Sorry about the delay. This chapter was really long, and I was focusing mostly on writing the story instead of just typing it up. I finished it on Christmas Day, 471 pages, now I just have to type all that up. I typed up the Epilogue and put it here as it's own story called Three pirates...with soap. I wouldn't suggest reading it yet, because, after all, it is the end of the story. On the other hand, it doesn't really give away any plots or anything, just hints at one, so it wouldn't be too bad to read if you're one of thoes people like me who has to read the last page of the book about fifty pages into the book.
Anyhoo, to the story, that's what you want anyway.
Of course, you guys all thought this new person was another bad guy trying to re-kidnap me or something. I thought that at first too, but really, he was helping me escape. I wished I could have said thank you, or bye, or anything for that matter. But I couldn't. I just walked away, attempting to retrace my steps back to Ale Street. It would have worked…if it weren't dark out. I could hardly see one step in front of me, so I was sure I would never be able to find a street. Turning back to the building, I wished I could have asked one of them for directions.
Over there—unbeknownst to me—Joe was leaning against a wall, never having been shot. My "savior" walked over beside him and asked, "What was up with that rogue, flying swords thing?"
"He expected me to save him," Joe explained, "I had to at least pretend like I had."
"Why would he be wanting you to save him? You were not supposed to get along with him."
"Extraneous circumstances made that otherwise impossible," Joe replied vaguely. The other man just glared at him, so Joe continued, "I was almost mean to him the whole time, but..."
"But?" He probed.
"But there was that situation with the key. You never told us he was an important kid. I just couldn't take that away from him. He just kept surprising us with these things…and then he suddenly expected me to help him. I had only done two nice things…much more mean stuff than that."
"He is pretty strange. We didn't break him, did we?"
"No, he did say one word," Joe revealed. He looked in my general direction and wondered, after a moment, "Don't you think he'll know it was a set up? At the end not much seemed realistic."
"It didn't have to be realistic," the man mentioned, slamming a small bag of money in Joe's hand, "just convincing enough that an eight year old could believe it." Then, he walked toward me.
When he first caught up with me, I thought he was one of Joe's friends because they looked similar. It was the first time I noticed that he was only in his late twenties. I pretended like I didn't see him and just kept walking.
"Where are you going?" He asked. I just shrugged, so he questioned, "Is it all right if I come along?" I shrugged again.
We walked on for a couple steps, but then he turned to me and said, "You know, what you did in there, it was pretty neat."
I rolled my eyes and turned to leave. Just another person who wanted to talk to me. I only wanted to get to the school, and it wasn't that neat. There were a lot of mistakes.
He grabbed me by the shoulder and continued, "No really. So you made a few mistakes on your moves—okay a lot—but I think you have the potential to learn those moves. You're a fast thinker; I saw that, and that's what's important."
I had to take a few seconds to think about that. It was really nice of him to take the time to flatter me, but why? Was it some sort of scheme like the man with the watches had been? Plus, wasn't that sort of what Barbossa was sending me to the school for? I didn't know how to respond—without saying anything—so I just walked away.
"I bet I know what you're thinking," the man said, quickly following me. "'So what?' I'm offering to teach you something…something you can't just learn at the school. There, they will teach you how to fight. I want to teach you when to fight, who to fight, what to fight over…I want to make you a spy."
A spy. Had I heard correctly? I looked at him. That would be great, so fun, and, even better, Father would hate it! It didn't even matter who I would be spying on, or that it was against the law—hey so was piracy. I wanted to do this.
"I have to go to the school first," I replied, "Captain's orders, but after that, we'll talk about this some more."
I turned and walked toward the school. He smiled from a step behind me. I was easier than he'd expected.
"What do you mean there's no room left in the class?" I asked the lady inside the school.
"I mean, there's no room left. We already have the maximum number of students enrolled. If you had showed up an hour ago, you could have gotten in, but you're just too late," the lady described. She was getting a little frustrated, as was I.
"But…an hour ago! I was locked in a room with ten other witnesses. I couldn't get here."
"Boy, I don't care if you were kidnapped by people from the moon. There are no exceptions. Now, if there is nothing more you'd like to talk to me about, leave!"
I slowly turned around, slumped out of the school, and sat on the stairs just outside the door to think. This wasn't my fault. Barbossa couldn't get mad, could he? The five men who had stolen my map were arguing with a school employee who wouldn't let them dig anymore holes. They were funny. I laughed and then sighed. I had no idea what to do. The spy guy sat down next to me.
"You know what," he began, "my sister Rebecca teaches the art of sword fighting too. I could set you up with her, if you'd like to take my spying class."
"Well, actually, now that I've had time to think about it, I have a few questions. Like who would I be spying on? And who would I be working for? And—"
"Okay, okay. One question at a time. You'd work for your own ship, and you'll spy on whoever they want you to, but it's usually other ships that your Captain wants to attack."
"So, if I'm going to be doing this for my ship, shouldn't they know?"
"They should, and they do. In fact, they paid me considerably to see that it be done," he answered.
"How do I know you're not lying to me?" I demanded skeptically.
He pulled out a small bag with a few gold pieces in it and a letter. I grabbed the letter from him, completely forgetting about the gold.
"Hey, what good is that going to do you?" He asked. "You can't read."
"Can too," I replied, opening the letter. Sure enough, it was signed by Barbossa. I skimmed through it, and my eyes fixed on one line. Barbossa had said, "…I give you my consent to use whatever means it takes to test his loyalties to the limit. You have money; make him talk. See how much it takes to make him disobey…" At least now I knew what him and Bootstrap had wanted me to do here.
I crumpled the letter into a ball, threw it at the man, and walked a short distance away. He got up and followed me asking, "What did you do that for?"
"I can't believe that you would do all that—hire two stupid guards, ten annoying companions, and one sleazy hit man—just so it would seem like you had saved my life. Why? So I would feel comfortable enough to talk to you? Or so I would be indebted to you and more likely to take the class? All you had to do was tell me that's what I was supposed to do."
After a moment, the man mentioned, "You can't say it wasn't a little fun, though, can you?"
"It was a little fun, but I'm still mad at you."
"It was supposed to be a test, of sorts. That's what being a bug is going to be like," the man described.
I figured a 'bug' was what he called the whole spying thing, so I retorted, "You mean I'm never gonna be able to talk again?"
"No, but sometimes there will be instructions that just don't make any sense, and you'll have to follow them."
"I'll obey when I want to," I stated surely.
"We'll have to see about that. As for now, it's late, and you've had a hard day. Let's see about getting you to bed."
"I'm not tired," I insisted, yawning.
"Come along. I'll take you to my sister's house."
The next morning I woke up in a small room on a bed that was soft—enough. It was dark. I closed my eyes for only a second, and when I reopened them it was bright in the room. I moaned, complaining that I wouldn't get to sleep any longer.
"Good morning, Sleepy Head," greeted a lady's voice from the left—no the right. I blinked a few times. The light was coming from a window. Suddenly, another set of blinds was thrown open, revealing the young lady who had spoken. She walked over to the bed and continued, "It's a pleasure to meet you Wesley. I'm Becca, but surely Dan told you that. Here's a change of clothes on the bed. Breakfast is downstairs; it's already been served, so hop to it. We've got a big day ahead of us."
When she left, I sat there a moment trying to wake up. As I did, I thought about her appearance. She wasn't what I expected at all, but at the same time, she was. She was an average girl, around 20, with dark, just-above-the-shoulder hair. I think what surprised me was her clothes. She wore this really neat, deep red, silky, long flowing sleeved, knee length, wrap around dress with little pink flowers. That didn't bother me at all because Father had this slave who used to wear something similar and call it a…kimono? But anyways, she was wearing pants underneath it, which was what surprised me. I'd never actually seen a girl do that.
I hurried to do what she said and then ran downstairs for breakfast. Dan was washing some dishes. He served me a plate of food that was cold, but I didn't complain. I ate it quickly. Then, following his directions, I made my way to where Becca was to teach me sword fighting. I was so excited! Little did I know what this whole thing was really going to get me into.
When I got to the training room, Becca was already there practicing what she was going to teach me. She had changed into clothes more 'practical for such strenuous activities,' but she was still in pants. I took a step inside the room and knocked on the open door.
She looked up and said, "Oh there you are. Are you ready to start?" as she threw another sword to me. It would have been perfect for me to catch it like in all those stories, but I didn't think I could. Instead, I took one step back and just let it drop to the floor.
"Okay. This is going to take some work," she mumbled to herself. "Now, pick up the sword…with one hand." She was giving me those orders very slowly. By the time she had finished that and looked back to me, I had already picked it up in my left hand and situated myself in the closest I could get to the ready position.
She cocked her head a little. "Good…very good. Not quite, but good. You need to switch your feet. No…" She frowned, seemingly confused. Holding her sword in her right hand, she tried standing the way I was, and then she changed to what she thought it was. Quickly, she realized that the problem was not the way I was standing, but that she was going to have to teach me left handed.
"Are you left handed or are you just standing like that?" She inquired, just to be sure.
I nodded, "Yeah."
"Okay, then," she agreed, switching hands, "you're right. Now, you're going to stay in this position."
"Why?" I asked just in case she might tell me.
"Because," she explained, beginning to walk around me in a circle, "you have to know this position, feel the position. Get to know it as if it were your friend. Because every move you'll ever learn will be based off of this." She paused and examined how I stood. "Good. At ease," she commanded.
"What?"
"Stand normally and relax."
"Oh." So I did, and Becca continued to walk around me. I didn't like that, so I would turn to always be facing her as she walked. We walked around like that for a short while, but at random times she would command, "Ready thyself." I would jump into the ready position, and she would examine me. One of those times, Becca took her sword and knocked mine out of my hand. I looked from her to the sword and back, confused as to shy she did it.
"Lesson number one," she stated, "is: Bend."
"What?" How in the world was I supposed to bend?
"Pick up your sword." I obeyed. "Now, is it easier to hold it as you are, or like this?" She asked, pushing my sword back so far that I was only holding it with two fingers.
"Of course, the normal way," I replied. That was obvious.
"Then hold it that way."
I frowned at her. I had been trying to do that when she knocked it out of my hand.
She realized I was confused and added, "Pretend that your hand is glued to the sword like that. You never—NEVER—want to let it go, so when you feel like you are going to let go, move so that you are always holding the sword the right way."
"Okay." I thought I knew what she meant.
"Okay." Becca tried knocking the sword away again. This time, my hand was "glued" to the sword, but bending my arm threw me off balance, and I fell over. Becca broke out laughing at the same time as she tried to help me up. Trying to calm herself, she explained, "No, move your feet. You don't have to just constantly stand that way. If you watch two people fighting, do they just stand still?"
"No."
"Exactly. You know why? Because moving makes it easier. Yes the ready position is the beginning of every move, but making an attack, defending yourself, escaping…they all require moving." As she said "making an attack," she lunged me slow enough that I could deflect it. On "defending yourself," the roles changed, and she "escaped" by spinning one full turn while stepping backwards.
"That's not escaping," I noted with a smile. "I'm still here to get you." Then she smiled back. I charged her, she deflected it, and we were fighting! Granted, it was really slow and nothing fancy, but it was happening. And God it was fun.
Two weeks later I began the class on spying. At that time it didn't make sense to me why I was learning math, history, cooking, culture…everything, but by the end of six months I could multiply in Spanish, fry eggs, dance the salsa, and sword fight while hopping on one foot all at the same time. Okay, not really, and I couldn't do those things exceptionally well. All in all, though, I had become a well rounded person.
That day I was fighting Becca again, and even though she still went a little easy on me, it felt great that I was beating her. We were doing much more difficult tricks now, like with all the fancy footwork, and a little rolling and jumping. Then, I pulled a move on her that she didn't know I knew. She tripped, and I gently touched my sword to her neck before helping her back up again.
"I taught him that," Dan bragged, having just appeared in the doorway. Becca rolled her eyes, and I smiled elatedly. Dan continued, "Wes, come here. I've got an assignment for you." I obeyed.
Becca put one hand on her hip. "Ugh, and now you'd take him away from my class time."
"Come on Becca, it's not like he needs more training there." Then he turned to me and, pointing to a group of boys down the street, explained, "See those four kids over there? They're betting over which ships are going to win upcoming battles—"
"They know that stuff?" I interrupted. "I mean, I know the POLANDs have to approve all the schedules, but how would that group get a hold of them?" (Don't worry, you'll understand the POLANDs soon enough.)
"They stole it apparently, but what I want is you to take this," he handed me a small pouch of gold, "and bet that the Mauvais will beat the Desolator tomorrow."
"No way," I refused. "That's stupid; they'd never win. You're setting me up to lose."
"Wesley. Remember what I told you. The jobs that you're sent on don't always make sense, but in order for everything to go as planned, you need to obey exactly."
I rolled my eyes and walked over to them. I noticed that the boy who never spoke from my first day was among them. They all looked distracted by a problem. I plopped myself in a gap between the boy I knew and someone else.
In a fake southern American colonies accent, I asked, "What are you all doing?" Though it sounded more like, "whach'y'all doin'?"
They all just stared at me until the boy I knew said, "Boys, I'd like you ta meet Wesley. He's the Pearl boy I was telling you about."
In order, clockwise, I heard, "Hello," "Good day," "Hi."
"Hey y'all," I replied. "So, whach'ya doin'?"
"What are you doing?" The hi guy asked rudely. I could tell he didn't want me there.
"I's jus' wond'rin' whach'y'all is doin'."
"It ain't nothin' you'd understan'," he mocked. I glared at him slightly. If he only knew…
The boy I knew explained, "Don't mind him; he's just in a bad mood. You see, we're having quite a perplexing problem that we ourselves can't figure out. I doubt you could, having ne'er played the game."
"Kin I at least try? I'm really good at games."
He looked questioningly at the rest of the group. Two of the three moaned an 'I guess so.' The hi guy just sat there, arms crossed. He didn't like me for some reason.
"All right, here's the problem: We all choose which ship we want to win a battle, and so does another group. Then, we get together with the other group to bet over who gets the ship they want. Last week, we were sure the Desolator would beat the Black Pearl—no offense to ya—cuz she ain't been doin' much these past six months…plus we heard she'd picked up a curse. But they must have been makin' improvements 'cuz they won."
"Speaking of big improvements," interrupted the boy who had said good day, "rumor has it Jack's not the captain anymore. D'ya think, just maybe, he's helpin' out the Mauvais?" He seemed to be begging more than asking.
I didn't know Jack that well, but I knew enough to reply, "Naw, sorry. Jack's gonna need more time 'an that ta plan 'is revenge."
"So he is gone," the boy I knew started.
"That means Barbossa is now the captain," the good day boy continued. He must have een some sort of researcher because he knew an aweful lot. "Hmm, the Mauvais can never win now."
"Well, why don't ya jus' bet on da Pearl?" I asked as if it were an obvious solution.
"We don't have the money. The other guys could out bid us easily, 'specially since we lost the last one."
The one who had said hello finally loosened up and commented, "Not to mention, if we try an' get the Pearl and then lose the bid, we'll lose this round for sure, and just end up losing more money." He sighed.
"Would this help?" I wondered, tossing my money into the center. It was in total defiance of what Dan had told me. Oh well, I told myself, circumstances had changed. The researcher picked up the bag, looked inside, and quickly closed it again.
"Are you sure you want to give us all this?" He questioned, but quickly continued, "What am I doing giving you a chance to take your money back?" he cautiously opened the bag again and bit a piece of the gold to test its authenticity. "Yes, yes. This will do quite well." I could tell he was trying to hold in his excitement.
"How much is in there?" The boy I knew asked, leaning over and mumbling some things to the researcher. Even the hi guy stopped frowning a little.
Then, the hello boy's eyes widened and he said, "Um, not to like ruin the party, or anything, but they're here."
"Who?" I asked as everyone looked up. I turned to see what they were looking at. There, in front of us, were five boys, about the same age as this group, and they wore the same type of piratey clothes. Four of the five stood in a line, with the oldest, tallest, and meanest standing one step ahead of them in the middle. It was obvious they were richer and had more resources. My four friends gradually drifted into the same formation; the boy I knew was in the front. The two leaders walked toward each other and met in the middle.
"Let's see what you've got," the other leader started, "but then, you might as well give up now 'cuz you've never got enough."
"Yeah, you've never got enough," one of his members repeated just like Ragetti would have.
Their leader rolled his eyes and continued, "Anyhow, let's get this over with. How much money are you willing to waste on the Mauvais?"
"The Mauvais!" The researcher blurted out, "We're betting on the Pearl."
"What?" He laughed, "You think you have enough money to beat us, yeah, sure." He quickly discarded the idea.
"You, beat us, ha," mini-Ragetti emphasized.
"We have ten of these," the boy I knew mentioned calmly, holding up one of the large gold coins branded with a skull and crossbones. That was the first time I had seen what Dan had put in the bag. It was some of the gold that Barbossa had used to pay for my instruction. The other group's leader reached toward the gold coin, and the boy I knew quickly drew it back, returning it to the bag.
The researcher snuck in, "That's two more than your maximum limit to play at once."
"Who'd ye steal it from this time Christopher?" The leader asked accusingly.
The boy I knew, apparently Christopher—replied, "We didn't steal it from anyone, Edmund."
"Okay," he retorted sarcastically, "who donated it to you involuntarily?"
Once again, mini-Ragetti giggled, "Donated involuntarily."
"No one!" Christopher exclaimed, stomping his foot, but Edmund had already spotted me watching from a distance.
He pushed Christopher out of the way and walked toward me saying, "Oh, well that explains it, you've got a new member."
"Who me?" I asked, almost forgetting the southern drawl. "Naw, I'm only visitin'."
"Don't be bashful Mate. We only want to welcome you."
"And what a welcoming indeed," another of Edmund's group, with a still slightly proper British accent, added, and then everyone else congratulated him on his smart remark. Something told me the "welcoming" wasn't as great as they said it was.
"You see that girl over there?" Edmund asked, pointing to a lady—amazingly still in a dress—standing in the middle of the road.
"Yessur," I answered.
"Convince her that you are blind, an' get her to take you to this address," he explained, handing me a slip of paper with the address on it.
At the same time, mini-Ragetti muttered, "Blind."
"Where is this?" I inquired.
"Doesn't matter; you're blind." Edmund continued, "When you get there, I want you to choose a random person and pick a fight with them. If you succeed, your group gets to keep your 10 coins whether the Pearl wins or not. And if the Pearl does win, we'll give you, on top of that, 20 gold coins."
"By succeed, do ya mean win da fight, or jus' pick it?" I questioned to avoid loopholes.
"If you don't succeed," he continued without answering, "we get your 10 coins, and you'll lose something even more valuable…your eyes."
Obviously, those were empty threats, but I didn't know that. To me, it was real. I gulped, imagining life without eyes. Interestingly, the first thought to pop into my head was: Awesome, then I could have an eye patch like a real pirate.
That thought was ended by the hello boy begging, "Don't make him do this!" Then, he turned to me, "You don't have to do this if you don't want to."
"Okay," I accepted, ignoring the hello boy. I was feeling up to the challenge. Without even thinking twice, I turned and crossed the street. I did that because there was a row of houses I could lean on to pretend I was blind.
I closed my eyes and started walking towards her. I knew there were about seven or eight houses between us, but the distance seemed twice as long with my eyes closed. Every now and then, I would open my eyes, just to make sure I hadn't passed her, even though I knew I hadn't. When I got to the end of the row, I opened my eyes just a little. She stood in the middle of the road. At the moment, everyone else was rushing off to lunch—in Tortuga they drank lunch as opposed to eating it.
I couldn't figure out how a blind man would cross the street without being tripped, but then, I got an idea. She would be more likely to help me if I did get tripped, so I just closed my eyes, bit my lip, and crossed the street. Just as I thought, someone's foot came out of nowhere, and I went splat in the middle of the road.
"Watch it kid," I heard someone say—probably the person I tripped over. I could tell everyone was walking around me instead of trying to help. I climbed to my hands and knees. All of a sudden, someone grabbed my arm and helped me to my feet.
"Are you okay?" She asked.
"Yes, yes. I'm fine, just a little dirty," I replied, leaning over to brush off my pants. I opened my eyes for a second to see if it was the right girl. The dress was the right color, so I supposed it was. "Thank you, though," I mentioned, standing up.
"You missed a spot," she noted and brushed off my chest.
"Thank you again."
Then, a piece of her dress bumped my arm, and I knew how I would let her know I was blind. I grabbed it, felt it, and asked, "It feels beautiful. What color is it?"
"It's blue," she replied with a confused tone. "Why? Are you blind or something?"
"Well, actually, I am."
"I'm sorry to hear that. May I ask how it happened?"
"Oh…" I thought for a second. That problem had never crossed my mind. "Well, I'd love to tell you the story," I concluded, "but it's awfully long, and I'm already late for an appointment. Maybe some other time."
"If we meet another time," she muttered.
I smiled, then turned to go, but I pretended not to know where I was going. I turned back to her and said, "I seem to be a little turned around. Do you think you could point me in the direction of this place?" I held out the piece of paper with the address on it.
She looked at it, turned it over because I held it out upside down, and stated, "It's that way."
"Which way?" I asked because I couldn't see her.
"That way," she repeated. I just waited. "Oh, I'll just take you. This way you can tell me how you became blind." She grabbed my hand and led me to where I was going.
I didn't know this, but at the same time, Edmund grabbed Christopher and commanded, "Let's see what's happening, shall we?" He walked toward the lady and I, closely followed by the members of both groups.
"…And so that's how I lost both of me eyes, Miss," I finished as we rounded the last corner. I had simply put a little twist on what just happened to me and completed the story as if I did not succeed.
"Ooh, interesting. Can I see your eyes, well I mean where they used to be?"
"I don't think you'd want to," I yelled over an increasing noise coming from a crowd of people. Changing the subject, I asked, "Why is it so loud here?"
"Because we've arrived," she replied just as loud as I had.
"It's a bar?"
"I was wondering why you wanted to come here."
I had to improvise, explaining, "Someone told me he would meet me here to talk about me eyes."
"Oh, okay. I suppose I'll leave you to your business now. Good day."
"Good day," I replied as she left. Then, I opened my eyes, waited a second for them to adjust, and then entered the bar.
I looked around for someone to fight. I didn't really want to fight anyone, but it was better than losing my eyes—if that was even anything more than just a threat. Either way, I couldn't be talking myself out of this now. I had started it; I was going to finish it. There had to be someone there I could fight, but the all seemed too big, or in a group. However, from the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of someone I recognized. The man who tried to "steal my watch" was playing poker. I had a reason to fight him. Now all I needed to do was provoke him. To seem normal, I took my time to get to him. When I did, I walked up behind him and took a look at his cards—a pair of eights.
I leaned over his shoulder and whispered loud enough for the three people playing with him to hear, "Sorry, but you should really fold. A pair of eights isn't exactly the highest hand in the book." I patted him on the shoulder.
He slammed his cards down, stood up, faced me, and demanded, "What was that for?" His tone was a lot harsher than it had been before.
"Is that how you greet an old friend?" I asked, sounding surprised.
"You told them my cards!" He shouted angrily.
"You stole my map!" I shot back.
"Well…that's…that's…that's what pirates do."
"Oh really? Then you won't mind a bit if I return the favor, would ya? I'll just take your extra money, your last handful of chips, and of course, one of your precious watches." As I said each item, I took it from the table or his jacket that was lying across his chair. Then, I turned and walked away.
"You come back here right now, Boy," he ordered.
"Why?" I stopped and looked at him. "You gave me permission to take these things. 'That's what pirates do,'" I quoted him.
"I'm going to get you for that," he growled.
"Bring it on!"
He rushed toward me, and I just stood there, acting like I was not afraid. That is, until he grabbed a half-full bottle of rum from another table and threw it at my head. I ducked just in time, and it hit the wall behind me. The man who the rum belonged to was getting ready to join the fight.
"Ha! You've missed!" I exclaimed, standing back up.
"You think you're pretty clever then eh? We'll see—" he began, but he was interrupted by Jack. Jack had been sitting in the back corner of the bar, but he swaggered over just to stop the fight.
"Now, now," Jack said, putting his arm around the merchant, "Somethin's tellin' me that perhaps ye should rethink this."
The merchant nodded his head a little, but only because in Jack's hand was a small pouch of sapphires, rubies, and diamonds which was being offered to him.
"That should cover any trouble he's caused, savvy?" Jack continued, patting the merchant on the back. "An' here's some rum…fer the soul."
Then, Jack walked—more like swayed—over to me. "Wesley," was all he said.
I replied, "Jack," trying to show the initial surprise I had felt.
"You an' I need to have a li'l parley outside, savvy?" He reached down to grab my hand but stopped when he saw all the stuff in my hands. "What's this?" He asked, taking it all.
"His stuff," I replied with a guilty smile.
"You stay right there," he commanded. As he swaggered back to the merchant, I felt so tempted to leave just because he told me not to, but I didn't. Jack stuffed all the things in the merchant's arms—who just stood there, holding everything, amazed by the honesty—and walked back to me.
"Shall we?" He gestured toward the door. I rolled my eyes but still obeyed. Behind us, the man who had lost his rum punched the merchant in the face.
Meanwhile, Edmund had made it to the bar shortly after me, and most of them were watching attentively to see how things would play out. Christopher and Edmund were sitting just outside the door, and the other seven were around the corner, some of them peeking in a window. When Jack showed up and prevented the fight, though, Edmund shot a warning glance at Christopher who just responded with a shrug.
"Eric!" Edmund whispered firmly to one of the members of his group.
"Yes sir?" Eric responded, sneaking around the corner. He was the slightly proper one.
"Who is that?" Edmund inquired, pointing at Jack under the swinging doors.
Eric cocked his head and stared for a while before answering slowly, "I don't know…but he's coming out."
"Let's go," Edmund commanded, grabbing Christopher by the elbow again and sneaking back around the corner with the two. Edmund's three other members were still looking through the window, while Christopher's three sat dejectedly on the ground.
The hi guy was the first to jump up—surprisingly—when the other three came around. "What's going on?" He whispered excitedly.
"Nothing," Edmund replied, looking back around the corner to see what would happen.
"Phew," he sighed and slumped back to the ground.
"No," Christopher explained, "that's the problem."
Edmund looked at the eight other people and called, "Mark." Christopher's researcher looked up. "Come here."
Mark slowly got up and walked over to Edmund asking, "What do you want me for?" because Edmund hardly ever asked Christopher's group to do anything unless it was bad.
Knowing that Mark was a much better researcher than Eric would ever be, Edmund demanded in an almost kind voice, "I want you to look around this corner and tell me who that bloody pirate it!" The last four words were much louder and harsher.
"Oka-ay," Mark agreed reluctantly. He leaned around the corner, but when he saw Jack, he couldn't contain his excitement. He shouted, "JACK!" but luckily for them, Edmund covered his mouth and pushed him up against the wall.
"You know him?" Edmund asked quietly.
Mark nodded because his mouth was still covered.
"Then tell me who he is…quietly," Edmund ordered, slowly uncovering Mark's mouth.
"He is Jack Sparrow, Captain," he shook his head, "no ex-Captain of the Black Pearl."
Edmund went to the cormer to listen to what we were saying.
I was sitting on the railing just outside the door and Jack was standing in front of me. "I'm going to ask this once," he began, "and only once, so you better give me a good answer. What was all that about?"
"He stole my map," I half lied. Jack just stared at me, so I continued quickly, "Well, Barbossa was feeling crazy and decided he wanted me to be a bug, and so here I am, and Dan—my bug teacher—told me I had to become a part of this one group of kids, but in order to join the group, I had to pass the test of their opponent group, whose leader said I had to get in a fight with someone or he'd cut out my eyes!" I had long since forgotten about the southern accent.
"Hmm," Jack started pacing, "so you're saying that if you didn't get in that fight, you'd either lose your eyes or not get in the group, and if you didn't get in the group, you'd fail your bug class, and in turn, Barbossa would kill you."
"Yeah," I agreed.
"Hmm," he stopped, faced me, and stroked his goatee in a thoughtful manner. "This is quite a perplexing problem…," he thought for a little while longer. "I've got it."
"What?" I asked, jumping off the railing but staying on the porch.
"Forget them all!" He suggested with a wide gesture.
"Huh?" I had actually thought he had a good idea.
"Dash all your bloody problems. Ignore all those ugly people and run away with me."
"Really?" I was getting excited again.
"We could find ourselves a crew, commandeer one o' these ships, an' be pirates together, no worries in the world."
"And if we should happen to cross paths with the Pearl?"
"We would fight her, and win! An' take what rightly belongs to us."
"The treasure?" I asked, confused.
"The ship," Jack explained. Then, he added, "Your mother, Bootstrap."
"George?" I wondered.
"Pintel and Ragetti, a ship isn't the same without them."
And so it was decided, that night we were to commandeer a ship.
