The Trouble with Women

Chapter 12

Catching Up

--

Life aboard the Black Pearl became infinitely worse before turning even the slightest bit for the better. Vivien found herself in the midst of unwanted stares and nervous, hateful whispers speaking of witchcraft and sorcery. Murmuring of bad luck and women—strange women with strange powers.

Her first day aboard the ship had been nothing but endless work and a constant air filled with the crew whispering and staring. Jack Sparrow hadn't been much of a help, either. Gibbs she hadn't spoken to since the morning before and Anamaria, well Anamaria made it quite clear she was there to work, not to socialize. And the mulatto woman certainly didn't want Vivien's company. The men were more her friends and she was much more akin to the men than a lonely Frenchwoman taken from the luxuries of her home and forced to work upon a pirate ship.

Vivien found herself trapped in a world of strange things and strange people, nothing all that familiar and no one or semblance of anything to comfort her. Not that she had had many friends in the first place, but the maids had always been so kind to her, and in turn she was kind to them. And Édouard—when he wasn't scolding her—was the loveliest soul she had ever encountered. Second only to Aumary, of course, whom she missed more than ever even though he had been gone for years.

Now she felt alone. Utterly and completely alone, placed in a roomful—a ship full of strangers that wanted nothing more than to use and harm her. They were greedy and had made it quite clear she wasn't going anywhere before they had her treasure—her father's fortune. And it was something she didn't have had no clue as to where it was.

Vivien was stuck in nothing short of a nightmare. She wished for nothing more than for everything to return to normal.

Her second day of work aboard the Black Pearl started much the same way as the first. Anamaria woke her an hour after dawn, a time she realized was when most aboard the pirate ship woke. This morning, however, Jack was at the helm early, directing his ship with the fair lady wind at his back. Anamaria told her he was the first to rise, and was there before anyone was on deck, already readying his ship for another day. And it was his ship. He was in the rare situation when the ship was his, and no one else's, and the crew were aboard as either companions or guests.

When Vivien stumbled on deck, her back stiff and limbs aching from her first day scrubbing and her skin bruised and burnt, Anamaria immediately sent her to work, and she continued to mop the decks until noon, at which the crew, including Jack, rushed down to the galley with the arrival of lunch. She had stayed alone up on deck, and when she had asked Anamaria of this oddity before, she had promptly stated most the crew thought her a witch and therefore wouldn't take kindly to her at their table.

Vivien had nodded rather dejectedly to this, wondering if it was true but then remembering how frightened of her Mr. Gibbs had been and how many of the crew had muttered things of witches behind her back. It seemed as though the rumours held true even on a pirate ship from the Caribbean, proving to her once and for all that the lord above liked nothing better than spiting her and causing her infinite misfortune. This last thought had later, ironically, led to a near hour of praying at her bedside, Vivien sobbing her heart out and asking for forgiveness. For normalcy.

She had never been a very religious woman.

At present time Vivien was along on deck, just about done swabbing the whole thing—a great improvement from the day before. She fancied she was becoming rather good at wielding her mop, although her muscles greatly protested that. She felt like one big bruise, literally. Either that or one big strained muscle. Or both. Most likely both.

Sighing slightly, the young woman heaved the bucket up from the deck and along with her mop, made her way slowly to the side of the large ship. It was eerie when she was alone. The ship seemed to speak to her, groaning and squeaking sounds, the ropes shuddering as they held fast, the sails flapping loudly above her, the very boards beneath her feet protesting her movements. A strange presence seemed to envelope her, although it could have very well been her imagination. But it was imposing almost as much as it was eerie. The Black Pearl didn't seem to fancy her presence all that much, and if she did she had a funny way of showing it.

Rolling her eyes at her thoughts, Vivien pushed them aside. Ships aren't alive, and this hunk of driftwood certainly isn't, she scolded herself, and plunked her mop and bucket down by the side before wiping her sweaty brow with a dirty hand. She winced slightly as her grimy fingers swept across the sensitive sunburn darkening on her face. Somehow, dirt and grease had managed to accumulate on every wrinkle and strip of flesh on her hands, and both that and salt seemed to sting her sunburn terribly.

She allowed herself the simply pleasure of leaning forward onto the side of the ship, the sea breeze once again cooling her brow while the weight was being taken off her feet. It was a wonderful sensation disturbed by only one small inconvenience. As she closed her eyes to the wind she became aware of something she had been trying to hold off,an unpleasant queasiness in the pit of her stomach and behind her eyes.

Seasickness, she believed it to be, and closing her eyes to rest made her realize just how much the Pearl was chopping through the waves. The ocean had been calmer the day before, so she hadn't noticed, but as her sun exposure continued and the water became rougher with angry whitecaps, the unease of her stomach grew…

…and grew…

…and grew until she had to swallow the amount of bile rising in her throat.

Of course, the mere taste of the vile stuff on her tongue didn't help, and subsequently set off a reaction that was entirely too unpleasant.

And odd sort of strangled look overcame Vivien's normally soft features, and anyone watching would have laughed, but there was no one around and no one to laugh. That made her feel somewhat relieved when she promptly leaned over the side of the ship, her hands clutching to the rail with white knuckles, and proceeded to vomit yesterday's dinner and that day's breakfast into the foaming waters below.

It was short upheaval, and Vivien straightened back up with as much dignity as she could muster when all the contents of her stomach had been offered to the fishes. Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand and cringing while doing so, she gave a sound halfway between a whimper and a moan before slumping against the side. Luckily, the crew hadn't silently snuck back on deck while she had been vomiting, and she once again closed her eyes for a bit of rest.

Only, she still felt terrible. And the Pearl continued to roll, continued to rock…

And her insides rolled with it…

Within seconds Vivien was draped limply back over the side, puking her guts out for all she was worth. Yesterday's lunch, she thought grimly, but cut her trail of thoughts as the urge to heave for all she was worth overcame her. And she did, without much grace, and when she was done she sunk into the deck with a groan, arms falling limp at her sides, not bothering to wipe the remnants of vomit from her chin.

Feeling not a bit better, she hardly noticed when a shadow fell over her, preferring to keep to her own miserable company. It was only when a deep voice spoke that she started from her daze and thought to run her hand along her chin.

"Truth be told, we was wonderin' when you'd have a bout of seasickness."

Vivien jolted and her eyes immediately snapped open, only to fall on the two men, Beckham and Louis, accompanied by another large, bulky pirate.

Beckham, tall, gangly, and dirty, was the first to speak.

"'Ello, precious. Me an' me mates have decided to come give ye a small hand, we was."

Vivien's green eyes widened considerably as she noted the size of the three. And she rather doubted they had come to gave her help, at least not without having something in return.

"Th-that's very kind of you," she started quickly, pulling herself to her feet with the aid of the rail, fingers digging into the wood, visions of Édouard's frying pan were filling her head. But it was not with her, so she would have to make due with something else. Bending down rather slowly, somewhat afraid she would puke, she grasped the handle of her fallen mop and pulled it up with her before continuing. "But I assure you all I'm quite fine by myself."

Beckham smirked, nudging the unfamiliar pirate. "Well, me an' me mates thought you were lookin' kinda lonesome so's we decided we ought to come do somethin' about it, aye?"

Vivien wondered how someone could look lonely while purging their guts into the sea.

Louis spoke this time. "Aye, seein' as Jack's avoidin' ye like the Black Death, we thought we might take his place, didn't we Bardus?"

Bardus, the fat man with the muscled arms, nodded stupidly with a crooked grin on his pudgy face.

"So what do ye say, lass?" Beckham sneered?

Grip white-knuckled on the mop, Vivien narrowed her eyes. Très bien...three violent, dirty pirates who look ready to jump the first female hide that walks their way, she cursed inwardly. All the dreadful stories of pirate she had ever heard were coming back to haunt her now. They spoke of rape and murder, torture and starvation. And she was quite sure these men wanted to commit at least one of these acts.

"I say you go one your way, monsieurs…or, or I'll cast a dreadfully impious spell on you all!" Great Vivien, very resourceful…

And they laughed. "Gonna turn us all into toads, are ye?" Louis sneered, chuckling slightly.

Vivien swallowed thickly. Last time she noticed, the crew seemed to avoid her like a dog does a vicious cat. What had changed?

"A-actually, I was thinking more like rats," she stuttered, but held her ground. Her eyes darted to Bardus, "Or you can be a toad." She nodded to Louis then, "You can be a rat." She turned to Beckham, "And you—you can be un tas des conneries!"

Beckham blinked in confusion before turning sharply to Louis. "What'd she say?" he all but complained.

Louis narrowed his eyes. "She said a pile of horse shit," he translated crudely, and all three pairs of eyes suddenly focused on the trembling woman.

"Why yew liddle whore…" Beckham growled menacingly, advancing on her slowly, with his face twisted into a mask of rage.

Merde, why must my tongue get carried away? Vivien asked herself desperately. This happened every once in a while, times where she was frightened and felt the need to protect herself, so instead of screaming sputtered off a series of insults fit only for the commoners and barkeepers. Belfast had run her down like a bull after such outbursts, and she was subsequently barred in her room for three to four days.

It continued to happen, however, and now her mouth had gotten her into another bout of trouble.

Whimpering slightly, knowing she was about to be either slashed down with a rusty sword, shot with a pistol or dragged below to be raped repeatedly by large, dirty men…mais…she had to do something!

But of course she couldn't really do anything.

"S'il vous plaît…if you hadn't—m'a menacé si grossièrement! S'il…s'il vous plaît—um, please, Je n'aurais pas dit such a-a-a-a chose!" she blabbered, mixing languages clumsily, backing slowly away from the men, mop held to her breast. "P-please ne me blessent pas…"

"Stop gibbering, stupid witch-woman!" Beckham roared, Louis and Bardus right behind him.

Almost tripping over her skirts as she scurried back away from them, Vivien held up a hand as a sign for them to halt. It didn't do much good, though, so she resorted to words, which weren't much better as she was still stuck between using French and English. "I'll say it now, séjour—stay where you are!" she warned in a quavering voice. "Jack Sparrow vous arrêtera!"

Louis barked out a laugh. "Sparrow ain't here now is he, woman?"

Biting her lip savagely, Vivien shifted her grip on the mop, her eyes glued to Beckham. He looked ready to jump at her like a fierce tiger…

And he did, only the young woman's skittishness allowed her to turn on her heels—earning several splinters in the process—and run like the devil himself was hot on her heels. A cry tore from her throat, and anyone who might have been listening carefully enough might have deciphered the words to "Lâchez-moi!" as she bounded across the deck.

Vivien might have made it twenty paces before a rough hand on her sleeve spun her boldly around. But she was somewhat ready for the attack, and she swung the mop out in a deranged fashion, and the sopping, grimy strings of rough fabric struck the pirate square in the side of his head, right above the temple. He fell to the deck much like a soggy sack of potatoes, with a muffled, squished thud.

The young woman stared in horror. Never in her whole life had she actually managed a clean hit on someone attacking her…of course this was the first time she had actually had something to defend herself with as she was being attacked. It was amazing nonetheless…but pas bon, she realized. Pas bon!

She had probably killed the man! The thought made her nausea come back with twice the force, causing her to stagger slightly. Jack would be furious, she would be flogged and raped to death, shot in the feet until her lie came out, 'I don't know where the treasure is!' and she would be struck repeatedly for such a stupid thing before being strung up upon the mast and forced to the wrath of the sun and then thrown overboard where her fresh and puss oozing wounds would bleed in the water and attract sharks and she would be mauled, torn apart limb by limb by limb by limb—

Vivien was grabbed roughly from behind, shaking her from her terrified thoughts. She yelped aloud, surprised, struggling a moment before she realized she still held the mop. The weapon. Almost angrily, she forced the butt end of the pole into the pirate's stomach, and her reward was being dropped.

Silly fool, she told herself, almost getting strangled to death!

Louis was suddenly before her. He may have been the one who had grabbed her, but she still wasn't thinking quite straight. She had killed the man, hadn't she? Hadn't she? Her thoughts were a daze, her movements halting, her stomach in turmoil.

The French pirate had somehow gotten hold of the end of her mop, and was now struggling to force it from her grasp. She pulled back on it, however, growling much like a feral animal, because the mop was the only thing to defend her and without it…without it she was doomed. Not that she wasn't already, mind you, which might have been the reason why she was acting so oddly.

Possessively, she wrenched the mop free from the pirate, swinging it back before shoving its bristles into his face. Oh yes, mops were just as good as frying pans, excellent to manuever.

Recoiling, Louis stumbled away, hands over his eyes, and Vivien might have taken the time to either rejoice in her second victory or fret because she may have injured another one of Jack's crew, but she suddenly felt horribly ill. Very horribly ill.

That, and with darkness meeting her moments later, she didn't have much time to do anything about either.

--

Belfast lifted a hand to shade his eyes from the glaring midday sun, one hand resting on the side of the ship. He could feel the steady rocking of the waves beneath the wood of the ship, lifting it gently, jostling it from side to side playfully. The winds were picking up today, he noticed, the monstrous sails above him billowing out proudly, full and stretched taut. The sea, which had darkened slightly over the past two hours, was sporting small white caps that rolled over in the waves before jumping back up once again.

The wind was cool in his dark hair, playful with his dark overcoat and shirt cuffs.

He could feel it taking him faster, pushing the ship on its course, towards its destination.

He could feel the speed of it, the power of it, and the force of it.

The thump of boots behind him alerted Belfast to his new company. Of course, he already knew who it was. No other men of the crew had dared approach him except the first mate. And even then it was only to relay the captain's orders.

Turning his head slightly, Belfast regarded the dark Spaniard coolly. He stood there looking every bit a regal captain despite his less than honourable profession. He wondered idly why he had never managed to pull off that commanding look just right.

"Once again, I ask you how you know where Sparrow will be headed, Señor Elaido. And this time I hope you have a suitable answer," Belfast said darkly, his face fixed in a frown. He hadn't realized until his first day aboard theLa Sangre de Mar had ended just how much he disliked Antonio Elaido. But he was a reliable business partner. One of his word, who hardly ever cheated his way out of a deal. If there was any cheating to be done, it would be by Belfast himself and no one else.

Antonio merely grinned, that annoying Spanish grin that irked Belfast to his very being. "Sencillo, mi amigo. No doubt this Jack Sparrow hasn't been able to restock his ship or let his crew have a break for a good while now if he's come all the way from the Caribbean," he stated smoothly, his voice suggesting he didn't think too highly of Jack Sparrow. Belfast had noticed that ever since first mentioning his name, how the Spaniard seemed to sneer every time he heard mention of the 'so called infamous pirate.'

"Yes, but I fail to see where that leads us," Belfast stated pointedly.

"As I said, Dorian, if you were any sort of sailor you would know where we are headed. It's only the most widely populated pirate town in the world, mi amigo. One of my favourites, to say the least," Antonio explained, jumping and skipping around giving a full answer.

Meanwhile, Belfast was bristling at the younger man's remarks. Of course, how could the fool know that Dorian Belfast, vicious Caribbean buccaneer, had sailed on one of the most feared pirate ships in the Spanish Main nigh twenty years before? How could he know he had been fought side-by-side Jacques du Bourbon on the Refuge Gris, the Grey Haven?

"Stop being elusive, Antonio, it makes you seem like one of those society men," Belfast growled gruffly, eyes turning back to the horizon.

Antonio only chuckled, stepping forward to stand at the older man's side. "We are headed for L'île St. Marie, off the northeast coast of Madagascar, where the whole island is devoted to illegal activities, and is guarded by a fleet of pirate ships twice the size of the Spanish navy."

"The Spanish navy is nothing but a few toy boats," Belfast retorted. But of course he remembered now. His age was catching up to him, that was all. St. Marie was a pirate's haven, and the first likely place Jack Sparrow would be found.

He ignored Antonio's indignant frown and pushed himself from the side of the ship.

Jack Sparrow, legendary pirate of the Caribbean and first Captain of the Black Pearl, fastest ship ever to sail the new world's waters…was as predictable as a dog after a bone. They would catch up yet, Belfast had no doubt about that. And if Sparrow continued to make it so easy for him he would find himself greatly disappointed. A marvellous game of cat and mouse was something any pirate could enjoy, especially one such as himself.

Captain Jack Sparrow, I do believe your reputation has exceeded you…

--

French and Spanish Translations:

Un tas des conneries – a pile of horse shit (pardon Vivien's French, she can be rather crude at times!)

Merde – Something akin to 'damn.'

S'il vous plait…if you hadn't—m'a menacé si grossièrement! S'il…s'il vous plait—um, please, Je n'aurais pas dit such a-a-a-a chose! – since this sentence is so hacked up I'll just write the whole things down: Please, if you hadn't spoken to me so crudely! Please, please, I would not have said such a thing!

Neme blessent pas– do not hurt me

Séjour – stay

Jack Sparrow vous arrêtera! – Jack Sparrow will stop you!

Lâchez-moi! – leave me alone!

Pas bon – not good

La Sangre de Mar - The Sea Blood

Sencillo, mi amigo – simple, my friend

Refuge Gris – Grey Haven

--Cayenne Pepper Powder