to be voiced so that they can come into being.
I can catch him off guard now. He's deep in his thoughts, he has almost stopped watching me. It would be so easy to snatch the pistol from him; but no. It's better to turn this passionate youngster into an ally; he'll come in handy later. All right, what is he meditating on?... The threat is no longer a threat, the riddle is solved, now there is only that little matter of believing. Let's have the gruel boil a bit more.
"The Commodore wants it to remain a secret," I say. "I don't know how many officers have been informed about my humble self. Maybe there's no trace in the reports now. Maybe he wants everybody to forget about me for a while." I pause and sigh again. My words fail me, I have to chase them and to hold them firmly. "Anyway, I can suggest something. Just take me to him. He won't be happy, but he won't be afraid of me either. I pose no treat to him. As I said, your idea was pretty understandable, but if I tried to blackmail anyone of your Commodore's position, all I would get is a death sentence. And how can I accuse him of being a sodomite, if there's not a single piece of evidence for that..."
I catch a quick bat of his lashes; he averts his eyes so he doesn't look at me for a moment. Oh, I see, it's the most innocent of my lies that upsets him so. I lower my voice, making him look at me again.
"Don't worry about your Commodore, officer. He is safe from all accusations like this, I can test to it. I swear on the Virgin's Seven Joys that he still thinks of Mrs Turner."
He gazes at me, baffled.
"You swear on what?"
"Oh... um... I'm a Catholic, you know. But if you want me to swear on something else..."
"You're a Catholic?!"
"What, is this a worse crime than being a former pirate?"
"In England, certainly it is," he says dryly. "It's strange that you are so eager in admitting it to me."
"I'm honest with you, I told you that. I'm not lying to you now, neither about my faith nor about the Commodore." I narrow my eyes; the time to attack has come. "I wonder what kind of proof you want from me, in fact. I cannot reassure you in any other way than swearing on my religion that the Commodore does not fancy men."
I pause for a moment to look at his confused, flushed face. No, I'm not mistaken. He doesn't know how to handle my assertions; he wants to look relieved, he wants to look happy, he wants to look calm and composed again, and he fails miserably.
"Or would you rather prefer that he does, officer?" I ask him thoughtfully. "Would it be better if he fancied men?... Well, to tell you the truth, I am of the same opinion. It would be better for all three of us. He wouldn't be suffering because of his ladylove, I could have repaid him that time..." I shake my head sadly, watching him with the corner of my eye. "...and God only knows how much I wanted to. I still hold to my want."
This look of dismay and horror that appears in his eyes is a real reward. He almost holds his breath, his gaze fixed on me. I lower my hands very, very slowly, resting them on the bed. He cocks his pistol, just as slowly. I shake my head again, patient and smiling and persuasive.
"Come on, officer. You desire the same thing. This is what we have in common."
"There is nothing we have in common."
"Nothing except this one particular trifle that led you to me," I say drawing nearer to him, despite the pistol. Thin ice, Ritchie. "I can play the villain, if you want me to, but in fact I'm only being honest. I fancy the Commodore just like you do. We're of the same kin."
"Stop it." He's forcing himself to say something.
"Why should I? Ain't it the truth?... It's ridiculous that you suddenly have so many scruples."
He notices this little word 'suddenly' and frowns, unsure of what I mean.
"You have me at gunpoint," I say. "What else do you need?"
He's gaping at me, almost forgetting to breathe; he knows what I'm offering him. Despite his innocence, he is truly clairvoyant in guessing feelings, and he cannot find a false note in my voice now; yet it's this very innocence that prevents him from taking his chance. I feel a shade of sympathy for him now; if he's unable to make the first step, I'll push him.
"Look," I say with a smile, "if you're so afraid of me, I can do without my hands."
I cross my hands behind my back, kneel slowly on the bed, and fighting back laughter, draw my face near his, as near as possible. His eyes look at me, half-horrified, but already half-intoxicated. I raise myself a little to touch his forehead with a mockingly encouraging kiss.
He shudders.
"Easy," I whisper, catching his upper lip with my teeth, then my lips.
He wants to say something, to move.
"Don't," I warn him, my breath hot against his mouth. "Don't move, or I fall."
But it's him who is destined to fall, and finally I have his pistol dropped between us and his fingers digging into my shoulders. Which is rather painful, and I'm beginning to lose my balance. He reaches for my hands, untangles them, brings them to his face, to his neck, as if he wanted to convince himself that he's not dreaming. Is it possible that he always longed to be with a man, but he didn't dare to try?... He literally clings to me and doesn't let me go; it would be touching if not for the simple fact that it's not me that he wants, and it's not Norrington either; now anyone of the same sex would do.
"Wait, wait," I say, trying to pull myself back a little. "We need some space to proceed." And then, remembering the lesson with Norrington, careful not to scare him away, because you never know with those proper fellows, I start to unbutton my shirt as fast as I can.
"Wh... what are you doing," he murmurs, his face flushing dark purple.
"Try to guess, riddle-solver. I'm undressing for you. You do the same."
He raises his hands to the upper buttons obediently, but then he stops, as if he forgot something. What's the matter?
He apparently wants to protest, to take back all of what was said and done, but his voice seems to fail him - I'm already half-naked before him. No, I won't let him get away now. I've made up my mind: I need an ally in the Royal Navy, even if I have to undress him with my own hands every time we go to bed.
"All right, I'll do it," I whisper, pushing his pistol aside with my knee and reaching for him. He tries to shake his head, to push away my hands, but I know that nothing draws attention better than a kiss when it comes to half-hearted protests. He forgets why he was protesting, but it's my turn to stare in bewilderment.
"Awww, mate! What the hell do you have here?!" I exclaim before I can think.
"Doesn't matter," he mutters.
It's such an unbelievable thing to see an English officer wearing sackcloth - it can be compared only to an English officer taking said sackcloth off before going to bed with another man. I touch the raw hempen material. It's seemingly worn out - is he using it every day or what?
"Wait," I say. "It matters very much to me. Why are you wearing this thing?"
"Because I not only have to hide my faith like you, but also to lie about it every day," he says plainly.
Hell, no. It's not the right place or time to discuss the martyrdom of English Catholics.
I smile at him coyly.
"You see," I say, casually stroking the reddened flesh on his chest and shoulders, "there are more things that we have in common than I thought. It's not just a coincidence that we met, and we'll make this morning worth remembering."
He lets me do with him what I want, probably because it's so pleasant to him - I know where to touch, when to kiss, how firmly to hold, how long to lick and how strongly to bite. As for me, I'm showered with caresses as passionate as they are rough. I'd be laughing, if not for my body that was aching already, and the thought of Inci, who's going to see all these new marks this very afternoon. Well, it's time for him to have everything exactly the way that he wants. And as he doesn't seem to admit that he's the conquered, and wishes to play the conqueror, I let him to lay me on my back, to strip me from the last of my clothes, to...
Oh no, there is always this little problem with the inexperienced. I have to stop his hands that are spreading my legs, and to sit on the bed. He refuses to understand and wants to push me back rather brutally. Very good, I note, smiling to myself.
"It's all right, we just need something to smooth the way," I say, "or it's going to be unpleasant for us both."
He raises his hand to spit into it, but he doesn't say a word; I can't help laughing. So he's heard some stupid stories, but apparently never tried anything himself.
"This," I say, stopping him, "doesn't help a thing. We need something greasy. Go to the kitchen and get..."
"I'm not going anywhere," he says, and I recognize a threatening, suspicious note in his voice, "and neither are you."
"And I'm not going to be screwed without anything," I say, leaning on my elbows. "I may be a Catholic, but a martyr I am not. And neither are you."
He sighs impatiently.
"So what are we going to do?"
I bit my lips with confusion, but then I remember that I had some oil for gun polishing somewhere.
"You won't need it anyway," he remarks quietly, while I'm searching for it.
"Why?"
"I should give your pistol back to the Commodore."
I laugh quietly just to relax him, and snatch my pistol from the table before he's able to realize what's happening. The next moment he has the barrel between his eyes. There's a long silence.
He freezes, sitting on the bed, and for a moment his face seems completely hollow. He doesn't know what treachery is. He doesn't know the bitter feeling of being deceived. He still trusts people, and even though he's unlearning, it's much too slow. So many things to teach him, and not all of them pleasant, I think, putting the pistol back on the table.
"It's not a wise thing to trust anybody," I say, "but you will trust me. I had your life in my hands, you had mine, and we share a secret. And the most important thing is that we're celebrating this morning together, and we'll celebrate the next as well. That's all you should worry about now, and not pistols. And now," I add sitting by his side and taking his hands, "concentrate on the oil first."
Then I let him have his way with me, just as I planned. The main dish that I get isn't much more delicate than the side dishes. He likes to hear me moan, but he doesn't give a damn if it's because of delight or because of pain, and when I become quiet, he increases his pace to make me scream. And scream I do, for I want him to come and let me sleep at last.
Is it the tiredness that I can't wait for it to end, or is it something more, I wonder, watching him watching himself move between my legs. He doesn't look for approval in my eyes, not even once. He knows that I can't say 'no', although he doesn't ask himself why; there's only this moment that he lives in, he enjoys what he's doing to me, and it's all that matters. There is nothing wrong with it, I lost and I have to pay... but is it worth the price? Maybe I should have killed him when I had the chance?... I can recognize this peculiar mix of scruples and self-indulgence in him; he'll probably wear his sackcloth again, for he wants to be at good terms with God above him and the devil inside him, to be on both sides at the same time. I don't know which power he'll choose to serve when he finishes with me. Maybe I should finish with him.
I take my hand off his back and lower it slowly, searching for his pistol on the floor, when I feel his hands on my face. I blink with surprise at the sight of his widened, bright eyes, suddenly seeking contact with mine - it's as if it just occurred to him that he's fucking me and not his own hand. Ah, so he likes to watch me only when he comes, I think, while he's muffling my final cries with kisses. Well, it becomes interesting; maybe I should wait and see if there's more to this young officer. There aren't many men who like to kiss. Or maybe I have yet to meet them.
"You mean that you've slept with so many?" he asks me, shocked, still panting.
"Not so many," I say, offended. "More than you, that's sure, but it's not my main vocation, if that's what you suggest."
"Uh... I'm not suggesting anything, I'm... I'm just curious," he says, leaning his head on his hands, so that he can watch me from above. "You look very young, Ritchie."
"I'm not that young. I'm thirty," I answer, feeling that I'm drowning in the bed. Hell, I'm so tired. How can I serve Inci tonight? Ah, somebody shoot me in the head...
"Really? You're two years older than me, then."
"Heh... and I'm your first?"
"Yes." He laughs, embarrassed a little. "How old were you, when... when..."
"When I slept with a man for a first time?... Oh, I was much younger, but it doesn't count... maybe like eleven... twelve?..." I try to understand a strange look in his eyes, but I fail, and I'm too sleepy to think about it. "Anyway, it doesn't matter, mate... um, wait, what's your name?"
"Theodore," he says with a sigh. "Theodore Groves."
"Ah, well met," I mutter. My eyelids weigh twenty pounds each. "Um, listen, Theodore, please do me a favour... uh, excuse me, I've forgotten to ask about your rank..."
He's looking at me with worry.
"What's wrong with you?"
"Sleepy," I mumble, dissolving between the sheets. "Listen, Officer Theodore, pl-please d'me a favour an' wake me up in the afternoon, b'fore the sun sets... I mean, I'm not sleeping, you can talk t'me, it's just that I may be not answering, and please make sure that I go out in the afternoon..."
...And the next time when I see Groves - he informs me kindly that he's a lieutenant - is the afternoon. I don't know how on earth he could stay in the Red Stocking with me, but he did. He has a hard time with me, but the vision of Inci the Furious helps me to finally get up.
The reddish light of the sun licks the dirty walls of the room; there is fresh water in the basin and wine and bread on the table. Groves is sitting on the bed half-dressed, in his breeches and unbuttoned shirt.
"No bloody sackcloth?" I ask him, grinning.
He shakes his head and frowns.
"I don't want to talk about it."
"As you wish," I agree cheerfully over the basin, feeling his eyes on my bare back and shoulders. There is an awkward silence. I smile to myself and turn back to him to take my clothes from the floor. He stops me, taking my hand.
"I have to go soon," I say apologetically.
"No, I just wanted to... how did you get all this?"
"All what?"
"Scars."
"I wasn't born a prince," I say sharply. "And you're a military man. Don't tell me that you mind sleeping with me because I happen to have scars."
"Hell, that wasn't what I meant, Ritchie. It looks like... some of them... somebody tried to inflict a lot of pain on you."
I can hardly suppress a laugh at his hands touching me again and at the fascination in his voice.
"Well," I say matter-of-factly, "that somebody had to wait several years until he got his hands on me. No surprise he took his time, you know. But we'll talk about it tomorrow morning, if you please. I must be on my way now."
He takes his hands off me reluctantly, but he's doing his best to trust me. I notice with inner triumph the sparks of lust in his dark eyes. It's me who fanned this flame, and it will burn brighter and brighter, once it has won over the ashes.
There is no carriage at Inci's gate. She was apparently waiting for me, because when I arrive at the abandoned house across the street I don't even have to play the lute - the window on the villa's second floor opens, and Inci waves at me impatiently, her slender hands in delicate beige gloves, her elbows barely visible in foamy lace.
"We have to hurry," she whispers, leading me up the staircase. "There's too many things happening already. I feel like, uh, in the sledge that is sliding down the hill very, very fast."
"Any bad news?"
"Well," she says, "there's nothing definitely bad, but we have to be careful. We're going to have a guest soon. I was waiting for you."
"A guest? Ah, and I thought this fine dress was in my honour... But you surely don't mean Swann, do you?"
She shakes her head and opens the door to her headquarters. I stop in surprise on the threshold.
The whole room smells so strongly of various herbs and fruits that I feel dizzy. There is a basket of strangely shaped leaves and grasses, all dried, carefully bound and divided into small bunches. A wooden box under the table shows a battery of tiny bottles; a little mortar on the window-sill is full of half-ground black seeds. The pile of scores on the chair is stained with yellow, and there is a pair of old fabric gloves on it, but the gloves are green in turn. She learned how to make medicine, when she was living in Thessaloniki, but it seems that she's still studying...
"What are you doing?"
"We need some nice potion," she says, taking the gloves off and showing me yellow-stained fingers, "to put Gibbs and Sophie to sleep. But its power should vary, Sophie is much weaker than him. I must prepare it carefully, but I can use the kitchen only when they are asleep, so I mainly have to work here."
It's only now that I notice dark circles under these sweet eyes, and the paleness of these full lips that are not cherry today, but only pink. I feel my heart bleed.
"Inci, my poor little devil!..." I say, embracing her and holding her tiny hands in mine. "Forgive me, it's the last time you lose sleep because of me... and I know what it means to be deprived of sleep, believe me..."
She smiles, but then blinks suddenly and raises her head to look into my eyes.
"Why, I do believe you, Ritchie Brown," she says very sharply. "You sound too bloody convincing, and did you see any mirror today?"
I must have a very stupid face now.
"You look worse than me, and I look really bad. And you smell..." she starts sniffing me. "I smell today too, but me, it's only herbs... and you reek of... of..." and she opens my shirt before I manage to catch her hands.
"Uh, Inci, it's nothing..."
"Sure, sure, I can see it. Who did all this to you, sweetie? I don't believe it was a woman, and there's not a woman's scent on you."
"Well, you're right... 'twas an officer of the Royal Navy."
"Only one? Not the entire Navy?..."
I roll my eyes.
"Oh, I see, I'll stop being nasty. At least you're not wasting your time. A Navy man may come in handy when we need him."
"It could have ended less pleasantly," I say; then we sit down and I tell her the whole story. Inci listens to me, furrowing her brows and biting her nails.
"Our street begins to narrow," she concludes anxiously. "Are you sure he didn't follow you here?"
"I may be tired, but not that much," I reply.
"It's becoming difficult, Ritchie. I am being watched. I couldn't receive my old pudding here, because I don't want him to think that I'm playing some soror mystica or witch. It's only a matter of time before he becomes suspicious. I can talk stupid things out of his head, but I have the whole family against me, including his daughter... and she is quite crafty. God knows what she thinks of me now. She doesn't wish me ill, but I'm not so foolish to think that she'll welcome me as her stepmother. And you, sweetie, you can't whore your way out of every danger."
"That's very true," I say. "We have to act quickly. Lock Gibbs out of anybody's sight, wait a couple of days, then I'll go to talk with Sparrow."
"I don't like this business," Inci murmurs, "I don't like it at all. Too many strings to pull, and only two of us. All too easy to be strangled by one. I wish we had a friend."
"We have Groves now." I don't believe my own words.
"He's no more friend than Elizabeth. We can't trust him. He tried to kill you, and what if he finds out that you're deceiving him? He's only a tool, Ritchie."
She rubs her temples in a impatient gesture. That reminds me of something she said before.
"You told me you're awaiting a guest."
"Oh, hell, I forgot." Her eyes fill with even more anxiety. "God, I was waiting for you. He may be here any moment. I've sent Sophie away."
"Who is he? Norrington?"
"What are you thinking about, sweetie? Try again."
"I don't know people in Port Royal, Inci."
"You should know this one."
"Come on, we have no time."
"One William Turner. The Governor's son-in-law."
"I don't know him."
"Are you sure?..." She narrows her eyes. "But you knew the name Turner."
"Sure I know it. So what?"
"Gawd, Ritchie, wake up!... He's Bootstrap's son!"
"You're joking."
But she is looking at me tensely, with her lips tightly pressed together. Ah, so this is why that young wig standing in the front row of the church seemed so familiar to me!... I've heard about Sparrow's exploits and I knew that he enlisted the help of some poor blacksmith named Turner, but it didn't occur to me that said blacksmith could be related to Bootstrap in any way. How come a pirate's son has married the Governor's daughter?
"You saw my old pudding," Inci says, surprised by my silence. "He can't resist women, be it even his own daughter. She didn't want to hear of anyone else but Turner. And your captain helped them a lot, turning up here and taking Elizabeth with him, so that Turner could hasten to her rescue with that sea beggar, Sparrow. She came out of the whole adventure with no more than a scratch on her hand, but your captain has paid with his life, and you've to give equal thanks for it both to Sparrow and to Turner."
I sigh.
"Inci, love," I say, "if you want me to kill Turner, I will do it for you. I don't need any other reason. I just thought you wanted to spare his wife. Why the hell is he coming here? If Swann learns about it, he'll throw Turner out of his house."
"You won't believe that. He's as daft as Elizabeth, only he hasn't got so much wit. Wrote me a little letter, threw it over the fence when I was picking some herbs in the garden. He probably heard some unpleasant things from his father-in-law, maybe guessed that it was me who set him up, maybe not. He wants to parley with me."
"Are you going to receive him here? If you're being watched, it'll be a hell of a proof."
"I can always say he broke in without my consent, while my servant was away. Besides, I have my reasons to think that it was him who told Swann that I'm receiving young men. You haven't been in Port Royal long enough for anybody to notice. It may be just Turner making things up so that the old pudding finally breaks with me. Who knows."
"How can I help you?"
"Just hide behind the living room door. Not on the corridor side, on the other. There is a small parlour there." Her voice is crisp and cold. "If he comes here to try to threaten me - to blackmail me - to make me flee Port Royal, because he knows anything about you, he's not to be left alive, Ritchie."
"I suppose nobody knows he's going to visit you."
"Unless he's extremely stupid."
Suddenly I notice a flicker of resolved, concentrated fury in Inci's eyes. I've seen that flicker only a few times, and when it becomes a fire, it burns everything in its way. What did Bootstrap's son do to earn such hatred from my little devil? Did I know her less, I would be really worried... maybe I should ask her, after all. I take her hands carefully in mine.
"Did he hurt you, Inci?"
She blinks.
"Why? What do you mean?..."
"What did he do to you? You don't have to talk to him. I'm here at your orders. You want him dead, he's dead."
She sighs and stands up clumsily. Ah, it's so easy to forget that she's pregnant. The sad, tired look is back in her eyes, the ominous flicker gone.
"No, he hasn't hurt me yet, sweetie. I don't want him dead that much, it's just... you'll see. Let's go to the living-room, and you wait for me. I have to listen for him knocking at the gate. And to put my bloody gloves on."
I was awakened from my slumber behind the parlour door by their voices, or rather by William Turner's voice. I could imagine Inci's face even before she sat on the sofa, I could imagine her glassy eyes saying nothing, along with her mouth that probably got shut after the obligatory remark about the weather. He was talking about the weather constantly, though, unnerved by Inci's stubborn silence.
Now all the scene before me seems like a dream in which my past and present has met; I never thought I'd see Bill Turner again, and his son resembles him so much! The same thick curly hair, the same angry eyes and thin lips full of scorn. Even the way he moves - gracefully and proudly - is the same. And I remember his father so well, much though I wish to forget him... When did it all start?... We were fighting under Captain Barbossa's command for a long time, and one of us was always repaying another with the red-hot coin of hatred. It was Bill who won - or rather, he managed to get his revenge in a truly formidable way. I can still see that look in his eyes when we glanced at each other for the last time - he was scared himself of the fate he had prepared for me, he hoped it would be worse than death. And now - now death is his share, and his son is sitting under the merciless scrutiny of my little devil.
They are watching each other in silence so deadly that I can hear the birds in the garden. Young Turner seems to be very ill at ease, for Inci doesn't encourage him in any way. No polite word escapes her lips, there is not a shade of a smile on her face. I can guess that it's the first time that he's encountered Inci alone, not in the Governor's company, and he certainly didn't expect such hostility. His big brown eyes start to assume a pleading look.
"I am really sorry to intrude like this, Miss Dou," he stammers, desperate to break the silence.
"I am sure you can explain, Mr Turner," says Inci.
"I assure you that I took every possible measure not to be seen..."
"I do not doubt that."
Silence.
"I must have scared you by such means of communication, but... there was no other way to contact you."
"It was slightly... unusual, I must say."
Silence.
"My wife paid you an equally unexpected visit the other day, Miss Dou. I should apologize for it. She didn't mean anything... impolite. In fact, she spoke very highly of you."
Silence.
"Miss Dou, why I came here..."
For the first time since they sat down, Inci moves on her sofa. She leans forward slowly, very slowly, crooking her neck, as if she wanted to look at her guest closer before devouring him - now she reminds me of a Chinese dragon even more. Her narrowed eyes are full of mischief and malice.
"Why did you put off your precious wig, Mr Turner?" she hisses quietly.
I can almost smell his fear. He's lost for words, gaping at Inci, forgetting everything, as if he saw a demon. But oh, does she look scary!...
"Mr Turner?..."
He blinks in bewilderment.
"I'm sorry, Miss Dou... I didn't want to offend you. I thought it would be better if I came to see you in the attire of an ordinary man... so that nobody recognizes me too easily."
"No, Mr Turner. It's not the reason of your not wearing the wig. You came here in order to speak with me honestly, didn't you? You didn't want to hide your worries behind some etiquette; let it stay that way. There's no need to stand on ceremony when you have real problems. Tell me, please, what brings you here."
Now Inci's voice is so tender, so sweet and understanding, that young Turner seems as if he wanted to kiss her hands in joy. He doesn't ask himself where that previous enmity came from and where it's gone; he doesn't realize that it's only lying in ambush.
"Ah, you're so right, Miss Dou," he says, and his honest brown eyes scream 'ah, I KNEW you were a good girl!' "In fact, I have a very delicate matter that I wanted to discuss with you."
"Please, do tell me what it is, Mr Turner."
"It's about my... it's about Governor Swann." He sighs heavily. "I know he paid you a visit yesterday... we weren't expecting that he'd be back so soon. He was extremely upset... I've never seen him so anxious and restless. Then it turned out that he suspects me of... of..."
"Of what, Mr Turner?"
"If I have your permission to say... he's suspicious of me... he thinks I'm trying to seduce you... that I'm in love with you, persecuting you, and... yes, yes, I know it's insane..."
He's ready to laugh and he only waits for Inci, but her face is severe and cold.
"Uhm," she says thoughtfully, "this is a real problem. And you want to dispel his suspicions by coming here? That was very unwise of you, let me tell you that."
"I know it's a foolish thing to do, Miss Dou... but I thought it to be a thing of concern to us both."
Inci raises her brows.
"What makes you think this way?" she asks coolly.
"The Governor is suspicious of you as well..."
"I am not frightened in the least," she says, her voice cheerful. "I have nothing to hide, Mr Turner. Or do you think otherwise?..."
I watch young Turner's face carefully. If Inci's fears of him spreading the gossip about her possible suitors are justifiable, now is the moment to find it. But no. His eyes widen, he starts to blink. He's innocent.
"No, Miss Dou," he says plainly, "how could I?"
"Why did you say that the Governor is suspicious of me, then?"
"I didn't say it... I mean... I thought our situations might be similar."
"Well, it's not," says Inci sharply. "The Governor happens to trust me."
He hangs his head, ashamed.
"Moreover, he loves me," she continues mercilessly. "And he is the father of my child... although it may be difficult to understand for some people. If you want to compromise me in his eyes, throwing me letters over the fence and coming to my house, Mr Turner, let me assure you it's not the right way, because, as I said, he trusts me and he has every reason to."
"Miss Dou, please!... It wasn't my intention in the slightest!..."
"Mr Turner," says Inci, smiling sadly, but patiently, "do not underestimate me."
"I swear I didn't come here to damage your reputation," he whispers. "I came here to ask you a favour."
Now Inci seems to be taken aback, but she controls herself quickly.
"Oh," she says simply, pleasantly surprised.
"I know the Governor trusts you more than anyone else. I know it's your word that matters. Please, Miss Dou, speak that word for me. Please, tell the Governor that it was a mistake, a stupid gossip, anything, and he will believe you. And I will be eternally grateful to you. I cannot stand the Governor's distrust. He's trying to estrange me, and for me, it's hard to stay in society without his support."
Inci is silent.
"You know who I was, Miss Dou. I won't hide it from you... you probably know it, but I'll tell it to you anyway... my father, he was a pirate. I was always thinking that he was a merchant sailor, but his... his good friend, who was a pirate too, told me the truth. I never wanted to believe this, I still don't, maybe. When I was a boy, I dreamed of my father coming for me, taking me away from the smithy. I believed he had money and position, I believed he would help me to get Elizabeth back. You know, I was allowed to play with her, when we were children, and when we grew up, she was taken away from me, she went to England... I waited for her and for my father... she came back, but my father never did, only his name... and in the way I started to hate it. I want to forget him now, I want to lead a better, honourable life... I want to be worthy of Elizabeth, to be a real gentleman, so that she won't feel shame for me when we get back to England and meet her family... and I need the Governor's support for it."
Inci sighs impatiently, toying with her gloves. I smile to myself, remembering that there's no worse way to try to soften Inci's heart than telling her sentimental family tales.
"And why are you telling me that?" she asks quietly.
"I thought that you... you should understand me, Miss Dou," he answers even quieter.
"Yes, you put it quite clearly," says Inci. "We're both using Governor Swann to climb some stairs, is that what you mean?... And it happens that I have more influence than you at the moment, so you're seeking my support. Is that it, Mr Turner?"
"I will be really grateful to you if you speak in my favour."
"You will be really grateful?"
"I will, Miss Dou. If there's anything that I could do for you..."
"Actually, yes, there is," says Inci with a slight smile.
"Please tell me."
"All right, Mr Turner. I convince the Governor that the only woman in your life is his own daughter Elizabeth. You, in turn, convince him that he should marry the mother of his child, that is, me. Do we have an accord?"
He is rendered speechless; it was obviously the last thing he expected.
"Mr Turner?..."
"Miss Dou, I... I'm afraid I cannot do this."
For a very short moment I feel something like respect for this young man who doesn't even want to lie, although it would be the easiest and most logical thing to do; but it's only a moment, for I can see clearly that it's more out of contempt towards Inci, and out of horror at the thought of the courtesan being allowed into the honourable house, than out of honesty and principles. I saw exactly the same disdain and disgust in his father's eyes every time he talked to me or even looked at me - and it might have been ridiculous when directed at me, but it's unforgivable directed at Inci now.
"Of course you cannot," she says simply.
"Miss Dou, please... anything but this."
"And you dared to demand that I should understand you!..."
"Please think," he tries to be reasonable. "There's no way that the Governor can... can fulfil your wishes. I promise I will tell him everything possible to assure your future... and the future of your child, but..."
"Very well, Mr Turner, now you're telling me that the big Swann family has a bowl for one dog only? They can have you, but they can't have me? You're such a big dog that a little cat like me will have to go empty-bellied?... And what do YOU understand? You will always be an arriviste to them, no matter how much you try!..."
"I am a honest man, Miss Dou," he says meekly.
"Oh really? You smuggled a criminal out of the prison! You stole the Navy's ship and let it be destroyed! Your father would be proud of you!"
"I did it to save Elizabeth," he says, clenching his fists, restraining himself. "And my father was a pirate, but he didn't commit any hideous crime that he should be ashamed of."
"I wonder how you can be so sure of it," Inci retorts lightly.
"I wonder if there's anything that you know about my father that I don't," he whispers.
"There is, in fact. Your father betrayed his captain. Before that, he betrayed somebody else and left him to torture and slow, painful death. No wonder you don't know of it, because you've heard of it from his best buddy Sparrow, and he has his own book of fairy tales to tell the likes of you."
"Who... you knew my father? Who are you?"
Inci is silent again, watching him mockingly.
"Who are you, please, tell me... What is... what do you..."
But he isn't sure if he really wishes to gaze into the darkness again. His words die on his lips; it's painful to look at his pale face.
"Go back to your elegant, safe world, Mr Turner," she says, sighing. "You don't want to know the things that I know. Just please, keep in mind that everything has two sides, and usually neither one is entirely right... and as for Governor Swann, here's my advice: try not to seek the support of your foes, if you have nothing that helps you to turn them into your friends. Or to destroy them. Farewell, Mr Turner, best regards to your lovely wife."
He doesn't want to look at her any more, he can't stand being here. I open the parlour door, listening to him running down the staircase. Inci takes a deep breath.
"At least we know it's not him spreading the gossip," she says.
I embrace her and rub my nose against her cheek.
"You don't have to hate him so," I say. "He's quite plain, don't you think?"
"I don't hate him. And yes, he's plain, but he's false as well. Crooked. Tries to appeal to my little black heart, but doesn't like to admit that his own heart is sooty as hell. Wants to save his dignity, pshew!... And all this family talk!... I feel sick."
"You're tired, love. You talked so much."
"We're tired," says Inci quietly, "both of us."
"Yes."
I feel her eyes on me, eyes full of concern and care. This look - her good look - is only for me. I feel like an ungrateful bastard, and suddenly I shudder; it's difficult to breathe for a moment, as if a cold shadow of some evil foreboding has passed through the room.
"I'm doing it for you," she says quietly. "And Norrington. I don't care for anybody else. And Sophie and Elizabeth are not to be harmed."
"I know," I say, snuggling her to me. She rests her head on my shoulder, and we sit for a moment in silence.
"You smell of that Navy man," she murmurs.
"Uhm. Need to wash myself."
"Want to go back to the Red Stocking?"
I look at her, surprised.
"I want what you want, Inci."
"I don't know what I want," she says, sighing. "We should bottle up Gibbs as quickly as possible, but I need at least a day more for one mixture to simmer. You told Groves that you'll be back next morning?"
"That's right."
"We can sleep together till the morning, civilly, like innocent children, and you'll go back to the Red Stocking... but to tell the truth, it's nothing pleasant to sleep here. You'll have a mighty headache next day. I'd prefer to sleep in the living room, but there's a danger that Sophie may see us."
"I'd better simply go back now," I say. I feel hollow. "You have to take some sleep. If you don't need me, it's foolish to risk. The less we are together, the better. I'll come tomorrow afternoon."
"That's the best way," she says, hanging her head.
"Hey, don't be so sad, little devil. I'm not leaving yet. We can dine together."
She brightens up immediately.
"You're hungry?"
"As always."
"Um, Ritchie, do you know what?... If we quit the bed, maybe we can drink instead?"
"Oh, Inci, you read my mind!..."
"All right, now that you're still sober, hear my words. You have a free day tomorrow. Use it at your will, but remember, you must come here after midnight."
"Not in the afternoon?"
"No... I need more time, if we're going to drink now, sweetie. I'm not made of iron. When you come, we're going to take care of Gibbs. Understood?"
"Yes, m'lady."
"You're allowed to do whatever you want with Groves, but don't come here sleepy, or I'll beat you with Sophie's poker."
tbc