(Disclaimer: I don't own Pintel or Ragetti.)

Just the Way it Should Be

The rest of the first day at sea, and so far most of the second, had held no further incidents, much to Pintel's relief. His threat had spooked Ragetti so much that the boy hadn't even considered leaving his hiding spot since the pervious evening. All day, he'd been huddled up in a paranoid ball, staring at the cabin ceiling and cringing every time he heard footsteps on the wooden floor.

As for his older companion, a similar wariness had set in. Pintel hadn't made up the scenario; he'd seen plenty of sailors thrown overboard in the past, and although losing this kid would have been all too convenient for him, he had a feeling Ragetti wouldn't be the only one to get the boot. After all, who was he to say the crew wouldn't hate him just as much for sneaking that kid onto the ship?

The thought of floundering under water with his lungs on fire and nothing to hold on to made Pintel shudder, and so he decided to keep the hollow promise he'd made yesterday. That evening, when he was sure nobody was watching him at the crew's dinner table, he made sure to stuff some extra food into his coat pockets.

Unfortunately, Pintel was also still quite edgy around his fellow crewmen, and in his nervousness, he'd forgotten to deliver the goods. This occurred to him about an hour after mealtime, as he and Rub were in the middle of wrestling with the sails again.

Cursing under his breath, Pintel glanced over his shoulder at the set of stairs leading below deck. He might as well get it over with before something else happened.

"Oi, mate," he grumbled to Rub, formulating an excuse, "I gone and left me pistol in wif the hammocks. I'm gonna go grab it b'fore someone else does."

"Fine. Take yer time, mate!" Rub growled sarcastically through gritted teeth. The man wrenched his rope downwards with evident trouble, and Pintel was almost certain he heard a few bones crack. "I can 'old the fort down fer bof of us!"

Pintel nodded at him awkwardly, not quite sure how to respond, then hurried off. Of all the crewmen on this ship, Rub was probably the only one he could see himself remotely getting along with, and so the balding pirate figured he'd better hurry and return before he burned another helpful bridge.

In the end though, he was doomed to lose some trust in someone, and at that precise moment, he stumbled over a warped plank and nearly introduced his face to the deck floor. Prompted by the sudden jolt, his pistol flew from its holster and bounced away with a startling clatter. Pintel's eyes grew wide as he saw it go. His whole cover story was depending on that crazy gun! Without a second's thought, he dashed after it.

The pistol came to a stop beside the captain's cabin doors, where Pintel eagerly swiped it back up an instant later. His alibi once again stowed safely in his belt, the man stood back up to resume his original errand.

"I have to admit I'm concerned."

Pintel stopped. The voice had been Pellinore's. The sound of him speaking was no surprise, as he'd seen the captain go inside a few minutes ago to have a word with his first mate. But Pintel was oddly curious about what he'd just heard, and couldn't resist leaning a little closer to the door to catch more. What could this captain possibly be concerned about?

"Aye, and what'd yeh expect?" Winchcomb's voice sneered back from inside. "Yeh're tryin' to turn these lads into gentlemen! I've assured yeh plenty of times, they won't have any part of that rubbish!"

"It's no crime to try educating a crew. I need them to work for me; it's only natural that I tell them how to do so."

Winchcomb let out a sharp laugh at this. "What do you care how they do their jobs? We'll be rid of 'em in not but a few days."

"It's what could happen during those few days that has me concerned, Mr. Winchcomb," Pellinore pointed out with a nervousness that was hard to miss. Pintel made an odd face at this, then inched just a little closer. Now he was fully hooked.

"Well you're wastin' yer energy on it, Captain," Winchcomb snapped. "We're just a few miles from shore; mark me, we'll reach Pilón in the next hour, and we'll be gone from Pilón b'fore the sun ever comes up. This time tomorrow, we'll have what we came for, and it'll just be a matter of getting' to shore somewhere else!"

"And how will we get to that other shore without any conflicts arising?" the captain demanded. "The crew will want some tidy prophet for their troubles."

"And we'll have one! All you have to do is wave that promise in their faces, and they'll be happy as clams the whole voyage!"

Pintel blinked, somewhat confused by this strange statement. What exactly did the old bat mean by waving that promise in their faces?

There was a pause, then Pellinore asked flatly, "You still don't think they'll get suspicious?"

From his secret position behind the doors, Pintel finally began to sense another uneasiness coming on from this conversation, worse than all the other unpleasant feelings he'd known before. Suspicious of what?

Winchcomb, however, was unfazed. "Trust me, Captain. I know how these sort of lads think. Although…" There was a shuffling sound as the wild pirate moved his chair closer. "…While we be discussin' the matter of payment, what's a little prophet fer yer partner in crime lookin' like right now?"

Pellinore's response was an exasperated one, like he'd been asked this question numerous times before and didn't have the time for it now. "Three hundred pounds for the delivery, plus an extra two hundred if there's no damage, delay, or bloodshed in the process. That is my final offer, as we decided yesterday, Mr. Winchcomb."

The older man chuckled under his breath. "And it still sounds like an offer I be takin.'"

Their discussion had come to an end. Another moment of silence passed, and then Pellinore's voice lit up with a casual comment about the calm wind tonight. Winchcomb, as always, was quick to jump in with another opinion of the situation. Both men were going on with their chat as if they'd been discussing the silliness of the weather all along.

And neither of them was aware of the sickened and rather disturbed crewman listening just outside the door.

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Pintel was in a state of denial.

It couldn't be true. It wasn't true. He'd only misheard Pellinore and Winchcomb through that thick wood, and he'd been antsy at the time anyways. He thought he'd heard the captain and first mate scheming about something with their shifty-sounding words and suspicious voices, but that hadn't been the case at all. It couldn't have been.

Could it?

Pintel forced the unsettling thoughts aside with a final grimace. He didn't have time to dwell on them right now, not with everything else he had to worry about. For now, he had to assume that he'd misheard the whole conversation, and trust that the captain really was the reliable man that he presented himself as.

There was a creak as Pintel placed his foot on the last step below deck, and a muffled gasp was immediately heard off to his right.

"Save yer snivellin'," he grumbled to Ragetti. "It's me."

A second later, the dirty blonde head rose into sight, and seeing it, Pintel murmured something else as he withdrew the smuggled items—an apple and a roll. He tossed them absent-mindedly at the barrel, and as he watched Ragetti scramble after them like the crazed animal he was, the pirate couldn't help adding "Fetch," as an afterthought.

Despite his maddening hunger, Ragetti hadn't taken more than two bites out of the apple before his bulging eyes shifted back over to the balding man. There was a curious but dim look on his face, and with some hesitation, he softly called out, "Pintel?"

The sound of his name stopped the other, who had just been turning to leave, in his tracks. "Wot?"

Ragetti lowered his eyes back to the apple, almost shying away from the response. He tilted his head awkwardly, instantly looking even dumber than before, and then asked his sudden itching question.

"Was Queen Elizabeth a Tudor?"

Now Pintel looked just as clueless as Ragetti, if not more. "Huh?"

"A Tudor, like Henry the Eighth and Bloody Mary. Were she a part of the Tudor dynasty?"

Pintel squinted as he attempted to understand this bizarre question. "…Where's this comin' from?"

"That fellow w'the green hat," Ragetti explained. "He were down 'ere b'fore wif another man, and the other man was showin' 'im 'ow to tie knots. The fellow w'the green hat told 'im 'e were the best tutor since Queen Elizabeth. Fink 'e was jokin', that green hat fellow…"

It was still a good while before any of this registered in Pintel's dusty mind. Up until this point, he'd seen Ragetti as nothing but a stupid little lump of a boy who was oblivious to everything. True, he still wasn't about to dismiss that notion, but this abrupt pondering of the English monarchy had caught him completely off guard. What could have possibly sparked something so random in such an empty head?

"…'Is name's Yager," he managed to say at last. "And it's a bandana, not a hat. …And 'ow the blazes do you know about Queen Elizabeth?"

Ragetti continued staring stupidly at his supper as he shrugged. "I've 'eard of 'er."

"Where?"

The boy lifted his head just then, suddenly stumped. "I dunno," he answered honestly. He grinned to himself just then. "I likes that fellow, Yager…"

Pintel blinked. "You likes 'im?"

"'E's got two boys of 'is own back 'ome. 'E come out 'ere lookin' for some money for 'is family. Nice fellow."

"Now where'd you 'ere this?"

"'E said so 'imself. I 'eard 'im talkin' 'bout it."

Pintel raised a slightly amused eyebrow. He obviously had nothing against eavesdropping.

Ragetti chuckled to himself then. "I 'eard that Rub fellow talkin' 'bout 'imself too this mornin'…"

Pintel felt himself snap back into reality then. If anything, the boy's questions had taken his mind off of Pellinore and Winchcomb, and for that, he was almost grateful. But this comment immediately brought the thought of Rub and the sails back to his mind, and the stocky pirate decided he'd wasted enough time down here.

"Well, good luck wif that," he commented, and again turned to leave.

But before he was gone, one more question came to the lad's mind. "Pintel?"

The pirate stopped in mid-step and furrowed his brow. "Wot?"

"Where we goin'?"

Pintel glanced back at him with a half-mocking expression. "Yeh knows 'bout Queen Elizabeth but yeh doesn't know that?"

Ragetti just stared up at him blankly.

The older man sighed impatiently, then paused to piece together an answer. "Ever 'eard of Pilón?"

The boy shook his head.

"Well 'ave yeh ever 'eard of a place called Cuba?"

Ragetti gave the same negative response.

Pintel smirked with a hint of pride. "Just be glad you ain't goin' ashore when we gets there."

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Soon to be updated (once my teachers lay off with all the homework)