A/N: For those who don't read my hobbit fics, I just want to let you know that my upload schedule has changed! This story shall update the final Wednesday every month from now on. Also, this is the longest chapter so far of this fic! And it's still not even half the length of one of the chapters from my hobbit fics xD


Three hours later found me walking along an abandoned trail towards Salty Cove. It was still raining, though not nearly as hard as it had been immediately after the barfight. Every inch of ground the rain could reach had been turned into mud. A week of uninterrupted sunshine would be needed to dry everything out again.

The path was easy enough to follow, though it was overgrown by tall grass in places. What made it perilous was that there wasn't much light under the thick jungle canopy and, with the sun beginning to set, it was growing darker and darker by the minute. More than once, I nearly fell over thanks to stepping into an unseen pothole or slipping in the mud (though, that may have also partially been because I still had a bad case of sea legs).

'Good thing I wear a lot of brown,' I thought, feeling some mud splash up onto my lower thigh.

I finally stepped out of the jungle only to be greeted by the sight of a rather picturesque cove. Our ship, I saw, was moored beside a tiny dock and…well, it wasn't a ship at all, if I'm being honest. It was a large, rather nice-looking fore-and-aft rigged fishing boat that was currently rocking back and forth in the somewhat-turbulent waters. As I drew nearer, I could see its name painted along the stern in garish white letters: Barnacle.

"Barnacle, huh?" I chuckled, my brow rising. "A strange name for a vessel, but here's to hoping you're as steadfast as a barnacle."

Before going aboard, I went to the shack to see if anyone or anything was inside it. Like the boat, however, it was abandoned. It, though, seemed to be in fairly bad condition. The roof leaked horribly, leaving the dirt floor a mud pit, and the only bits of furniture—a single table and chair—were broken and waterlogged.

Luckily, the boat was in far better condition. In fact, it was in damn near perfect condition. The top deck was in neat order and in the sleeping quarters below, it was nice and dry—a great relief, given how absolutely soaked I was by that point. To my surprise, there were even hammocks stretched across some of the supports already. I grinned; being the first one there meant I got to have first pick of the hammocks.

"Wonder what happened here," I muttered aloud. "Who just leaves a perfectly good boat like this?" Setting my seabag down, I opened it and pulled out my tinderbox so I could light a lantern. The candle inside looked like it had barely been touched by flame, making me even more curios.

Despite the oddness of it all, I wasn't about to question it.

With a now-lit lantern in hand, I got a better look around at the sleeping quarters. I found that it doubled as a galley, with a small, cast iron stove sitting atop layer of bricks and, near the stove, a small bit of counter and a few cupboards. Curious, I went over to check to see if there was any fuel in it—there was. Most of it had already been burnt, but I soon saw a box of firewood sitting a few feet away.

"Time to get dry." Gathering up a few logs, I knelt in front of the stove and built a fire in the stove. I was careful to not let any sparks or embers fly out while I knelt there, coaxing the flames to grow stronger. When I was convinced the fire wouldn't go out, I shut the door and adjusted the vent holes.

Then, shrugging off my vest, I wrung it out in front of the stove, hoping the water would help further prevent any fires from happening. My shirt I would hold off on removing for now; even though I had the feeling Jack wouldn't be making it to the boat that night, the last thing I wanted was for him to catch me in just my bindings and trousers. Laying my vest out on the floor beside the stove, I took off my boots and put them on the other side of the stove. When they were dry, I would clean off the mud that they were caked in.

"Too bad I don't have any food," I muttered. Shaking my head, I grabbed the lantern and went to go explore further back.

A boat this size wouldn't have much more than a crew's quarters and a hold, so I wasn't at all surprised to find just that: The barren crew's quarters and a nearly-empty hold. There were a few empty barrels back there, along with one barrel filled to the brim with rope and a locked chest. It was easy enough to pop the lock, though the effort wasn't really worth it. Inside the chest were some rapiers and cutlasses; none of them were in good condition. In fact, most of them were dented and rusted in places.

"Probably the only things on this ship in bad condition." I let the chest fall shut again before returning to the crew's quarters. Seeing the state of the swords reminded me that I had to clean my own blade.

As such, I sat down on the floor, my back resting against one of the support pillars, and started to empty my seabag in search of my blade oil and the piece of scrap cloth I usually used to apply said oil. During my search, I pulled out my spare clothes (which I happily changed into) as well as my journal and writing kit. The flask of oil I found near to the bottom of the bag while the cloth was at the very bottom.

I was more than pleased to find that, despite the downpours I had carried it through, everything inside my seabag was perfectly dry.

It was strange, being on a boat all by myself. While there were still the typical boat noises—creaking wood, waves splashing, and rain pattering down onto the deck—it was otherwise silent. Most people would have found this eerie, I'm sure, as it would leave them feeling as if they were on some sort of ghost ship. I, on the other hand, found it quite peaceful.

I found it so peaceful, in fact, that the combination of the ship's rocking and the rhythmic sloshing of the waves on the hull was enough to lull me into a trance-like state. My eyes drifted shut, though my hands continued to move about. There was a slight tug at what felt like the very center of my being and the corners of my lips twitched upwards into a smile; this was something I felt whenever I hadn't been swimming for some days.

'It's too late to swim,' I told myself. 'Not only would it be impossible to see where I was going thanks to the darkness, but sharks hunt more at night…'

The tug grew stronger within me and I thought I could hear a faint whispering among the waves. 'Come home…come home to us…' it almost sounded like they were saying.

'Tomorrow,' I thought. 'Tomorrow, no matter the weather, I'll go for a swim.'

There was a clap of thunder outside and I could hear the rain beginning to fall harder on the deck. "Sounds like Torrents got pissed off again," I muttered. "Better not have been Jack's doing." My eyes flicking open, I glanced over at the stairs; I had yet to close the hatch, so the sounds were even louder.

Sheathing my sword, I set it aside and made my way over to the stairs. Just as I reached the first step, the wind picked up and, with that came rough, choppy waters. The boat started to be tossed about as if it were a toy which made any sort of movement difficult to do.

I scurried up the stairs and, grabbing the handle of the hatch, pulled it shut. Almost instantly, the sound of the wind and rain was muted. The thunder, however, still seemed to be just as loud.

"I wonder what's got him upset now?" Making my way back towards my belongings, I ended up swearing and toppling over as the boat rocked especially hard towards the portside. A groan of pain left my mouth as I laid there, my back aching. After a moment, I sat up.

"You need to calm down," I scolded, as if the ocean could hear me. "There's no need to be getting this violent." I managed to get back to my feet and made my way back over to my belongings.

Another clap of thunder made me sigh as I climbed into the hammock. 'Whatever magic he has thanks to that tattoo is fairly strong.' I let my eyes fall shut once more. 'This storm he's made is a few miles wide at the very least. And given that it gets more intense when he's upset…'

As I laid there, continuing to ponder the origin and extent of Captain Torrents' magic, I began to drift off to sleep. My stomach tried to protest this, but I merely ignored it and rolled over onto my side. Thanks to being in the hammock, I had been unaware that, though it was still fiercely storming outside, the ship had become almost entirely still.


'Closer…Closer…just a little closer…'

As the fish drew nearer to me, I continued to remain as still as possible. It was a lovely, bright pink snapper with a yellow stripe down its side. From the looks of it, weighed about six or seven pounds. Just when it was about to get within my reach, though, it turned around and started to swim away.

'Oh no you don't,' I thought, glaring at it. Having not eaten since very early the previous day, I was not going to let this meal get away. I willed the fish to come back towards me and, thanks to an abrupt change in the current, it practically swam right into my hands.

"Got you!" Grabbing its tail, I shoved it down into my spare shirt, which I had tied shut in order to temporarily turn it into a bag. The snapper struggled to get out of its confines, but it was thoroughly trapped. "At least you have a lobster to keep you company for now," I mumbled. Though most people found lobster to be hardly fit for consumption, I rather enjoyed its flavor—not that I could get it too often.

Jack hadn't shown up during the night, leaving me quite torn about whether I should head back into town to look for him or if I should stay here at the boat. After thinking on it for nearly an hour, I decided to put some trust in him and went for a swim in hopes of catching something for breakfast.

I started to swim back towards the Barnacle, which was a good three hundred yards away. Thankfully, the weather had improved overnight, leaving the ocean much calmer than it had been the previous day, though it was still raining. Diving beneath the waves, I scanned the reef and ocean floor for any decently sized oysters or clams while also keeping an eye out for any sharks.

When I came nearer to the shore, my brows furrowed; there was someone walking towards the shack and they were carrying a large sack. I couldn't quite make out who it was, but I could tell it wasn't Jack—they weren't scrawny enough. Cautiously, I lowered myself a bit further into the water and started to swim more quietly.

The person disappeared into the shack and didn't emerge again until I was almost to shore. I partially hid myself behind the boat, my eyes narrowing when I watched the door open up. A quiet sigh of relief left my mouth when I saw that it was Arabella; she wore a hooded cloak, but it evidently wasn't of very good quality; her front was soaked and she had strands of wet hair sticking to her cheeks and forehead.

Resuming my swim, I made little effort to conceal myself while she walked along the dock. But either she was too focused on getting aboard the boat or I somehow blended in too well with the water, because she was wholly unaware of my presence. My head broke the surface of the water and, reaching up, I pulled myself onto the dock. "Fancy seeing you here, lass."

She let out a small scream (which I stupidly did not anticipate on happening) and spun around, her eyes wide in fright. "Wh-wh-where did ye come from!?" she squeaked.

Gesturing out at the water, I gave her an apologetic smile. "I thought you would have seen me swimming over. Sorry about that." Getting to my feet, I held my shirt-bag up and twisted it around a few times to get the majority of the water out of it; the snapper and the lobster didn't like that at all and both started to thrash about.

"Is…Is Jack here as well?" she then asked, regaining some composure. She pushed some wet hair out of her face before straightening her posture.

"Not yet, no. But he'll show up, I'm sure." I then nodded at the ship. "Let's get you below deck, eh? I've got a fire going in the stove already, so you'll be able to get warm, if not dry off a bit." I started to walk towards the boat, my shirt-bag dripping water alongside me.

"If Jack isn't here with ye, then where is he?" Her brow rose and there was skepticism in her voice. "Don't tell me Torrents got him."

I shrugged. "To be honest, I don't really know. We split up yesterday: He went looking for his bag—his real bag—while I came out here." I walked across the gangplank and hopped down onto the deck.

Arabella started to make her way across as well, holding her arms out slightly to help keep her balance. "So what yer saying is that he may very well be dead and ye just don't know it?" She took my hand as I offered it to her and stepped down onto the deck.

"While I hope that's not the case, there is a small chance it could be."

"Ye don't seem awfully worried about him." Her brow rose as she looked up at me.

"That's because I'm very good at hiding my emotions," I told her, walking over to the hatch that led down to the sleeping quarters. I opened it and motioned her to go down first. "Careful, the stairs are a bit steep."

She nodded, lifting her skirts while stepping over the lip and down onto the stairs. "I'm to believe yer actually a worried mess on the inside then?" she questioned, her tone betraying her uncertainty.

"A worried and hungry mess, yes." I started to follow her. "But, I trust him. If he says he'll be here, then he'll be here." Given that I still hardly knew Jack, it was a fairly stupid thing of me to say because, for all I know, he wasn't as trustworthy as he said he was. What choice did I have, though? "I take it you're here because you were delivering supplies?"

"Yes. I brought a sack full o' dried meats an' hardtack."

"I hope the bag they were in is more waterproof than your cloak." I carried my shirt-bag over to the stove, where I already had a pot of salt water ready to be put on the heat.

A small pout came to her lips when she removed her cloak. "I'll have ye know that the bag is very waterproof," she told me, moving to hang her cloak on the damper. She then shook her head and held her hands out towards the body of the stove. "Tomorrow, I'll bring some more food an' the day after that, I'll bring some water."

"I can handle the water if you'd like." Picking up the pot, I set it atop the stove. "There are a few barrels in the hold that are in fairly good condition I could use to store it."

She nodded slowly. "That'd be greatly appreciated, given how heavy water can be." I felt her watching me while I walked over to my belongings and crouched down. "Where are ye from?" she then asked.

"Holyhead." Rummaging through my belongings again, I found my writing kit and opened it. A small 'aha' left my mouth and I grabbed my folding penknife; I needed it for cutting and gutting the snapper and lobster. There was no way I was doing such a menial task with my sword, after all.

"Where's that at?"

"It's a port city in Wales." I closed up my kit and tucked it away again before standing upright. Turning to face her, I gave her a smile. "What about you?"

"Born an' raised here in Tortuga," she replied, sounding almost embarrassed by this information. "I've been helpin' my folks out with the Bride ever since I could walk an' talk…but, it's most definitely time for a bit o' a change. I don't want to be a barmaid for the rest o' my life."

Nodding in understanding, I grabbed my shirt-bag and started to untie it. "That's understandable. Especially after last night—though, that was mostly Jack's fault."

Her brow rose as she chuckled. "It was completely Jack's fault."

Raising a hand, I wiggled my index finger at her. "Not true. I was the distraction." A cheeky grin came to my lips, making her laugh again.

"Well, some distraction ye were. He got caught." She shook her head. "Why did ye let him do a stupid thing like that, by the way? I would think that ye, bein' the older one, would have stopped him an' came up with a different plan."

"I wanted to, but in all honesty, he didn't really give me time to come up with one." Finally getting the damp cloth untied, I pulled out the snapper. It flopped weakly, making me feel a little bit bad for keeping it out of the water like this. "Give me just a tick lass; I need to go gut this."

She nodded, staying put while I went to the top deck to clean the fish. When I came back down with a headless, finless, gutless, and mostly scaleless snapper, she was kneeling beside the stove, her skirts fanned out in front of her so they could dry.

"What made ye want to become a sailor?" she asked, her head tilted while continuing to watch me.

"The sea's my blood," I replied, setting the fish on the counter. Going over to the stove, I lifted the lid on the pot to find the water just barely beginning to simmer. "That, and I knew it would anger my stepfather's spirit, should it still be wandering the earth."

Her brows furrowed in confusion. "As far as I know, havin' spirits mad at ye isn't a very good thing. I take it the two o' ye didn't get along well?"

"To say the least." Opening a cupboard, I started to root around for a frying pan and, on the off chance that there was some, a bit of oil or lard. "I'm the third of five children. My two eldest and my youngest half-sisters were his daughters while my second youngest sister and I were the results of our mum meeting a much nicer bloke."

"Oh…so he hated ye because ye weren't his child?"

"That and, once I realized he was never going to treat me with the same kindness he showed my sisters—including my second-youngest sister—I refused to behave for him."

"But why did he treat yer sister alright and not ye?"

"Because I look so much like my blood father. I'm the one whose existence constantly reminded him of my mum's infidelity. My sister, on the other hand, only inherited his eye color. She could be the spitting image of our mother otherwise." Finding a frying pan, I set it on the counter before continuing to sort through the dishes. "The git would often remind me of just how much he disliked me. Constantly telling me I would amount to nothing, that I would never make a good marriage match, that I would die in alone and in poverty…and that was when he was in a good mood."

"…I don't want t' think about what he would do t' ye when he was in a bad mood, then," she said with a frown.

"Let's just say there's a reason my nose is a bit crooked and it's not because I was born with it that way." My eyes suddenly lit up as I found a dark, ceramic pot hiding towards the back of the cupboard. There was cheesecloth tied around its top as a sort of lid and, as I pulled it towards me, I could smell nothing gross. Upon untying the twine and removing the cloth, I found a creamy-white brick inside: Lard.

A silence fell between us for a few minutes. I scooped some lard into the pan before taking it over to the stove to heat up. Glancing over at her, I watched her adjust her skirts slightly when they began to steam.

"You're going to want to look into getting some trousers before we leave," I gently cautioned.

Her brows furrowed. "Why? My dress should work well enough, given there's no real rigging to climb or anything…"

"True as that may be, you'll still want some trousers. Or at least some dark-colored bloomers or hose to wear under your dress." I tucked some hair behind my ear, my eyes following the chunk of lard, its melting bottom making it slide all over the bottom of the pan. "In fact, you'll want to make sure the trousers are dark colored, too."

"Why's that, then?"

"Just in case your cycle takes you by surprise."

Her cheeks suddenly turned bright red and she stammered a few incoherent words. "Yer a bloke! Ye shouldn't talk about such womanly things!" she finally managed to spit out.

My brow rose in a mixture of concern and amusement; I always forgot how little men were supposed to really know about women's bodies. "I'm the only male among a family of sisters, remember?" With the lard now all melted, I held my hand over the pan. Despite the melted fat, it wasn't hot enough for cooking just yet. "I know a lot of things about women that most men wouldn't."

Her cheeks remained flushed and she wore a bit of a pout. Crossing her arms, she then said, "Ah. Yes. Well…then I suppose that isn't too bad." A small, defeated sigh then left her mouth. "To be honest, I wholly forgot that my cycle was somethin' I was going to have to take into account," she admitted. "So…thank ye for reminding me."

Nodding in acknowledgement, I carefully lifted the lid of the pot of water. I was met by a cloud of steam, but still no boiling. Replacing the lid, I went and grabbed a piece of firewood. "I figure it's something you'll want to think about, given that you'll be sailing with two blokes." Tossing the wood into the stove, I looked at her with a reassuring smile. "If you'd like, I could use some of the extra hammocks and section off part of the room so you can have a bit of privacy."

"That would be nice," she admitted. "Ye don't have to, though—I can do it while I'm here." She sighed and ran her hand through her hair. "I'm surprised yer not tellin' me that I should be dressin' like a lad t' ward off bad luck or somethin'."

At that, I snorted. "Why should I be telling you to do something like that? Women aren't bad luck on ships. I sailed over here on a ship captained by a woman as a matter of fact. And given that she's middle aged, I'd say she's had a fair bit of good luck over the years."

Yes, I'm well aware of how ironic my words were, given that I was keeping my gender a secret. In my defense, I feel more like a man than a woman most of the time, anyway. And the times I did feel like a woman…well, I don't exactly carry a corset and petticoats in my seabag, so trousers it was until I was back in Holyhead.

"Is she openly a woman, though?" Arabella asked, a bit of a skeptical look on her face.

"Aye. I'm sure there are other female captains who are open about their gender, but I don't know of any off the top of my head." Putting my hand over the frying pan, I found it to be hot enough for cooking now.

"Then why do some hide themselves and others don't?"

I shrugged. "To be honest, I don't know." Going over to the counter, I plucked up the snapper. "There are a few reasons I can come up with, but it all depends on the lass, really." My nose scrunched up slightly and I leaned back while I set the snapper in the pan. It started to sizzle quite loudly and I could feel tiny droplets of hot lard splashing up onto my hand. "Should have dried that off a wee bit better…" I muttered to myself.

"What would those reasons be?"

"Running away and not wanting to be recognized, not wanting to get assaulted, they feel more like a lad than they feel like a lass…I'm sure there are others, though." I checked the pot of water again. It was finally boiling, so, leaving the lid off, I went to fetch the lobster; it had crawled out of my shirt and was a few feet away. I almost didn't see it at first due to its dark color and the low lighting.

"Hm. I suppose those are good reasons." Her tone was a bit off—almost as if she either didn't believe me or hadn't really listened to me.

I dropped the lobster into the boiling water before quickly putting the lid back on the pot. "You sound like you're uncertain about something."

Her cheeks turned a bit pink in embarrassment; evidently, she didn't think I would notice her change in tone since I was busy. "It's just…well, now that I know all o' this, I'm not sure if I should disguise myself as a lad or not."

"You don't have to," I told her, going over to the counter to grab a flipper. "Jack and I already know you're a lass and if ever we came across anyone who tried to take advantage of that fact, well…there's a reason I keep my sword sharp." Returning to the stove, I poked at the fish a bit. Admittedly, I wasn't very experienced with cooking—everything I knew came from having to help the cook on my uncle's ship and, truthfully, that wasn't very much.

I had, however, become quite the expert on peeling potatoes and gutting fish.

Going silent for a few minutes, Arabella sat there and continued to watch me cook. She let out a quiet sigh and looked around the sleeping quarters. "I know how t' fight—er, rather, I know how t' barroom brawl. I'm not very good with a sword, though. Don't even own one, t' be honest."

"There's a crate in the hold with some old swords in it," I told her, slipping the flipper under the fish. My brows furrowed; the fish was not cooperating and remaining stuck to the pan. "They're not the best quality, but they're good enough that I could teach you if you'd like."

Her eyes lit up a bit at this. "Really? That'd be greatly appreciated! Also, usually if the fish is stickin' that bad despite the pan bein' oiled, it means ye need t' let it cook a bit longer."

I nodded in understanding and set the flipper aside. "Thanks. As you can see, I'm not the best when it comes to cooking."

"Neither am I, but I always hear my da' scolding our cook whenever he messes up a wee bit." She suddenly stood up, pushing her still-damp skirts back into place. "An' speakin' o' my da', I need to get back t' the Bride. It'll be dinner time soon an' after last night, I don't want t' be leaving him all by his lonesome."

"Alright. Be safe and don't let yourself get sick from being out in this rain so much."

She chuckled, her brow rising. "Says the one who was swimmin' when I arrived."

I gave her a handsome grin. "Like I said, the ocean's my blood."