I forgot to mention – Check. Out. My. Reviews! I still can't believe people like my story that much! It's just beyond my comprehension. Many thanks to all my readers and reviewers. Wow. That's all I can say. W. O. W.
Last update: Captain Jack's famous last words, "Storm? What storm."
"Captain, there's some fearfully strong winds heading fast our way," Jimbilly Jackson called down from the Crow's Nest. Sure enough, no sooner had the words been called down did a slight breeze blow up suddenly; eerily, making the sails swell and bulge. The sea began to be whipped up into small waves that slapped hard against the hull of the Black Pearl.
"The Drifting Maiden." Jack whispered as the winds suddenly blew up, whistling around the masts and rigging. It sounded almost like a woman screaming in pain and sorrow. The sails bloated and billowed, catching air like a drowning man does his last breath, and the ship retched forward. The crew on deck swarmed over to the rigging to loosen the jib and redirect the ship before the rudder was ruined. Luckily Alex had left the knot shoddily tied, and the pirates were quickly able to steer the ship with the winds.
Jack stood in the middle of the deck, listening as the wind slowly died down. He felt, as always, a sense of loss. Perhaps if his crew hadn't been so quick to act, he would have known for sure… Jack disappeared into his quarters.
"What are the co-ordinates?" Will asked the Helmsman, Salt Peter.
"Dunno." He replied simply. "All I knows is after this gale which always comes as soon as we're out of English waters, I let the ship steer itself. The tides or the winds always bring us straight in Turtle Bay."
"Tortuga." Will surmised.
"Aye." The Helmsman agreed. Will turned to contemplate the sea. He didn't forget the last time the island was mentioned, and in what context. A threat by a man who had every intention to follow it through. And as large as the sea was, Will had no doubt that he, Alex and the giant would cross paths again.
Alex emerged from the scullery heaving the pewter cauldron of stew onto the mess table. The table spanned the entire length of the room, and was scored with marks and profanities etched by knives and daggers, scorches from hot metal and scratched tallies of gold and silver owed in games of cards. The sailors winced in their seats; the 'slop bowl' was synonymous with dishwater and rancid pieces of meat and skin, boiled together into a watery soup. She dished out the stew, which at least smelt better than other times, and they dejectedly grabbed their weevil-filled biscuits and dunked them into the liquid, in an attempt to soften the hard-as-rock wheat-cakes. But once they tasted the stew, the bread was immediately forgotten. Spoons – in some cases – were picked up and the table echoed with slurping noises.
"What is this?" Mumbled a sailor through a hurried mouthful, the stew dribbling out of the corners of his chapped lips.
"Stew." Alex replied simply.
"Did we have a Stew on board?" Will joked.
"That's the on the menu for next week, so mind you behave yourself, William Turner." Alex answered, grinning.
"What's in this?" The sailor tried again. "And how come we've never used it before?"
"Herbs and spices are in it." Alex stated simply, "And your cook wasn't previously acquainted with them. But he is now, thankfully, so I'll never have to set foot in that steaming hell-hole of a kitchen." She complained.
There were collective moans of disappointment around the table.
"But I thought women-folk were meant to stay in the kitchen," asked one close-minded sailor.
Will winced at what was surely coming to the ignorant man. Alex merely shrugged.
"And men were meant to keep both feet on the ground." She replied simply. "But look where you are now. In the deepest waters of the ocean with no land in sight."
"But wouldn't you be better off in the kitchen?" The sailor, Robert Thoman, simply called 'Bloated Bert' persisted.
Alex slammed the ladle down onto the marked table. "I'll bloody well fight you if that's what I have to do to prove myself around here." She said heatedly.
"There'll be no fighting aboard the Black Pearl." Rang out Jack's voice from the shadows, where he'd obviously hidden while all the others were eating dinner. He leaned back on his rickety chair. "Any fighting will be done with Davy Jones as your witness." He said ominously.
"That Davy is one busy boy." Alex muttered. Jack ignored her and continued.
"If the lady wishes to prove herself, she'll perform her duties as the rest of you do; no more, no less. If she fails, she cooks." Alex's mouth dropped open in indignation, and she opened her mouth to protest. "But," Jack went on, silencing her with one swift glance her way, "if she pulls her weight, I'll hear no more of this talk, or I'll have you for mutiny, Robert Thoman. So if there are no more pressing matters calling for my immediate concern, I suggest all hands on deck. There'll be a storm tonight, which may blow us almost all the way to Tortuga, if we're ill-fortuned." The sailors murmured in surprise; they hadn't felt the swells while they had been below deck.
"Ill-fortuned?" Whispered one of the new crew. Will pushed his chipped bowl away from him and explained.
"Tortuga is leagues away – three days on average – any storm that blows us there in only a day has a prerequisite of powerful winds, and huge waves. That means lots of us pitching around, lots of things going 'snap,' lots of us fixing said things. And occasionally us going 'snap' too. And that's a bit harder to fix." Will remarked darkly.
As soon as everyone traipsed up to the fresh air, they noticed the slight wind that was filling the sails. The more seasoned sailors could feel the threat of the storm in the air, and the old men could feel the ache in their bones. Old Tom Hankins got sent to his hammock because his hips were playing up so badly. "Mark my words," he mumbled, "I haven't felt an ache this bad since the storm in Sardinia, back when I was just a young sea pup. Bodes badly for the person, it does. Don't envy you lads at all, I don't." He mumbled to himself as he limped away. Several of the younger pirates mimicked his limp behind his back, but hurriedly desisted when Jack threw his sextant at them and Billy Johns threw his cane at the ones Jack missed.
Next update: The Storm. Will Jack and his crew ever make it to Tortuga? (Just out of interest – does it bother anyone that it's taking them a while to get to Tortuga? Is anyone absolutely desperate to see them make immediate anchorage in Tortuga? Just let me know if you are, and I'll see if I can speed the chapters up some.)
I keep on forgetting to reply to my loyal reviewers; sincerest apologies for my abhorrent neglect (I love that word). The past two updates have been a struggle to get posted before my internet shuts off at 9:30. But I'm back on track today.
Hippolytos – I'm glad that you've finished your exams. I hope they went well :)
DCoD – So you've picked up on the fact that a wild storm is a precursor for the appearance of the Drifting Maiden. Very observant; I suppose the outcome of the next chapter has lost its element of surprise somewhat. Ah, well…