(Disclaimer: I do not own Pintel and Ragetti, or Pirates of the Caribbean. I do own everything else though.)
Just the Way it Should Be
For the rest of that day, the two saw very little of each other. Although Pintel had given him permission to wander around below deck all he wanted, Ragetti's skittish nerves kept him rooted behind those powder barrels for countless hours. The grant had come with a catch: if he did decide to leave his hiding place, he would have to keep another one in sight at all times, in the event that one of the other crewmen showed up.
"Believe me," Pintel had hissed to the jittery waif shortly after the Glass Urchin had cast off from Tortuga. "I know these sort of chaps. You don't wanna chance makin' 'em mad." The older pirate had certainly never known a buccaneer crew to take very kindly to stowaways—more rats to have to split profit with. "And you can 'magine for yerself what they might do to a sneakin' runt like you if they ever found one."
In addition to this unpleasant thought, Ragetti also realized that he wasn't familiar enough with the inside of this ship to even know if there were other hiding places for him to dive behind, so in short, he felt it best to just stay put until he was told otherwise. Besides, he was easily amused; Ragetti would not grow bored with his own simple thoughts.
And while the boy spent the day snickering at the sound of lapping waves and creaking wood, Pintel was kept busy above deck, alongside the fourteen other gents that made up Pellinore's crew.
"Pick yer pace up yeh lazy slogs!" roared the first mate Winchcomb, the same scar faced fellow who had ordered the crew up on deck for cast-off. He slashed at the air with his cutlass for emphasis. "Or we'll be driftin' right back to the turtle island where this filthy bucket belongs!"
Pintel yelped and tugged harder on the sail line in his hands. In less than two hours of knowing him, he'd become witlessly terrified of Winchcomb; the grizzled first mate was mad and senile in his aging years, and his lifelong experience with naval battles had taught him to love his sword a little too much. Still, the wild sailor was right. The Glass Urchin was unbearably slow, and its speed had only grown worse when the wind started moving against the vessel.
This had been completely unacceptable for Pellinore, and he'd ordered four crewmen to take down the sails until the stubborn breezes let up. Pintel was one of those four, along with a scruffy, brown-haired fellow named Rubeus Morgan ("Rub" for short) and the two pirates that Pintel had spoken to before boarding the Urchin. Their names were Horace Yager, the black-bearded man with his green bandana, and Jonathan Wood, the dreadlocked Irishman. They were as mismatched-looking a foursome as could have been seen on that ship, but their minds thought as one, and all four were beginning to wish their captain had overlooked them for this task.
"Pull harder!" Pintel shouted. The wind was whipping his hair about in all directions, nearly blinding him from his work, and his shoulders were ready to snap from the strain. What had started as a simple chore had quickly grown into an all-out tug-of-war with the boom, and the wooden mechanism was winning.
"I'm pullin' the rope as much as I bloody can!" Rub shouted back through his equally airborne beard. "Can't see a damn thing!"
"Well I can't hear a damn thing!" Wood snapped at them. "Shut up!"
"Focus, mates!" Yager called out louder. "We've still got another halfway to bring her down!"
Pintel cringed, but stubbornly ignored the pain shooting up his arms as he tightened his grip on the rope.
"Where'd these crazy winds come from anyways?" Rub shouted to nobody in particular. "The air was corpse-still not a few minutes ago!"
"Aye!" Yager nodded. "Nature's got herself a sense of humor something fierce!"
A second later, they all discovered just how fierce that sense of humor really was.
WHOOSH!
Just as abruptly as it'd started, that powerful wind shifted in direction, and the half lowered sails suddenly billowed forward once again. Just below them, the boom had a similar reaction to this sudden adjustment.
Wood was the first to see it coming. "Watch out!" he cried, and quickly let go of the rope. Hearing his warning, Yager and Rub both followed suit.
Pintel, however, did not.
Naturally, none of the four had been dim enough to stand directly in the boom's path, but when that wooden pole swung to the right, it created a whiplash effect that sent the balding man at the end of the line flying after it. Pintel shrieked as he was yanked off his feet and plowed into a fifth crewman who'd been mopping the deck a seemingly safe distance away. Together, the two of them crashed to the floor in a confused heap, knocking over the grimy mop bucket as they did so. Water splattered everywhere.
Yager, Wood, and Rub all erupted in laughter.
"Looks like you weren't the one doin' the pullin' at all, mate!" Rub hooted, clutching his sides as he doubled over.
"Yeah! She pulled you!" Wood added just as hysterically. He looked about ready to topple over onto the deck in his cackling fit.
Pintel rebutted by snatching up the discarded mop and hurling it clumsily at the trio. The next instant, the unfortunate fifth man pinned under him reached boiling point and shoved the shorter pirate off and face-first into a puddle.
And then Pellinore voiced his opinion.
"Sailors!" he reprimanded from his place at the wheel. Yager, Wood, and Rub quickly stood up and tried to stifle their snickering.
The captain didn't share their amusement. "What's the meaning of this nonsense?" he demanded sharply.
"This what?" Wood asked. He was sending the other man an awkward but pointed sideways glare.
Yager, on the other hand, straightened himself up properly. "There was a little mishap with the boom, Captain," he answered with respect.
Pellinore scowled inwardly. "Well a little mishap doesn't call for such an enormous uproar. I intend to reach our destination in the next two days, and I will not tolerate such raucous, barbaric insolence on board my ship! I don't give payment to animals, gentlemen, and you'll do well to remember that! Now get up, cease your foolishness, and keep this vessel moving in the right direction!"
Wood's scowl was not so well hidden, and Rub decided to growl back his displeasure.
"She's already movin' in the right direction! The wind's changed back!"
Pellinore eyed him steadily. "Do not try my patience, Mr. Morgan… or I may just ask Mr. Winchcomb to settle our discord in whatever way he sees fit."
With one glare from the first mate, Rub was silenced. That was the end of that.
Yager went up to the soaking wet Pintel then and offered a hand to help him up. The solemn expressing on his bearded face seemed apologetic enough, but Pintel would have no part of it. His pride had been dampened quite enough—literally, in fact—and with a sneer, he shrugged his shoulder around the hand and lifted himself up gracelessly. Then the four pirates returned to their work with much less enthusiasm than before.
"How about him?" Wood commented with a look to Yager. "Thinks he's so high and mighty, that captain, usin' all his big words and threats!"
"He's just trying to lay down an order," Yager responded flatly. He began pulling on the other rope now, raising the sails once more. "All captains have to."
"Not like this sod is!" Wood argued back. "He's actin' more like a big-headed red suit!"
"Aye!" Rub chimed in, digging his nails into the rope. "Ain't never 'ad no pirate cap'n call me Morgan b'fore!"
Wood lowered his head shiftily and glanced over at Pellinore. "I don't trust him," he mumbled.
Yager and Pintel both looked up at the young redhead disapprovingly. The bandana-clad man stared at his friend in silence for a second, then spoke up with a hint of warning in his tone.
"What, 'cause he scolded you for laughing too much?"
"No!" Wood snapped. "Just think about it. He asks us all these stupid questions b'fore he lets us join his crew. He acts so great and proper, and then he gets himself this piece o' rubbish to call his ship, like it were the only thing he could find in an hour. And then, he says we're goin' to Pilón, Cuba, and he wants to get there as soon as possible. There's nothin' in Pilón that's worth rushin' to! Least not anythin' you can't find at every other buccaneer settlement in the Caribbean!"
Pintel felt an angry lump suddenly rise in his throat. What exactly was this uppity little she-man getting at?
Wood's speech didn't seem to sit very well with Yager either.
"I'd want to get to land as soon as possible too, if I were him," he said back reasonably. "Captain Pellinore's probably set his eye on finding a better ship in Pilón. He is a proper man, way I sees it, and when he wants a ship that better suits him, he knows where to get it."
"Well if he's such a proper man," Wood pointed out snidely, "What's he doin' with us? Huh? And who's to say he couldn't've found a good enough ship in Tortuga? Why's he really so set on getting' to this other place?"
"Because it's there," Yager answered firmly. His patience was starting to chip; Pintel could tell. "It's there, and it's a step ahead of the port we left."
He looked over at Rub too. "That's all. Pellinore's given us no reason to mistrust him, so the only thing we can do is trust him for now."
"And how long is 'for now' gonna be, Yager? 'Til he asks his pal Winchcomb to lop our heads off for not polishin' our swords well enough? Then what?"
"Don't get those kinds of ideas in your head, Wood."
"He's definitely up to something," the Irishman said adamantly. "And I says we do somethin' about it!"
Pintel jumped in at that. "Oi!" he protested. "'E's our ticket to makin' some decent money, 'e is. A man wif his sorta plans is bound t'know what 'e's doin'. I says 'e's a cap'n we can rely on!"
Wood curled his lip. "Yeah you would, wouldn't you? Slow little lightweight like you probably always kisses up to the top fellow to save your lousy skin!"
"Now that's enough!" Yager shouted, throwing down his rope. He stepped closer to Wood, sending him a stiffening glare. "Even if you did manage to hold off insulting every chap who disagrees with you," he hissed, "…You will not be rallying up a mutiny on this ship!"
Wood glared back at him, surprised but undaunted. "He is up to something, Yager. I just don't know what yet."
Yager nodded patronizingly. "Well," he said, "While you're figuring it out, how's about running off and finding us an extra length of rope for these sails?"
Green eyes glowered at him, then Wood turned with a bounce of his dreadlocks and was gone. Pintel watched the young man leave.
Rub chuckled to himself. "Yer mate there's got a real mouf on 'im," he commented to Yager. "Mighty brave of 'im t'be talkin' 'bout the cap'n like that. …Either that or mighty stupid."
Yager looked down just then, and a curious sadness suddenly gripped his features. He seemed to be lost in thought, as if dwelling on painful memories that had brought him to this place in time. Finally, after a moment had passed, he returned to his work and picked up his portion of the rope again.
"I'd rather not say," he murmured.
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For Pintel, the rest of that afternoon had been uneventful. He did everything he was told to do, hoisting the sails and scrubbing the decks, and he was careful to keep his head low and out of Winchcomb's sight. He felt that as long as he kept this up, no more trouble would cross paths with him, and so far, this theory had held tight.
But the evening would not be so calm.
Dinner time on board the Glass Urchin unfolded the same way it would on any ship. The crew gathered below deck in the dining hall, a stuffy little room just a few steps away from their sleeping quarters, and they crowded onto the two long benches that stood on either side of the table. The ship's cook, a short lanky Indian man nicknamed Owl Eyes, had set out a dozen or so wooden plates and forks, along with some bowls of foul-looking gruel and hardtack rolls.
The finer dishes had been reserved for the captain, who was waiting with his first mate to be served in his cabin. And so the exotic little cook had gone above deck, temporarily leaving his fellow crewmen behind with their dinner.
"'Ey Ashby," the man beside Pintel called across the table. His name was Cormac, and he was the very same man whose mopping had been painfully interrupted by the boom mishap earlier that day. It seemed clear from his tightly knitted eyebrows that he hadn't quite forgiven anyone for causing the incident. "Gimme one of 'em rolls, will ye mate?"
The pirate Ashby blinked up from his meal and twisted his face into a confused expression. "Yeh want me t'give yeh one?" he echoed with a full mouth, sounding like Cormac's request had been the daftest thing he'd ever heard. "But the bowl's sittin' closer to you!"
"It is not!" Cormac fired back, "Now pass it over 'ere!"
"Can't; I'm eatin'. Get it yerself," Ashby replied, unconcerned.
The first man sneered. "You lazy little…" then he decided to let his actions speak for him. Cormac jabbed his fork into his gruel, stabbing a large hunk of discolored meat, and flung the morsel forcefully across the table. Ashby jerked back, startled by the unexpected move, then complied angrily.
"You want a roll?" he blasted. "Here!" Then throwing down his fork, he reached out for the large bowl, picked it up in both of his hands—and promptly lobbed the entire thing at Cormac.
Pintel jumped slightly in his seat as he took part of the impact, then ducked just in time to avoid one of the fiery target's blindly swinging elbows. The bowl managed to tumble past him in the momentary confusion, then toppled onto the bench beside him and out of sight under the table. Rolls bounced everywhere.
Growling under his breath, Cormac sent Ashby a venomous look and leaned back to try and see where the bowl had gone. Then he lifted his head to glare at Pintel.
"Get it," he ordered.
Pintel sneered back. "You get it."
Cormac responded with an angry roar, and slammed his fist threateningly down onto the table with a force that nearly made Pintel jump straight to the ceiling.
"Or—or I could get it!" the balding man suggested with a petrified grin. Still jittering, he bent down uncomfortably on the bench and wormed his head and shoulders under the table, searching for the bowl and its scattered contents. Pintel's yellowing eyes stared blankly into the darkness.
And Ragetti's stared back.
Pintel reacted like he'd just been clapped across the face. He let out a surprised yelp, and slammed the back of his head against the table's underside with a sickening bang! Dazed, he gripped his throbbing skull with one hand and gawked in horror at the boy. Ragetti was hiding under the table!
Not only hiding, but also taking advantage of the large amount of bread that had just fallen in front of him. The lad already had an entire roll crammed into his mouth, and he'd been in the process of stuffing in a second one when Pintel's face had suddenly appeared in front of him. Ragetti stayed sensed up for a second, but his fright immediately switched to happy relief when he recognized his gruff companion.
Pintel took just a little longer to recover from his surprise, but once he did, he snatched up the bread bowl with a twitching hand and frantically began throwing whatever rolls he could find into it. After a minute or so of this, he clutched the recovered object to his chest and quickly sat back up straight. His bulging eyes were filled with panic.
Cormac blinked down at the bowl, then calmly reached over and finally took the roll that he wanted. Pintel watched tensely as the other pirate resumed his eating, trying to keep his nervous eyes from wandering back down.
A second later, Ashby looked over at him and spoke up. "'Ey mate. Yeh want to sit that thing back on the table?"
Pintel looked over at him dumbly, then realized with a jolt that he was still holding the bowl. "Oh! Oh yeah! 'Ere." Flashing a grin, he sat it down in the middle of the table and quickly turned his edgy gaze down to his plate of gruel. He had to look calm. He had to avoid attention. He had to keep himself from reaching down there and throttling that little idiot right on the spot!
But nobody looked away from his nervous face. In fact, Pintel had only succeeded in drawing even more eyes to him. All twelve heads were turned to him now, and in a dark instant of observation, all twelve of their mouths broke out into wicked grins. The crew could sense his fear. They had found their target.
"Scared you good, didn't he?" Wood laughed, referring to Cormac. "Didn't expect him to get mad, huh?"
"Nah, the chap's been scared of me ever since 'e flew into me this afternoon!" Cormac crowed, and he jabbed at Pintel with his elbow for emphasis.
The nervous man nodded, trying to keep an argument from brewing. "Aye, it left an impression," he confessed. He was shifting his feet around under the table, trying to get an idea of where Ragetti was sitting. If that kid moved so much as a hair back, the crewmen on the opposite bench were going to know he was there with one kick…
"You spook easy, don't you Pintel?" a squinting pirate mocked. He leaned closer and laughed. "Look at 'im! 'E's still scared!"
"Whacha so scared of, Pintel?" another one with a tattooed scalp jeered.
"Yeh scared of me? Eh?" the man beside Ashby taunted, jerking his arm as if to throw his fork. He howled with laughter when Pintel flinched at the blow that never came.
They were all joining in. Every man at that table could sense their crewmate's fear, and though none of them knew the true source of it, they were all intent on having fun with it just the same. Their insults soon turned to nudges. Nudges turned to shoves. And every time Pintel shuddered or gave a reaction to it, their desire to torment him only grew. These were pirates; vulnerability was their favorite foe, and their only prey.
But Pintel endured it all as best as he could. It had only been a matter of minutes before his fear turned to anger, and he had almost lost control of himself and shoved back several times. He wanted to fight back—he always did! But his fear kept seeping back into his mind just long enough to remind him what would happen if one of these dogs ever looked under the table…
In the end, it was time that had saved him. Just a few minutes after the crew had started its nasty game, Winchcomb's voice shouted down the stairs to them that dinner was over. It was time to get back to work. The crew had obeyed, but not before having a final laugh at Pintel's expense. Then they all got up from their seats and exited through the sleeping quarters.
Once he was sure they were gone, Pintel finally let his anger out. Unfortunately, Ragetti was the only one there that he could let it out on.
"You lousy, stupid, sorry little—" his face was beet red as he reached down and seized the boy by his shirt collar. "What the hell do yeh think yer doin', hidin' under there?"
"I—I was hungry!" the youngster stammered. He was quaking like a leaf in Pintel's grasp.
"You were hungry!" the older man echoed, disgusted. He let Ragetti go then, throwing the kid back a little more roughly than he needed to. Pintel saw nothing wrong with this; the entire crew had just harassed him, and now it was his turn to pick on somebody.
"I was," Ragetti said honestly, scurrying away in search of the powder barrels. "I was lookin' for sumfin' to eat and I came in 'ere. I didn't know everyone were comin' in too! The table was the only place I could find to hide in!"
"Well I…I was gonna save some food for you, yeh li'l fool!" Pintel shouted. He was a very convincing liar. "Alright? And I told yeh to always stay close to a hidin' place when yeh wandered around! Sittin' under a bloody table ain't a hidin' place!"
Ragetti shrank down beside one of the barrels, staring resolutely at his feet. "Sorry Pintel…" he mumbled.
That wasn't good enough for the other. Sneering, he crouched down on one knee and glared hard at his silent charge.
"Can you swim?" he asked impatiently.
Ragetti looked up at him oddly. "I dunno."
"Just you remember," Pintel snarled. "I had an easy time sneakin' you on board this ship. They'll have an even easier time throwin' yeh off."
He grabbed Ragetti by the collar once again, meeting his blue eyes sharply as he continued.
"…And old Davy Jones ain't half as friendly and understandin' as I am!"
Pintel chuckled at Ragetti's horrified gape all the while as he walked back up those steps and onto the deck.
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Sorry for the long chapter. I really got into this one!
