(Disclaimer: I own nothing)

Just the Way it Should Be

For once in his life, Pintel was running out of ideas.

He had gone straight down to the shipyard, with Ragetti still directly in tow, immediately after his meeting with Pellinore in the tavern. Now, the middle-aged pirate was seated drearily atop a keg barrel, watching as his ten-year-old nuisance crouched by one of the docks a few meters away and dropped pebbles into the green waters below him with an endless fascination.

Pintel had tried everything to get this kid out of his hair—telling him off, insulting him, yelling at him, and even flat out running away from him—but not one of those methods had proven itself to be successful. Despite his frustration, the older man had to grudgingly admit that he'd never seen such a stubborn child. And so, he had decided to fall back on one last plan: simply go down to the docks, wait out the hour, and try to lose him in the crowd just long enough to get on board the Glass Urchin. It was a lousy idea, half-thought-out and overly desperate, but it was all Pintel could piece together on such short notice.

Ragetti jerked back and snickered just then as one particularly large pebble hit the water with a loud splunk, splashing him slightly in the process. He couldn't take his bulging eyes off of the ripples forming beneath him; there was something about those thin, simple rings that commanded his attention, ordering him to watch them as they slowly grew and drifted away. It was like they had put him in a trance. Pintel couldn't help thinking just how easy it would be to walk up to that little dolt and tip him right over the edge of the dock. That would certainly make a considerable splash.

He furrowed his brow and stared down at the ground.

What if this plan didn't work either? What if he couldn't get rid of Ragetti in time? What would he do then? Pintel's mind was swimming with these questions, and the more he thought of them, the more it became clear that he had no answer for any of them. The boy had plainly decided that he liked the pirate, even though that liking was anything but mutual. The question, however, was why did he like him? Why wouldn't this idiot take a hint and just go away?

Pintel sighed with frustration as the answer hit him in a sickening wave. This kid had no one else to rely on, no one else to look to for guidance. All his life, he'd been ignored and neglected by his filthy mother, and now he'd finally found somebody who not only understood what he'd been through, but was also more or less willing to talk to him. Ragetti had achieved some sort of fulfillment from their encounter yesterday.

He shouldn't have told him his name. Pintel realized now that that had been his biggest mistake. He should have just left the lad alone with his handful of nicknames and kept on walking. Or better yet, he should have just walked away when he'd first meant to, right after his snide good-bye. Yes. That had been his mistake: caring enough to even acknowledge him. Pintel had felt one moment of sympathy, and as a result, he was now stuck with this boy.

But just then, another thought passed through his head, and he glanced over at Ragetti again.

Stuck with him. That was exactly how Rebecca had felt about the kid. She had seen her own son as nothing but a burden, and for ten years, she'd looked for any excuse to keep him away from her. And now, she had run off and completely deserted him, all for her own benefit.

And he, Robert Pintel, was trying to do the exact same thing.

His eyes suddenly grew wide as this dawned on him, and he found himself focusing even more intently on Ragetti. He was trying to desert him, just like Rebecca…

…But…no! He wasn't anything like his sister. Even if they did both play some part in stealing a lousy boat at one point in time, that didn't mean they were the same person! Rebecca had double-crossed him! She'd taken someone who'd trusted her—her own brother—and gone behind his back just to earn some extra coins! And now, she had abandoned her own son, just to make things easier for herself. She was nothing but a two-bit, back-stabbing louse!

Ragetti seemed to notice just then that something was weighing heavily on Pintel's mind, and he suddenly realized that he was crouching on the dock in a very dog-like position. Remembering that he wasn't supposed to act like a dog anymore, he quickly sat up straight and dangled his skinny legs awkwardly over the side. He was an obedient boy.

Pintel squared his jaw and clenched his fingers tightly around the rim of the keg barrel.

Fine. He wouldn't try to lose the kid in the crowd. Robert Pintel wasn't going to abandon a ten-year-old for his own convenience. He would look after Ragetti—just to prove that he was better than his miserable sister. He was better!

His mind now made up, he got up from his seat and eyed the other firmly.

"Oi, kid!"

Ragetti jumped slightly in surprise. The older man waved his arm sharply. "Get over 'ere!"

As the youngster complied, Pintel began looking around in thought. Even if it meant satisfying his begrudged ego, he was far from willing to give up his spot on the Glass Urchin's crew. He had a feeling that someone as well-to-do looking as Pellinore did had some sixth sense that would lead to a handsome profit—otherwise, he wouldn't be so well-to-do looking, would he? There had to be some way that he could bring Ragetti onto that ship with him. But how?

The answer appeared to Pintel in the form of an old burlap sack, stuffed with some unknown cargo and leaning against a support post on the next dock.

And then he got an idea.

Locking his eyes onto that sack, he motioned to Ragetti a second time.

"Follow me."

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Pintel had marched straight over to that dock and snatched up the bag without a moment's thought. Despite its overstuffed appearance, he'd actually found the sack to be rather light; this was all the more convenient for the pirate, as he didn't want the owner of the load turning around at any second and spotting this unfolding theft. The faster Pintel could run away with the sack, the better. And he'd done so very quickly, scurrying off of the dock and ducking out of sight with Ragetti behind the first building he could find.

A sudden anxiousness gripped the man as he turned the burlap bag upside-down, dumping its contents—a collection of half-empty jars and cans—onto the ground in a scattered heap.

"Now, this should work," he explained to Ragetti, "as long as you keep yer mouf shut."

Then he turned to face the boy, holding the open sack out in front of him. "Get in."

Ragetti looked up at the older fellow, dumbstruck. "What?"

"I said get in, yeh li'l fool!" Pintel snapped. "Into the sack!"

The youngster swallowed hard, hesitated, then did as he was told and raised one leg to step into the yawning mouth of the bag. Once he had both feet in, Pintel placed a wide hand on the top of Ragetti's head and pushed him down into a squatting position inside the sack. Then he held the mouth of the sack shut and hoisted his load off the ground to bring it to eye-level. The kid was heavier than the previous load, but not by much.

"Now listen t'me," Pintel said harshly. "I'm sneakin' yeh on board. You don't talk, you don't move, you don't even think until I says yeh can. Yeh 'ear me?"

"Aye," Ragetti's voice mumbled from inside the sack.

"I said no talkin'!" the other growled, and he rattled the bag sharply as a further warning. He had failed to see the humor in this exchange. "Now shut up!"

This said, Pintel slung his live cargo over his shoulder and made his way back to the docks with as much casualness as he could muster.

Minutes passed, and he found himself wandering aimlessly about the seaport with his load. Somehow, in all the inner conflict that had ensued before, Pintel had managed to overlook one small but crucial detail: of all the ships docked on this side of Tortuga, he had no idea which one was Pellinore's.

He went on with his search for at least ten more minutes, until his manly pride finally caved in and he admitted that this method wasn't going to work. Growling under his breath, he came to a stop and reluctantly glanced around in search of someone to ask.

Off to his right, Pintel spotted two men striding along in his direction, together bearing a long, heavy-looking wooden crate on their left shoulders. The first man, holding up the front end, was a tall fellow, about Pintel's age, with a short black beard and a bright green bandana tied around his shaggy head. The other, shouldering the back end of the crate, was a younger, clean-shaven, slender man whose rust-colored dreadlocks were pulled back in a tight ponytail. Had it not been for his prominent brow and seafarer's garb, Pintel might have mistaken him for a woman.

Adjusting his grip on his sack, the balding fellow turned to face them as they began passing by.

"Oi mates!" he called out. Both of their heads snapped around to look at him, but neither one ever stopped walking.

"What?" the bearded one asked calmly.

"Which one o' these ships be the Glass Urchin?"

"You're lookin' at it!" the dreadlocked man answered in a cheeky tone. He had a thick Irish accent.

Pintel followed their direction in response, and his eyes suddenly grew wide.

Bobbing unsteadily in the Tortuga harbor, the Urchin has an utterly horrendous sight. Splintering where it wasn't rotting, the pint-sized vessel sported a ratty set of sails and a thin crust of barnacles on its hull, as could be seen when the tiny surrounding waves dropped down momentarily. Pintel had never seen such a worthless looking ship.

He glanced over at the departing duo again. "Really?" he asked, puzzled. This was Pellinore's ship?

"Aye," the bearded man in the bandana called back. "She don't look like much on the outside, mate, but she's a Spanish galleon on the inside."

"It ain't the inside that's gonna keep us afloat," Pintel pointed out brusquely.

"Well, the captain ain't nearly as picky with his ships as he is with his crew," the young Irish man commented wryly. "I guess a man can't have all of his sense."

"Wood," the bearded fellow cut him off firmly. The other immediately fell silent. There must have been some grave secret meaning behind that word, to bring his unruly talk to such an abrupt end. Without another word to their questioner, the two proceeded up the ramp to the Urchin's deck.

Pintel looked the ship up and down once more before he followed them on board.

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True enough, the Urchin's interior was a far cry from a Spanish galleon, but that first pirate hadn't exaggerated entirely. Once inside the rickety old vessel, even the most experienced buccaneer would have thought he'd stepped onto a regular, well-maintained ship. Perhaps Captain Pellinore had been willing to overlook the unsightly outside, as long as he didn't have to stare at it. Either that, or the Glass Urchin was a much more sea-worthy craft than it appeared to be. Pintel wasn't sure.

But he gave it little thought as he went below deck and into the crew's quarters. He was too busy trying not to draw any attention to himself, or more importantly, the sack slung over his shoulder. So far, Ragetti had kept quiet, and nobody had tried to take the bag away or open it. He just hoped that this lucky streak wouldn't suddenly wear out on him, as there were three other crewmen unloading supplies in that same room.

Pintel came to a wary stop in front of some gunpowder barrels, just a few meters away from the four rows of hammocks. Carefully, he placed his burden on top of one of the kegs, and then—after making sure that no eyes were on him—promptly but sneakily knocked it off with a sharp nudge of his elbow. The sack hit the ground with a heavy thump, now out of sight between the barrels and the wall, and Ragetti instinctively let out a startled and painful squeak.

The crewman standing closest to them turned around suddenly at the sound and stared at Pintel, silently questioning him.

Trying to avoid any further inquiry, Pintel put on his own puzzled expression and quickly leaned over the barrels to glance down. He stood back up straight and jabbed his thumb at the hiding space.

"Rat," he explained dismissingly. The other man raised his eyebrows with mild interest, then returned to his work.

Seconds later, the sound of heavy boots stomping down the creaky wooden steps brought an end to all the activity, and together, Pintel and the other three men looked over to see the silhouette of an older buccaneer come to a stop in the entranceway. The man's nastily scarred face was fixed in a permanently grim expression.

"Yeh can get back to yer unpacking later, gents," he growled. "The captains says we be casting off now."

Then he turned and stomped back up the steps to the deck, hastily accompanied by the four. Before he races off to join his fellow crewmembers, however, Pintel stopped to lean over the three gunpowder barrels and glare down at the twitching sack.

"Stay in there," he hissed, then hurried off.

This was going to be an interesting voyage indeed.

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