They call me Keeran You liked my mutiny? Thank you very much. I actually had to redo the entire thing. You see where I am in writing the story, Wesley is 15, not 7 almost eight! So it was actually a long time ago that I wrote this part of the story, and now I have to go back and type it. I'm realizing just how much my writing has improved since then, and typing it is very difficult because I have to majorly edit a lot of parts. My mutiny scene I litterally threw together in about thirty minutes just before I uploaded it to here. I definately have a better connection with the characters now than I did then. "Either way, you're not good enough." and "You know, you're right Jack. That's exactly what I was thinking." don't really sound like Barbossa phrases. :)
Now, for the good part...Chapter 8
I was a good boy that time. I actually spent the whole time in my cell carving a piece of wood with a rock, both of which I found lying around. Amazing, isn't it? Then, I heard the door at the end of the hall open. Two guards were bringing Mother back in. She was crying again—harder. I hated to see her so sad. Quickly, I scurried to my feet and met her at the front of the cell.
"Mom, what's wrong?" I asked as soon as they opened the cell door and pushed her in.
She ran to me, fell to her knees, and threw her arms around me, bawling an explanation. I couldn't understand a word; I don't even know why I kept asking.
The younger of the two guards in the hallway mumbled, "Ye sure thas the lad Barbossa told us ta get?"
The other replied, "He said he wanted the boy thas alone in 'is cell. I ain't seein' another." He was older, and apparently more used to following orders without asking questions.
"But ye can't make that a pirate! 'e's so li'l, an' harmless." (I think that was "He's so little.").
"Harmless?" A man from the next cell over interrupted. "You obviously haven't met him yet. The little trouble maker."
I was listening to all of that and decided to jump in. "You talkin' 'bout me?" I questioned, trying to sound bigger and bad-er than I was as I slipped out of my mother's grip.
"Aye," the older one responded. "We have been sent here by Barbossa to ask if you are ready to be a pirate."
"NO!" I shouted almost before they had finished asking. How many bloody times would I have to tell them that?
"Wesley," Mother muttered, covering her mouth.
"Are you sure 'bout that?" He continued. "We've been ordered to flog ye, given ye'd say that."
"Wesley," Mother repeated, now trying to get my attention.
I ignored her, mocking, "By Barbossa? That changes nothing." He wasn't the captain. What could he do?
"Wesley!"
"All right then," the older man decided, grabbing me by the arm.
"Don't say—" Mother began.
"Parley," I demanded, expecting to see Jack. Of course, it wasn't until after I found out that I realized what Mother had been trying to do. Look at me, getting ahead of myself. We're not there yet. The two of them drug me away to Jack's cabin.
Barbossa was the only one in there, and he questioned, "Why are you bringing him here, you good for nothing--?" Then he stopped suddenly.
"He said 'Parley,'" the older one answered after Barbossa shut up.
"And," I broke in, "I expect to see Jack. He's the captain."
"Not any longer," Barbossa boasted. "Jack has left for good, and left me as captain."
Yeah, that was when it all made sense, even why she was crying. He really would flog me, I think.
"Why?" I asked after a second. It couldn't hurt to ask.
"That's of no consequence. All that matters is that I am captain, and I am ordering you to join our crew."
"I am disinclined to acquiesce to your request!" I shouted. It was a bit stumbled, but I was proud to have used such big words.
Barbossa frowned just long enough for me to tell I'd confused him for a second, but he quickly regained his composure saying, "You too would defy my commands? If I were any crueler, I'd have you killed for that."
"I am a prisoner. That is what pirates do to prisoners. I am willing to deal with that. I will not rebel against the British government and His Majesty the King." That was a big lie. I wasn't ready to die, I could care less about His Majesty the King, and I was only saying no because of my mother.
"If you wish…that is the way it will be." He gestured to the older pirate who immediately came close enough for Barbossa to whisper something to him. Then, the older pirate led me away.
I didn't want to get up the next morning. My head hurt, my back hurt, and I was laying in a hay stack. The room—if you could call it that—was dark. I felt like I was going to get seasick. I didn't remember being in that room. "How did I get here?" I asked, but I was all alone. I thought back to the night before. Just thinking about it made my back ache. Their whip was better than Father's, that was for sure. I'd passed out. I couldn't remember anything after that. I sat up.
Just as I did, two other pirates walked in the door. Did they always travel in twos? I'd seen these two before, though. They were Pintel and Ragetti, or was it Rotell and Spaghetti? Oh well.
"Happy birthday!" The both of them shouted excitedly.
Oh yeah, it was that wasn't it? I was…eight. It didn't feel any different. Well actually, it did. It felt worse, but I don't think that counts.
"Boy 've we got a surprise fer you kid!" Pintel continued.
"Are ye gonna tell 'im what it is?" Ragetti asked. "I sure love surprises."
"Of course I'm gonna tell 'im," Pintel assured, grabbing one of my hands. He paused for Ragetti to grab the other, and they helped me to my feet with Pintel explaining, "You're gonna be a pirate!"
"What?" I did not want anymore of that whip. I wouldn't let them take me.
"Didn't ye expect this at all?" Pintel inquired. "Yer initiation party, I mean."
"A party?" I frowned, remembering Father's definition for discussion.
"Come o' now. Don' be shy," Ragetti comforted, pushing me out the door.
I stood just outside the door—which turned out to be on deck. There was a party going on, in a very pirate-y way with drinks and all. They looked insane, and they probably were.
Bootstrap appeared next to me and said, "Hey there you are. We've been looking for you." Boy he was acting really nice. I guess he didn't know I hated him. He started walking away into the crowd, and I decided I could follow him because he was still trying to talk to me. "I'm so glad you made this decision. Jack would be—"
"Made this decision," I repeated, "Mister Turner, I said no."
He seemed slightly shocked for a second before he tried to make sure he had heard correctly. "You did?"
I just nodded my head.
"Then what are we here for?"
I shrugged. "I planned on asking you."
Frowning, he kept walking, barging through the crowd with enough purpose to gather everyone else's attention. They eventually formed a sort of circle around Bootstrap, Barbossa, and I.
"He can't be a pirate," Bootstrap began in a hushed tone. "He hasn't signed the Articles yet."
"I thought that after our discussion last night, I'd give the lad another chance to agree," Barbossa explained. Then, he looked to me. "Can ye make yer mark?"
Oh, yeah, I thought, So now everyone calls that a discussion. But instead of saying that, I replied, "I can…but I won't." Every minute I was hating myself more and more for that. Why was I obeying so well now?
A mumble spread throughout the crowd, and Barbossa asked, "So you enjoyed last night, then, did ye?"
"No," I said slowly.
"Then, I suggest you give in."
"Never!"
Barbossa grabbed my hand and slammed it down on a nearby crate. I was forced down to my knees, as was he, and someone chained my hand down. My first thought was that they were going to cut my fingers off. Immediately, I reached for my key. I couldn't let that happen.
"There is one thing that ye really need to learn kid," Barbossa warned. I reached my other hand to the crate, pretending I was trying to force my hand out of the cuff. I was really just getting my key up there, and I didn't want to look suspicious. "And that is how long is too long. Ye need to learn when to give up."
"I will never give up!" I shouted, jumping up to my feet, completely free.
That is, only until Barbossa also stood up and pointed his gun at me. I was scared, for good reason. I didn't know anybody who had survived that. I lifted my arms in surrender, wishing I could cry. Barbossa clicked his tongue disapprovingly at me as he took away the key that was still in my hand.
"I knew ye'd warm up to me eventually. Now sit down." Of course, I obeyed, instantly sitting on the crate. I couldn't believe I was about to be forced at gunpoint to do something I wanted to do in the first place.
"George," Barbossa said, beckoning a pirate that was standing not too far away.
"But…" George replied, pointing at me with a frown on his face. He was tall, thin, and dark haired. He was probably also the only pirate still dressed in traditional European clothing, and relatively clean at that. He actually kind of still looked presentable.
Barbossa turned his pistol to George. "Don't start," he stated with a threatening tone.
George slightly rolled his eyes and sighed quietly before kneeling beside me. I was getting closer and closer to crying, but I was eventually able to ask as he rolled up his sleeves, "George…what are you doing?" I was still thinking about losing my fingers.
Trying to make things as easy as possible for me, he whispered cheerfully, "We're going to give you a tattoo." He got out a bunch of tools for something as simple sounding as that.
I managed a little smile. At least I would keep my fingers. That didn't mean I was happy about this. Why would I want to serve under Barbossa anyways? And I was still recovering from the whole gun thing.
"You mean like the one you have on your wrist?" I questioned after a second. I wanted to be perfectly sure nothing unexpected would happen.
"Exactly like that. You're a very smart little boy. Now give me your hand."
"I'm not little," I insisted. "And why is yours on your left hand?"
"Well, I'm left handed. That's why I'm a pirate. Of course, you…a boy like you wouldn't be, would you?"
I nodded, "I am."
"Well, one left hand Swann coming up then," he joked, picking up what looked like a really sharp pen dipped in ink. He touched it to my arm, and it stung. Who would have thought drawing on yourself would hurt? It still didn't hurt worse than the night before. I just sat there, letting my dream come true in the most depressing of ways, and it seemed George and I had some special connection. After all, from that point, we were both people running away from society but trying to cling to bits and pieces of it.
Slowly, gradually, Barbossa lowered his gun, until it was finally done. "Now, Pirate Swann," he began, putting his pistol back in its holster, "will you sign the Articles, or must we continue the coercion?" He placed a list of rules in front of me, and I quickly scanned through them. I recognized most of them, and the ones I didn't recognize seemed reasonable, so I did it. I signed it, officially making myself a pirate of the Black Pearl.
"Welcome kid," Barbossa finished, sounding an awful lot nicer now. I smiled, but the urge to cry was still there.
Ragetti, trying to make me feel better, called out, "Three cheers for Wesley." The crew cheered, "Hip-hip-hooray," and then they all dispersed as if nothing at all had happened.
"Now tell us," Bootstrap demanded as soon as they were gone, "how much do you know about swords?" He pulled his from its sheath and handed it to me.
I looked at it for a while before stabbing its point into the floor and leaning on the handle—it was almost as tall at me—and replying, "The pointy end goes in the other person." I could have just said "not much," or "nothing really," but I thought it would be fun to imitate a stupid man's Spanish accent that Sammuel taught me.
"What did you say?" Bootstrap gave a suspicious glance to Barbossa.
I assumed—always a bad thing to do—that he hadn't liked what I'd said, so I changed it to, "I really know nothing at all."
"No, what did you say?" Barbossa repeated, realizing what Bootstrap was actually getting at. I repeated what I said the first time, accent and all. Barbossa and Bootstrap turned to each other and started mumbling things to each other.
"Should we?...It might work…But what if it doesn't?...What would the others think?...It's unheard of…It just hasn't been proven yet…The deception!...That never stopped us before…He's barely even a pirate…It's dishonorable…All the better. Let's do it!" Although, both had made some good points for each side, Barbossa seemed to like the idea more than Bootstrap did.
"Do what?" I asked, suddenly feeling left out of my own life. If this was too outlandish for Bootstrap, how would I know if I wanted to do this or not?
"If you want to be a pirate," Barbossa explained, "you will have to know how to use a sword. There be a class starting the day after the 'morrow on Tortuga—"
"Tortuga?" I questioned. Sammuel had mentioned that place once, but I had thought it was made up. Real cities weren't like that.
"The ultimate pirate haven," Barbossa continued. "Where you can learn everything there is to know about being a pirate without having to worry about anyone finding out. An' after a year, you'll be better than most of the men here." Somehow, I didn't think that was the only thing him and Bootstrap had talked about.
"A year…that's an awfully long time to," I couldn't think of anything a year would be a long time for. It just seemed like a long time. Then, I remembered, "to be gone from Mother." What was she going to think?
"To speak of the Devil," Bootstrap realized, "you'd probably like to go tell her, wouldn't ye?"
I shook my head no. That wouldn't be good, but before I could protest verbally, Barbossa was leading me down the stairs to her. As we went, he kept explaining more of what my "education" would be. We had met 'discussions;' we had experience 'parties;' what on Earth would 'education' be? I was only half-way listening, though. The rest of me was trying to figure out what to tell my mother.
He continued, "…and when ye get there, don't speak to anyone, hear that? Anyone until ye get to the school."
"Right anyone…I mean, not anyone."
Then, we got there. The other prisoners moaned and grumbled, and I even heard one say, "Not again!" Mother came to the gate crying—I'm not sure whether it was again or still, or over Jack or me, or both, or neither, but she was crying—and through it all, the only thing I caught was, "Are you all right?"
I unlocked her as I responded, "Yeah, I'm fine," in a confused, happy, sad way.
"What are you doing?" She asked when the door opened, and I didn't go in.
"You're free Mother." She just stood there, understanding there was more to it than just that. I tried to avoid the real answer, saying instead, "You know, like you don't have to spend the rest of your life sleeping, eating, and drinking in this dirty cell. You can change your dress, wipe your face, and reapply your make-up. You could—"
"How?" She interrupted.
"I pulled a few strings," I said, hoping she wouldn't ask for more. She did, so I tried to get the courage to say, "I…Mamma,"
Then Barbossa broke in. "Your son's a pirate," he stated bluntly.
I closed my eyes. Based on the mood she had been in lately, I figured she would go berserk. Instead, she simply took a few steps out of the door and said, "That's great."
That was it? She was happy? I looked at Barbossa. He seemed surprised as well. I had endured twelve strokes…a gun threat…annoying threats…and she was happy. I hate girls.
