The Scroll Of Kesmehet
Chapter Two: The Woman Who Wasn't
Early next morning saw a slightly hung over Captain Jack Sparrow swaying on the docks of Venezuela's Port Margarita, carefully supervising the loading of provisions onto his Pearl.
"Wait a minute," he muttered peering over the numbers meticulously scribbled upon the scrap paper a second time before he directed his gaze back to one of the many trunks currently being heaved onto the Black Pearl. "Put that down!" he barked at Crimp and Locke, who immediately complied and let one extremely weighty chest fall down with a resonating thud. Swaying over, he stood observing the item carefully.
Finally, he gave voice to his opinion. "Who ordered you to load these unnecessary burdens?"
The two men just looked at each other, before Locke spoke hesitantly, "Mr Turner, sir."
"On some other bloke's behalf," Crimp quickly volunteered.
"I see," he duly noted blithely. "Open it up."
"But, sir—"
"That's a direct order!"
"But it's locked, sir," Crimp pointed out unhelpfully. Jack resisted the impulsive urge to roll his eyes heavenward.
"Yes, Mr Crimp, I know fully well that the trunk is locked tighter than a chastity belt," he snapped, impatient to be rid of the curse of steady land. "Break it open."
After yet another uneasy glance shared between the two crewmembers, Locke reluctantly reached for his pistol, pulling back the hammer and taking aim. With one last questioning look at his captain, who ignored him completely, the redhead swallowed as though about to commit a crime which even piracy didn't call for, and pulled back the trigger.
Jack couldn't help the involuntary jump at the sound of the pistol's discharging, leaping back some three feet or so. Adjusting the lapels of his coat, he walked with as much dignity as he could hope to muster, and reached out to push back the smoking lid. If the box did belong to the lad Bill was referring to only two nights ago, then Jack was certain he would find either an arsenal of weaponry, stolen suits of brocaded silk and velvet, or preferably, all of the spoils the cabin boy had acquired during his time on the Silver Chimera.
What he discovered was, quite naturally, women's underwear.
A variety of corsets and stays, made of everything from silk to leather to a faintly transparent lacy muslin which he was certain wasn't very effective in reducing the waistline but must look very nice, lay neatly piled up before him in a manner that just screamed "idiotic, paranoid fool".
His widened eyes immediately narrowed as he frowned. Bootstrap did speak of a lad, right…? A former cabin boy, as opposed to a former cabin girl, if such a thing could go unmolested long enough to actually come into existence?
"Leave the stays where they are," he ordered, turning swiftly back in the opposite direction. He staggered as the spin promptly invited vertigo to his already pounding head, before he was able to ignore his hangover long enough to waltz towards a dark figure sitting on a crate as he continued mesmerising discussion with Gibbs. "Bootstrap—a word, if you'd be so obliging?"
Surprise coloured Bill's handsome features before he nodded, jerking his head towards the other crate Gibbs was occupying. "What's the matter now?" he snapped irritably, clearly displeased as to his captain's inopportune timing of bearing bad news.
"Nothing! Nothing the matter as such. Just a general wondering, really. An innocent enquiry, a common curiosity, as you were."
"Curiosity killed the cat, Sparrow," Bootstrap warned, already sensing that the topic about to be discussed was not one he wished to endeavour.
Jack cocked his head, deeply offended. "I'll have you know that curiosity is the very foundation of education," he began, his hands slowly beginning to dance to the rhythm of his speech. "The basis of all of our learning thrives on curiosity; so if you tell me that the cat was killed whilst undertaking this most greatly admired quest for knowledge, I can only say that the cat died for a grand cause far more important than the life of the cat himself."
A pause. "But the cat still dies."
"The cat died nobly," Jack insisted.
"Ah, but it is still no longer amongst the living," Bill argued. "It upped and left and died and left all of its little baby kittens to fend for themselves and run wild amongst the streets."
Jack once again tilted his head. "Who said the cat was married?" he asked. "I'm talking about a bachelor cat here, with no familial commitments whatsoever; at least not ones that he is aware of…"
"What if I were to tell you that curiosity castrated the cat?" Bootstrap challenged. Mr Gibbs visibly winced, pulling at his faded greying necktie.
"I say only that the cat had a most fierce and loyal crew more than willing to fight for the memory of their leader."
"Ah, but the cat is still alive. He's just not very productive, is all," Bill reminded.
"What makes you think the cat wouldn't hesitate at taking his own life after suffering from the humiliation of castration?" Jack diligently maintained.
"Well, what if I was to tell you that curiosity caused the cat a much greater humiliation than that of castration by shouting out to the whole wide world that the cat was impersonating a woman of the night quite successfully and actually attempted to seduce the cause of said curiosity?"
The captain frowned in befuddlement. "Why would a cat attempt to seduce a trunk's worth of female undergarments?"
"Why wouldn't a cat attempt to seduce a trunk's worth of female undergarments?" a distinctly feminine and accented voice asked, affronted.
Turning his head, Jack was greeted by the sight of a woman wearing a pouting expression and more rouge than he thought was physically possible. Her face had clearly been powdered an unnatural white, and her full lips were all but painted on in red, as were her stained cheeks. Her eyes were large, a deep sapphire-amethyst in colour, long-lashed and quite beautiful—the only attractive thing in an otherwise repulsively painted face.
"Buon giorno, signor," the heavily made-up Italian woman greeted, stooping into a low curtsey that looked quite ridiculous, considering that she wore no skirts and was effectively lifting mid-air. "I am the lovely lady with the mythical scroll in her current possession."
"Well, it's very… nice to meet you, milady," Jack replied. He turned back to Bill. "So you meant a woman instead, eh Bootstrap?"
There was that supercilious smirk once again. How Jack hated that expression when he himself did not wear it. "Captain Jack Sparrow," he said formally, laughter begin to dance in his eyes, "I would like to introduce you—"
"Signorina Arabellinasotema di Calatanissetta of Venice," the woman quickly intervened. "And yes, this is a man's wig," she capriciously added, touching the thick black curls that greatly resembled Governor Swann of Port Royal's own artificial locks.
A silence in which Bootstrap Bill emitted several extremely loud coughs.
Swallowing, Jack reluctantly attempted to repeat the wench's inexpressibly unpronounceable name. "Arabellino—"
"Arabellinasotema of Venice, if you don't mind, signor," the woman huffed, hands on her hips in a manner of extreme displeasure.
Yet another awkward moment, broken suddenly by Mr Gibbs. "Really, captain, sir," he said, turning to the man he was addressing in disbelief, "why do ye insist on bringing us more bad luck? We've just finished the chicken dance ritual to keep Anamaria onboard without 'arm approaching…"
"Well, you're very lucky he's not a woman then," Bill suddenly intervened.
Jack could feel his stomach coil as his face contorted with horror at actually feeling attracted to the Italian. What was that? Yes, when Jack thought that the he was a she, he did think that s/he was painted just a tad excessively, but he got the impression that she—he, even—would have been much easier on the eyes had he—she—gone without the superfluous flour. And well, his eyes were very feminine and pretty… Anyone could have been fooled into believing he was a woman who was extremely insecure about her looks and so caked her face in baking powder…
"Jack, Mr Gibbs; I'll like to introduce you to Flavio—Flavio—For Christ's sake, boy what's your last name?"
"Calatanissetta," the woman who was not half-heartedly admitted, her face immediately falling. "But I would greatly prefer Signorina Arabellinasotema di Calatanissetta of Venice…" At the captain and quartermaster's dubious looks of horror, the womanly man finally relented.
"Very well… Arabellinasotema will suffice," he said, raising his hand expectantly to Jack's lips. Ever the proper upstanding gentleman that he was, Captain Sparrow immediately grasped the man's hand in a fleeting handshake. The woman who was not and who apparently was named Arabellinasotema di Calatanissetta of Venice immediately scowled, looking more than deeply offended, before he simply shrugged off the nonexistent insult and smiled brightly.
"Say it with me," the she-male said perkily, suddenly (and disturbingly) linking arms with Jack. "Arabellinasotema di Calatanissetta." He immediately settled his head on Jack's shoulder, looking quite at home on the captain's arm.
If only such feelings were automatically mutual.
Looking more than a little traumatized, Jack's eyes immediately sought out the two pirates that he was, just mere moments before, immersed in a deep and intellectual discussion concerning the consequences of feline castration and the seduction of female underwear (not as unusual as one might think). To his perpetual horror, his quartermaster had scuttled away to observe the mending of an unbroken sailcloth, whilst his supposed friend merely choked on silent guffaws.
"Um… Flavio, is it?"
The wigged man immediately pulled away, looking up at the captain in resentment. "Signorina Arabellinasotema di—"
"Won't 'Bob' be adequate?"
The sailor's jaw dropped. He stared up at the captain in disbelief, whist Jack merely met his eyes squarely. Both pirates were thinking the same identical thought:
Surely he can't be more eccentric than I?
"Bob? Bob? Why, you—you—Ah, what is the word?—You rapscallion!" And with that, Flavio had delivered a stinging slap to rival his authentically female contemporaries. "I will not stand for such an insult!" And with that came a long string of foreign curses which Jack was certain he didn't need interpreted, followed by a melodramatic twirl, a flick of the counterfeit curls, and a general storming off in the direction of the majestic Black Pearl.
"I know what you're thinking," Bootstrap spoke up, coming to stand beside his stunned old friend. "'I really shouldn't have threatened his lingerie', aye?"
"So it is a he?" Jack repeated, rubbing his throbbing cheek.
Bootstrap nodded. "Flavio Carla-something of Sicily," he mocked, "and as attracted to women as Barbossa is beautiful."
The captain couldn't help the instinctive brushing off of his shoulder and arm from where Flavio had affectionately clung to. "Is that a warning or a threat, Bootstrap?"
"It's just a fact," Bill answered with ease. "Although there are times when the lad comes to his senses and chases after a strumpet instead."
"Oh really?" Jack pounced a tad too eagerly, the beginning of a strategy already beginning to form in his mind. "And when might those be?"
"Whenever he feels like it," Bill deadpanned, and Jack's expression plummeted faster than a hangman's noose. "Whenever a particularly beautiful or unusual woman catches his eye. I'll keep him away from any of your intended conquests if I were you. The lad can be surprisingly charming."
At long last, the opportunity to belittle Bootstrap concerning Jack's unquestionably irresistible charms had arrived. However, poor Jack was still too disturbed by the upfront and brazen manner of which Flavio had thrown himself at Jack, however playfully, to seize it.
"…But don't worry, he's mostly attracted to men."
"And that's supposed to be comforting, is it?" Jack turned to face the taller man the better to gauge his expression as he asked his next question. "Why couldn't you have just taken the map—"
"It might not be a map," Bill reminded. "It's simply a bejewelled scroll of gold."
"Why couldn't you have simply just taken the scroll, and leave Flavio behind in Africa?"
"Because this is much more entertaining!" Turner raised his eyebrows at Jack's continually questioning look. "Well, if you're willing to spend one night in his bed in exchange for the scroll, you are more than welcome to." A sly grin crossed the sailor's features. "Come to think of it, he seems to prefer you more than he did me…"
"I'll prefer to keep that option in mind…"
A feminine shriek cut their discussion short. Bootstrap immediately slammed a hand to his forehead in a gesture of pained exasperation. "Oh, please God don't tell me he's run out of rouge again…"
AN: I humbly apologise for the slow update AND the painfully complex name of Flavio's alias. I'll be referring to him as a 'he' AND 'she', for future references… What's your opinion of him, folks? Be honest to the point of cruelty here…
zareen: Well… not really. The whole pearls growing on trees thing was there because it was funny, and because it showed Bill's mental instability. It's not actually important to the actual storyline, but I think I might just make it crop up now and again…
VagrantCandy: Hey, that's OK; it'll be too much to expect a person to follow EVERY update… Just review them all, and that will be fine. As to the whole drag queen thing, your question should already have been answered…
Jess: He's here, he's wigged, he's gay, and I've already told you how he got the box and scroll in the first place, but you find out later on anyway… As to why I don't mention it straight away… Two words: Plot. Intrigue. So shh, don't tell anyone…