Usual disclaimers – pah!
Thank you for your reviews and comments – you know you love cliffhangers really… ;) Mind you, that's not what I say to Starlight 8/Boshomengro when she leaves it on a cliffie! With thanks to Kat for her suggestions.
Sorry if you get two alerts for this - I realised I had to change something after I had posted it up!
…
Chapter Eight
Ethan Penhallick frowned as the Serpent approached Tortuga harbour. He knew something was wrong but could not quite put his finger on what. He glanced at Jargo Teague who was also frowning.
"I dunno, Sir," his right hand man shrugged, not needing to hear the question. "There ain't no ships about fer a start, an' haven't been since yesterday."
"The chain hasn't been drawn up," Penhallick mused, knowing that this soon past dawn, the harbour chain should still be in place.
"Mister Penhallick!" the watchman called from the topmast yard. "Th'mansion's gone!"
"What?" Penhallick exploded. "What the fuck do you mean, gone?"
"It's been burned to th'ground, Sir."
…
"Bloody hell," Jack Sparrow swore as a keen eared crewman relayed to him the exchange on the ship ahead of the Black Pearl. "Burned to th'ground?"
"Aye, Cap'n, that's what he said."
"What's happened, d'you reckon?" Joshamee Gibbs enquired.
"I don't know," Jack replied absently, his mind racing with thoughts and ideas. "My informant was keen for Penhallick ter be involved in this. I wonder…"
"If he was fed the information by whoever attacked, in order that Ethan be out of town when they did?"
"Precisely that, Mister Gibbs," Jack nodded. "But best we keep that idea to ourselves, eh? Don't want Penhallick ter be havin' th'wrong idea."
"No," the portly quartermaster agreed heartily. "That is the last thing we need. I hope young Celia is all right," he frowned.
"Celia? Bloody hell!" Jack swore. He had almost forgotten about the young woman in the excitement of the past week or so. Jack idly wondered why he found the former novice so interesting, but turned his attention away from her when he saw Ethan Penhallick hailing him from the Serpent.
"Jack! It looks as though the town's been attacked," the pirate king called.
"So I gather," Jack replied, making for the bow in order for easier conversation. "Who do you reckon could have done it?"
"Take your pick," Penhallick snorted. "Could have been Rackham, Smythe, LaFitte – anyone."
"What are you goin' ter do?"
"See what's what before I decide. The thing is, Jack, there might be trouble. Would you and your crew be willing to come ashore and help me quell any trouble?"
Jack stroked his beard braids thoughtfully, eyeing up his friend and ally. "It'll cost you," he called, eventually. "I'm not riskin' my men for your trouble, Ethan."
"I'll see you right," Penhallick sighed, shaking his head and hoping that he would have enough money left to make good his debt. If not… Penhallick shuddered and pushed the thought from his mind.
…
"Whoever it was, certainly did a good job," John Orchard observed as a group of Black Pearl men stalked the streets, weapons raised, on the look-out for trouble. But so far, none had been forthcoming.
"Aye, didn't they just," Joshamee Gibbs agreed. "I dread to think how many ships they destroyed in the harbour." He and the crew could not believe the amount of flotsam in the port, and the two ships had had to carefully inch their way in for fear of the wrecks of other ships tearing through their hulls.
"Jack! Jack Sparrow!" The men whirled round at the sound of a woman's voice and gasped in surprise when Aggie flew along the street towards them. "Where is he?"
"Th'Cap'n's comin' up behind," Jacob Sumner informed her. "Why d'ya want him?" He looked askance as the whore fled past him and down the hill to the docks.
"Blimey! She needs it bad," Matthias Swain quipped, nudging the man next to him, who grinned in return.
Jack looked up, arching an eyebrow as he saw Aggie running hell for leather towards him, catching her when she realised she was going too fast to halt and spun her around to face him. "Where's th'fire?" he drawled, an amused gleam in his eyes.
"They've got her!" Aggie gasped, struggling to regain her breath. "Ya've got ter help her!"
"Who, and who?" Jack grinned, still tickled by the whore's theatrics.
"Celia," she panted. "Davy Stockton…"
"Bugger!" Jack swore, the smile wiped from his face. "When?"
"Th'day yer sailed. Ya've got ter go an' find her," Aggie demanded.
"If Stockton's got her, then it's far too late ter save her," Jack sighed. "I don't even know where he is, anyway."
"Yer know he sails from Port-au-Prince – even I know he sails from Port-au-Prince!" she shouted, shoving Jack hard in the chest. "Yer don't care, do ya? Yer wanted ter be th'first ter fuck her an' now that ya won't get that honour, yer not interested! I thought you were different, Sparrow – I thought yer had integrity. Well, I was wrong!"
"Whoa!" Jack protested, holding up his hands in surrender. "Stockton's had her fer over a week. I doubt very much that she's still alive," he said gently, placing his hands on the woman's shoulders. "I'm sorry, Aggie, I really am. But there's nothin' I can do fer Celia."
"I wouldn't be too sure about that," came Penhallick's voice from behind them both. "It seems, according to my maid, Margaret, that Syn betrayed me. She threw in her lot with Stockton an' showed him where I stored some of my wealth," he sighed. "Bloody bitch! But at least she didn't know where I keep most of it! Anyway, it also seems that she told Stockton that Celia's a virgin. He'll sell her to the higest possible bidder, even if it means hanging on to her for a while."
"How does this Margaret know all this?" Jack wondered pensively. "Why wasn't she taken?"
"She went back for Celia – Syn had made the girl stay back to help her pack her bloody dresses! Can you believe the woman? Margaret managed to hide in a secret passageway and she overheard it all."
"See!" Aggie pushed. "There's a chance…"
"Doesn't mean I have ter take it," Jack defended.
"Then yer th'biggest bastard of th'lot!" Aggie spat, pushing past both men and storming back up the hill. "An' I'll make sure all th'girls know what a fuckin' bastard yer are!" she yelled over her shoulder. "Yer'll never get another shag in this town again, Sparrow!"
"Cap'n!" Joshamee Gibbs panted as he trotted towards them, avoiding going anywhere near the screaming whore. "Celia's been taken! I've just been talking to Sarah, Mister Penhalligan's cook."
"Oh God, not you as well…" Jack groaned, rolling his eyes and throwing his hands in the air.
"It seems you're outnumbered, Jack," Ethan remarked. "Thanks for your help. It looks as though there's no-one left to cause any trouble."
"My recompense?" Jack enquired, regarding his companion expectantly.
"It may be a few days or even weeks before I can pay you," Penhallick shrugged apologetically.
"Fair enough," Jack nodded evenly, even though both men knew that he would not be forgettin the debt. "Mister Gibbs, round up th'men an' we'll be on our way."
"But they haven't had any leave," the quartermaster protested. "There'll be trouble - and what about Celia…?"
"I doubt there are many girls left in town, there's nowhere ter get supplies nor th'sails mended – we move on. There's nothin' I can do for th'girl," Jack snapped, his patience at an end.
"Aye, Cap'n," Gibbs muttered before turning on his heel and heading back towards the centre of the wrecked town.
…
Jack sat in his cabin, nursing a mug of rum but not drinking it. By the time his quartermaster had managed to round up the crew, it was too dark to risk sailing out of Tortuga harbour with the wrecks of the other ships lying on the sea-bed. His crew had glared sullenly at him and Gibbs had not spoken a word to him once they returned to the ship, and Jack knew it was more than just the cancelled leave that irked the portly man. He guessed that Gibbs had met up with Aggie and that the whore had told his quartermaster about the exchange between them. Jack sighed deeply, bringing the mug to his lips before slamming it down on the oak table without drinking from it. "Damn!" he swore out loud, trying not to think about Celia and what she might be going through. "It's folly ter go after her," he muttered. "Far too late…"
"Wake up, bitch!"
Celia's eyes snapped open at the sound of the harsh voice and she squinted in the bright sunlight as the sailcloth that covered the cage she was in on the deck of the Sea's Cutlass, was thrown back.
"D'ya want somethin' ter eat?" the voice taunted her. "Drink?"
"Drink, please," Celia gasped, her throat sore through lack of liquid.
"Give us a suck of yer teat, an' yer can have a drink," the voice laughed, and a hand shot through the bars of the cage and grasped her breast.
"Get off," she shrieked, pushing the hand away. "Leave me alone." For a week now, Celia had been shut naked, in a cage on the deck, her only protection being the sail, which was thrown over the cage to stop her gettin tanned - apparently, she was worth far more to her captor if she was pale skinned. And the crew had had their fun with her. Grabbing whatever part of her body they could reach, and unlacing their breeches and doing disgusting things through the bars which left her sick with revulsion and fear.
"Give her th'drink!" Stockton bellowed as he emerged from his cabin. "She's no use ter me if she dies, yer fuckin' idiot!"
Celia grabbed the beaker of watery ale before the crewman could do anything and gulped it down, not stopping until every last drop was finished. "C-can I have s-some more, p-please?" she asked meekly, relief flooding over her as Stockton nodded his head. She looked apprehensively as the captain approached the cage and shook violently as he opened it.
"Out!" he ordered, jerking his thumb.
"P-please," she begged, terrified that he was going to force her to do things to him again. Dirty, un-natural things, that made her die inside.
"Oh, don't you worry, my sweet," he mocked. "Yer goin' to be treated like a queen today." He pushed her roughly towards his cabin, looking daggers at a couple of his men who went to touch Celia.
"Not so high an' mighty now, are we?" Syndony remarked scornfully, looking Celia up and down as the former noivce entered the cabin. "Thought you were better than anyone else, didn't yer? Well, you ain't no more."
"I will always be better than you," Celia whispered defiantly.
"You little…!" Syndony flew across the cabin, hand raised as if to strike the younger woman, but Stockton was too quick and grabbed her wrist, making the madame yelp with pain.
"You will not mark her," he growled menecingly, pushing her violently away. "You," he barked at Celia. "Go an' get dressed – in there." He indicated a side cabin, disinterestedly before changing his mind and going to stand in the doorway as Celia picked up a dress of the finest dark blue silk.
"Y-you want me to wear this?" she asked incredulously. "Why?"
"Because today, my little nun, you are goin' ter be sold to th'highest bidder. An' then…" Stockton walked towards her, a lecherous smile on his lips. "Then yer'll wish you were still on board with me," he chuckled, running the back of his hand down her cheek and continuing down until it grazed her nipple.
Celia gulped, trying hard not to cry in front of the despicable man and she turned away so Stockton could not see her tears of shame and terror, and pulled the now hated dress on.
"Let me do yer laces," he purred in her ear as he pulled the cords at the back of the dress tightly, accentuating her voluptuous figure.
"You will rot in hell," she hissed through clenched teeth. "I just hope it's soon."
"Ooh, our timid little nun has bite," he laughed. "Maybe I should keep ya fer myself – break ya in, eh?"
"I would sooner die," Celia snarled, pulling away from him.
"There will be far worse than me out there, today," Stockton shrugged. "After I've made what I can from yer, ya can do what yer like." He roved his eyes appreciately over her once more before turning and striding from the cabin.
"Stupid cow," Syndony goaded. "All yer preaching and piety, an' look where it's got you."
"I'm being forced to be like you, what's your excuse?" Celia sniped, a half smile on her face as the other woman looked about to explode, but the smile faded as half a dozen crewmen came into the cabin, three heading for her and three for Syndony.
"What the fuck do you think you're doing, you fools!" Syndony screeched, struggling as they went to drag her from the cabin. "She's the one being sold!"
"As are you," came Stockton's voice from the main deck. "Yer good, Syn, but not good enough fer me ter want ter keep ya."
"You bastard!" she cried, trying in vain to escape the clutches of the men. "I hate you!"
"Not what ya said last night," the pirate crowed, winking at his crewmen who joined in the raucous laughter.
Celia followed quietly behind, knowing it was useless to put up a struggle. What was going to happen would happen, whether she fought like a cat or not. She idly wondered whether to accidently cut herself - make her appearance less attractive, but realised desolately that it wasn't her appearance that made her saleable. The sight of other women who had been captured and held in the hull, where they were obviously used and abused by the men, brought fresh tears to her eyes and she prayed for them, prayed that they would somehow find some escape from the wretched situation which they had all found themselves in. But Celia was starting to think that prayers did not work any more, or that God had turned away from her.
"Wait!" Stockton ordered as she was about to climb on to the bosun's chair. Celia flinched as he approached her and pulled something from his coat pocket, placing it around her neck. "There," he smirked as her rosary nestled in her clevage. "Sets it off nicely."
Celia did not know whether to laugh or cry at the return of her beads, so decided to draw some comfort from the familiar feeling of them, working them in her fingers as the chair was lowered to a boat, waiting to take her to her fate.
…
"Come on," Davy Stockton urged the crowd gathered at L'Ancre Bleu. "She's a bone fide virgin, fer gawds sake! She's worth more than thirty guineas, surely?"
"Thirty one," a voice called at the back of the room amidst murmurings, some of agreement, some of dissent.
"Thirty one guineas t'be th'first ter plough her? Yer insult me, Captain Clarke." Stockton was feeling desperate. He had spread word around for the past week about the sale, and although it was well attended, the men seemed reluctant to spend their money – he had not made half as much as he had hoped and now there was just his star lot, Celia, left and he badly wanted to recoup his losses through her.
"Forty doubloon," came another voice from the side of the makeshift stage on which Stockton and Celia, plus a couple of crewmen, were standing.
"That's not much more than I offered," the first voice protested.
"No, but it is more," Stockton declared. "Any other bids?"
"One hundred guineas," another voice drawled and the room gasped with shock.
"One hundred?" Stockton spluttered.
"That is what I offered, is it not?"
"Any more offers?" Stockton enquired hopefully. "Sold, to…?"
…
Celia was aware in the deep corners of her mind, to where she had retreated, that she was being dragged from the stage and guessed that she had been sold. She surpressed a shudder and tried to draw back again but the trance had been broken and she became more aware of the commotion going on around her as she was bustled towards someone.
"I'll be havin' th'dress back," Stockton informed her buyer as they reached him.
"I'll send it over before I sail."
"Here's yer virgin, then," the pirate chuckled, pushing Celia towards the man, frowning as she promptly fainted at his feet.
…
Oops – another cliffie… (looks innocent – and fails miserably…)
Forty dubloon is slightly less than 30 guineas
