The Trouble with Women
Chapter 4
Fight, Flight or Faint
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Everything was moving. Swaying and rocking slowly like a child's cradle underneath a mother's steady foot. Slow and steady, unyielding and lulling. The world seemed to arc upwards and fall gently back down, sometimes sharply, sometimes gently. Time was captured in this repetitive motion.
It was the constant movement that first brought Vivien back to the world of the living. An awareness hidden in the depths of her mind had been awoken by the up and down roll surrounding her. While the rest of her brain slept, some part of her was conscious to the swaying of everything. The world was rolling, moving, rocking in some strange eternal rhythm.
At any other time, she would have found it maddening. At this moment, however, it made a tiny, small piece of her mind very conscious to the fact that it was terribly nauseating.
It was that general feeling of uncomfortable illness which pulled the rest of Vivien's mind from the deep, dark depths of pleasant unconsciousness.
First, she breathed a deep sigh, the sigh that half-awake people tend to do when waking - and it was her own sight that woke her more. She was instantly aware of the fact that she wasn't merely on a floor. She was lying down on something deceptively soft…almost fluffy and very comforting. There, in that space between being awake and asleep, Vivien felt an odd sort of warmth on her face, on her nose and cheeks. It caressed her face lightly in a way that should have soothing.
Instead, the warmth coupled with her nausea to make her nightgown steadily more uncomfortable. Vivien became aware that her skin had broken out in a light sweat and her nightclothes were clinging more uncomfortably to her. Warmth was the last thing she wanted; it only heightened the steadily peaking sickness fluttering around her head and insides. She wanted to groan aloud, make her discomfort known.
And that aggravating rolling! That infuriatingly gentle swaying that brought the soft surface she lay upon to a slant and before rolling to opposite way. Constant, maddening. There was a creaking now, too, as her ears seemed to open. With every tilt of the world there was a slow and low creak that tittered off before starting again.
It was aggravating - too much to take. Sleep couldn't be held onto any longer now that her mind had begun to think.
La chaleur. The warmth…
That gentle sway.
The feeling of soft fabric against her fingers.
The collar of her nightgown choking her, the skin underneath hot and sweaty…
…the unmistakable and undeniable smell of rum and salt air wafting up her nose…
Rhum? Air salé?
In but a moment, Vivien's eyes had snapped open and she shot up without a second thought, heart pounding madly. She swooned slightly as a heavy wave of vertigo swam through the confines of her head, but managed to stay upright long enough to survey her surroundings.
Of course, she was a in a room. On a bed. A large, elegant bed with fine fabrics and gauzy curtains tied up at each post. She could see the entire room. It was empty of any other person, but held definite signs of life. From the large desk in the far corner, its surface as well as the floor around it strewn with parchments and quill pens, to the small stuffed to the edges with books of every size and shape and the several chests set up in the corner, one ajar slightly, the others locked tight.
And Vivien had no doubts, by the amount of empty bottles strewn across the floor, that this room belonged to someone other than herself.
That sudden realization only brought a feeling of edginess onto the young woman, and her green eyes darted about the room quickly, settling on the windows allowing the warm sunlight to fall through into the cabin. She could feel her heart beating madly in the small confines of her chest, that familiar feeling that came just before a fight or flight – or faint – situation.
But there was no one save herself and the dust motes dancing lightly on the sun's rays occupying the space of the room. This realization relaxed Vivien enough for her to swing her legs from the side of the bed and contemplate her reasons for being in here. In her nightclothes…when it was clearly day outside.
And why was the room moving?
As far as Vivien knew, no normal rooms on any solid ground did any dramatic swaying like the sensation she was experiencing.
And then there was that strong smell of salt air and seaweed – the kind one only experienced if they sauntered down to the docks in the harbour and took a great time sniffing the air.
It hit Vivien like a ton of bricks. Or more like an elephant, really. She was quite sure an elephant hurt much more than a ton of bricks, which is why she could imagine one suddenly sitting on her to the feeling that hit her in the gut. Which brought her back to her sudden and stunning realization…
She was on a ship! She had been ruthlessly kidnapped, taken from the safe confines of her house and forced upon a ship – all without her knowing!
Quite suddenly, Vivien felt her nausea build.
Pirates, that's who they were! She knew, although her father had been one himself, that didn't mean they were all good. She had heard stories of their murdering, plundering ways. And they had no pity on women! They raped and ravaged them, passing them around like some sort of exotic dish before tossing them over the side to the sharks!
Vivien had the sudden uncontrollable urge to vomit her guts out, but as that would be quite unpleasant, she tried to ignore it. Thus, her paranoia kicked in and a ghastly shiver ran up her spine. Dieu! What was she going to do? Why was she here? What was going to happen to her?
Her eyes once again scanned the room, watching for men with dirty rags as clothes and large cutlasses to come springing out of the floors or jump out from behind the chests in the corner of the room. And once again, the only sound besides the groaning of the ship's wooden boards was her heart, thumping madly underneath her ribs, pumping blood tenfold around her body.
My frying pan would be nice, Vivien thought frantically to herself. She became panicky. She pushed off the bed quickly, suddenly feeling very dirty while sitting upon the sheets on which a pirate had no doubt slept. She needed something – a weapon. Her wide eyes scanned the room quickly.
A quill? Too sharp, risking too much blood, Vivien shuddered at the thought.
An empty bottle? Too much stray glass…
… A book?
Good enough.
So, padding lightly over to the two shelves, she quickly selected a book. It was old, it's over so worn she couldn't even read the title, and it was heavy. She decided it would do nicely in a fight, flight or faint situation. Now all she had to do was wait, although she had no clue as to what she was actually waiting for…
The sudden sound of muffled conversation seeped into the room, and Vivien's eyes locked on the solid wooden door on the far side of the room. Her feet froze in place as she listened to the murmurs. They were steadily growing louder, steadily closer.
Je suis fichu! Mort! she thought to herself in terror. They're going to come in here and kill me! I'm going to die an unmarried hag, alone, afraid! Deranged! her mind was chanting to her in a crazed frenzy, not even allowing simple logic to penetrate her brain. Such as, what was the point of kidnapping her only to kill her when she awoke? These pirates must be sick men, very sick men indeed!
The talking grew louder until she could hear small snippets of conversation. It was in English. She quickly thanked Amaury for teaching her English all those years ago and tightened her grip on the book, holding onto it like a lifeline.
"Are…sure…deal…her alone Cap'n?"
"…You implying…Captain Jack Sparrow…cope with a woman, Gibbs?"
"Nay, sir. I just be wary…aye. Rumours…to be taken lightly."
"Ah…but rumours are also not to be taken seriously, ay? Don't…your frightened of the girl!"
The conversation halted abruptly, and Vivien stood stiff like a doe caught in sight of a hunter. The silence went on for a moment before she caught the sound of hoarse whispers just barely audible to her ears.
"…Heard the stories…. aren't something… meddle…" one man stated in a low voice.
"Who said she was a witch? Have you been…Carter…the bloke's nearly as bad…Joshamee!"
"Witches…terrible bad luck…they are!"
"Witches are terrible bad—" the other man imitated in a mocking voice. "…Get a bloody…of yourself, man! I…the lass is…awake yet! …Took…tumble there…"
"…Don't make her less dangerous…"
"Ye know very well I don't…in witches, Mister Gibbs…Nothing…stories…mother's wantin' their children in bed!"
"An' ye…you didn't believe…the un-dead, either, Jack?"
"Captain Jack…and curses and witches…completely different."
"How's that?"
"Witches are burnt, curses are broken. Now…forget your bloody superstitions—just for a while…understand…simply trust me, ay? Can you do that…ole Jack?"
There was a fair amount of grumbling before Vivien heard and agreement. "Aye, Cap'n."
"Splendid! Now, scurry…onto the deck…sure Anamaria's still on the right course then, savvy?"
"Aye, sir."
"Aye! Now go!"
Vivien heard the sound of boots slowly retreating, and her shoulders relaxed somewhat. But her eyes stayed glued to the door, her heart in her throat - literally. She could feel it thumping away just above her collar, fitting like a plug. She felt as though her windpipe had been clogged and could no longer breathe. She was quite sure, if presented with anything remotely shocking, she would faint dead away.
The sudden sound of a door being unlocked seemed to echo like a bell toll, and Vivien felt all coherent thought leave her body right then and there. Desperately, her eyes darted around the room for a place to hide – anywhere, somewhere!
The lock on the door clicked open, and the knob turned slowly. She could have sworn she felt her heart stop.
Jack swiftly deposited the key back into his pocket and eased open then door. He somewhat regretted giving the woman his quarters, as he had no idea what she could have done to his possessions while he had been gone. Just the thought of the bird getting into his rum supply was enough to make him cringe. Early that morning he had sent a watch down to check on the woman, and sure enough she had been out cold. Probably from the fall, he thought idly, and swung the door open with its hinges creaking loudly. Stupid woman knocked herself unconscious!
Truth be told, he had never seen anyone, man or woman, react so…oddly to his presence. Of course, women had been known to swoon at the mere sight of him, fainting from pleasure no doubt, but the young Miss Brideau had seemed terribly afraid of him. And Jack knew that powerful witches wouldn't be afraid of mere pirates, such was the reason he told Gibbs any rumours were just that. Rumours.
Stepping silently into the room – although he wasn't quite sure what the point was since the bloody door had already given him away – Jack's eyes settled on the bed. His bed. His empty bed.
That was strange. He could have sworn the lass had been on the bed last time he saw her.
Brow furrowing slightly, Jack swiftly kicked the door shut behind him, ensuring any escape would be thwarted by the sound of rusty hinges, and squinted at the room. There was no noise save for his breathing and the gentle clinking of the beads adorning his hair as they settled. Swaying slightly, he eyed the corners of his quarters, trying to make out the hidden shape of a woman somewhere in the shadows.
But the room seemed quite empty, to him at least…
Vivien watched intently as the pirate stared down the room, obviously looking for her. At the last moment, she had slipped into the shadows by the doorway, concealing herself and the large book. She had been quite good at that back at the manor, having spent most her time being wary, waiting and watching. For what, she had never been quite sure, but now all her practice had come in handy.
The pirate gave a short snort in disbelief, and she watched with wide eyes as she turned on his heel, beaded and braided hair flying madly about him. Unfortunately, the sudden movement led his eyes to her hiding place, and as he swayed slightly with his hair adornments clinking softly, he came face to face with Vivien. A terribly frightened and impulsive Vivien. Which wasn't a very good combination, mind you. He found that out moments later, as in a rash urge of fear and shock, she raised the book before her as a weapon.
One couldn't even begin to describe the look upon the pirate's face, as there were simply too many things running along his features. Confusion, for sure, by the set of the eyebrows – surprise, maybe, for his lips were parted as though he wished to say something but suddenly forgot – and even dread, as he realized what was to come next.
Quite conveniently, Vivien didn't see any of these because she had screwed her eyes shut as she swung the large book towards the pirate's face with as much force as she could muster. She felt the impact – it jarred her. The force and weight of the book's momentum sent her staggering to the side. And there was silence. She stayed frozen, hardly daring to right herself and open her eyes lest she somehow find a sword at her throat.
But then, moments later, there was a loud thump on the floor. Then silence.
The room tilted gently and the timbers of the ship creaking, groaning now with a sort of indignation.
Gingerly, Vivien cracked an eye open, and then the other. Her gaze slowly travelled downwards where the pirate lay several feet away, face first down on the hardwood floor. Evidently, the blow had sent him in a full circle, knocked him unconscious and sent him to the ground.
She might have congratulated herself if she hadn't been so bloody frightened.
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French Translations for the French illiterate:
La chaleur – the warmth
Rhum – rum
Air sale – salt air, salty air…take your pick
Je suis fichu! – 'I'm a goner,' 'I'm dead,' that sort of thing.
Mort – dead
--Cayenne Pepper Powder