AN I hope you Sparrabeth shippers don't kill me too hard. Hang tough though. More is yet to come.
Also… I feel it my duty to do this.
Peak – The top of a mountain or hill.
Peek – To peer through or around something.
Heal – To cure or recover from an injury or illness.
Heel – The back part of a foot.
Steal – To take without permission.
Steel – A metallic alloy used in swords.
PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE, USE THIS AS A GUIDE!
You have NO idea how many well written stories I've read with all these words spelled incorrectly. Spellcheck does NOT catch improperly used homonyms.
Chapter 15: Bargains
He sprinted out the door, heading for the galley. Bursting through the already battered door and leaving it barely hanging on its last hinge, he tore through knocking crates aside to get to the bow of the ship. Slamming the forward hatch open he slowed, stepping forward cautiously as he peered over the side of the ship towards the bowsprit. Peering up under it, he flinched. Even through the murky darkness, he could see an empty space, a space where the Pearl's figurehead should be.
A light step sounded just behind him and he whipped around to witness his recent bedmate move to join him as she tried to gather her clothes in a more modest fashion about her.
"I did tell you," she sighed. "I have been trying to tell you from the start, but you seemed so determined that I was someone else."
Speechless, which for Jack was a rare state of being, he continued his wide-eyed darting glances between the woman and the empty spot on his ship. Vaguely aware that he was out in the open without any trousers on, he stood transfixed to the spot as if working out some puzzle he could not quite grasp.
He felt her hand wrap gently around his forearm, tightening slightly as he tried to pull away. He turned to glare wildly at her, reacting to her as if she were some horror to escape. His eyes fell on hers, and he noticed, perhaps not for the first time, but certainly for the first time conscientiously, the age and wisdom that were trapped within. She was certainly not the young fearless debutante that had sailed with him from Tortuga to, literally, the jaws of death. He wondered how he, Captain Jack Sparrow, had missed it.
"You are my ship," he whispered. "I have just made love to my ship." He shook his head to clear the fogginess, the confusion.
"I am not the Pearl, just the essence of the Pearl," she corrected. "I exist to keep watch over the Pearl and all those aboard, particularly the Captain."
"Aye, and you watched us get decimated by the Kraken, and watched as I was shackled to the mast and eaten alive. Fat lot of good that did for me," he sniped as he turned to march back to his cabin, finally feeling a little overexposed to the world.
"I was unable to do anything about that," she shot back. "After all, I was not the one to make such a stupid deal with Davy Jones. Besides, before we got to the Locker, I was nothing but the essence, a spirit."
He heard her sigh heavily. Grinding his teeth, he shoved his legs into his breeches and set to work getting his boots back on his feet, all the while trying to avoid looking into her ageless eyes.
"Do you remember what the Odyssey says about the Phaecians?" she asked him. This question brought his gaze back to hers.
"I am not a Phaecian," he announced firmly.
"No, you are not, as the race died out millennia ago," she confirmed. "But their sailing secrets, known only to themselves and to the Gods, did not die out."
"Yes, yes, they were great sailors, but I also recall that they were extremely magnanimous and friendly people. I am a pirate. How does this pertain to me? Or to you for that matter?" He grunted as one boot slipped snug onto his foot.
"Some mortals were given the secrets, to protect their loved ones, or to bestow as rewards for great deeds," she continued, apparently ignoring his question.
"Some mortals?" he queried. "The only mortal I know with this sort of knowledge would be …" He paused, startled. He looked closely at the thing-that-looked-like-Elizabeth, and frowned. He noticed how closely she resembled Elizabeth in the face, hair, and even mannerisms, but the body was not right. The figurehead-cum-human had a much more curvaceous form than the delectable Miss Swann's. It appeared closer to that of a certain witch with whom he had shared an evening or two in his youth.
He leaned over and gently kissed the mulatto woman's eyelids as she slept. Softly running his finger over her tattooed cheeks, he still felt some qualms for bedding this mysterious young woman with ancient eyes, yet disarming smile. He had felt the need to delve more into the whys and wherefores concerning his so-called destiny to which she had hinted prior to his capture by Beckett's goons. After his encounter with her while still in his cell, he had become quite certain that she was the one to whom he had to return to get his answers. She had greeted him joyfully when he arrived at her island after escaping the prison, so joyfully that he had tumbled into her cot with her writhing wildly in his arms.
He slowly moved off the cot, not wishing to wake her just yet. It was close to morning, and he had slept fitfully between bouts of lovemaking. He needed to return to Tortuga soon to find some means to feed his love of the sea. Beckett had burned and sunk his ship as part of the torture prior to his own hanging, but he was determined to find another to commandeer.
He took a swig of rum into his mouth, letting it run over his gums and tongue, washing away the stickiness of the night's activities. As he sat at her table, watching the morning sun's brightness trickle down to the swampy surroundings, he heard her movements as she slowly wakened with contented moans. He scrubbed at his half grown beard, not used to the feeling of hair on his chin. Until his branding, he had kept himself clean shaven, with his hair pulled back tidily and tethered with a simple ribbon. It no longer seemed necessary to do so now.
Soon, he heard her step, and her hands rested on his shoulders, kneading them, loosening the tightness he had not realized was present until then. As he relaxed into her massage, her voice soared and dropped as it flowed about him in her singsong dialect. He soon realized that she was actually talking to him.
"… and now you have something to do for me," he heard her finish.
"Sorry, I misheard you," he quipped. "Was not last night as good a payment for services rendered…?" He was unable to finish, as his voice pitched upwards into a yelp of pain as her grip tightened fiercely on his neck. Such a pinch seemed abnormal for such delicate hands.
"Young captain," she hissed. "You have much to learn about bargaining if a mere night in bed with me is payment for your life."
"And I thought my escape was my payment for the freedom of the slaves," he whined.
"And who do you think is having to feed, shelter, protect and teach the slaves to live here? Such a task requires payment, and payment is due." Her hands dropped from his shoulders as she circled to confront him face to face.
"You are a ship's captain, a captain without a ship." Her hands came up to her bosom and started toying with a silver heart pendant nestled between her mounds. "I know where a ship lies, and one who can help us with the raising of said ship."
"I still do not see how the Phaecians have anything to do with this," he bickered. "After all, it did not save me from getting eaten alive."
"The Phaecians were renowned sailors not just through their navigational and practical skills," she carefully explained. "Their ships also had special powers. In a sense, they were alive."
"They had walking, talking figureheads?" He raised an eyebrow and stood to approach her. "Did they all sleep with their captains? Or is that just a particular skill of your own?"
"Need I remind you that you did not meet me as I am until you got to the Locker?" she snapped back. Apparently, her temper was not limitless.
"Oh, yes, let us go into that. Why did I not meet you before the Kraken? Why now? Why with Elizabeth's face? And one more thing," he snarled, looming over her. "How were you able to compare my lovemaking skills with Barbossa's?"
