We had been sailing for almost a month. We had plundered ten ships, and stopped in four ports in two countries. And I was still the only one who knew where we were going. According to Mr. Brady, we were off the coast of France. I had given the crew the night off, and we were all on the deck having a rather good time. Many of the men had different instruments that they had with them or had bought at the different ports they had been to. I myself couldn't play, but my mother, Clara, had taught me how to sing rather well; but I was keeping my mouth shut. I had to maintain the image of unrelenting albeit female captain. But then Mr. Bridge started playing an old Irish folk song on the guitar that I happened to know. I had been humming along when Mr. Trent, one of the rigging men, heard me.
"Go on, Captain! Sing!" he cried cheerily to me.
I shook my head and glared at him. "I will do no such thing, Mr. Trent."
At this point, the surrounding men had figured out what we were bickering about. They were all rather inebriated, although rather judiciously for a bunch of Irishmen. "Captain, Captain, Captain, Captain," they chanted together.
Looking around at all of them, I knew I had lost. "Alright!" I cried and stood up to the middle of the circle we had formed on deck.
Mr. Bridge started the chords he had been playing again, giving me enough time to come in.
I had learned "The Spanish Lady" as a child from a young friend of mine whose father had been a fisherman that often traded with Irishmen. So for about four minutes I completely forgot about being captain and was simply a twenty-year-old woman having a good night full of music with fifteen men I had come to know as friends. But when the song was over, I sat down and glared at my crew, daring them to ask me to do it again.
Mr. O'Connor, who was the least drunk of them all, saw my look and broke the news to the crew. "All right lads, that's enough for tonight. Unless ya want part o' ya hanging on the fore for the sun to ripen, I suggest ya head to ya bunks and not pester the Cap'n for a bit." He slurred some of his words, but winked at me. I knew he wasn't drunk, but it was the only way he could convince the others that leaving their merriment was a good idea.
As the others trudged and stumbled to their quarters, I stayed to look over the railing from the bridge. I watched the moon reflect on the ocean and the sound of the waves lapping at the starboard of the ship. I was so lost in my thoughts that I didn't hear the slight sound of boots coming up behind me.
"You're a beautiful singer, Captain Hannah." He said quietly.
I held my surprise inside. "And you're a wonderful actor, Mr. O'Connor."
"Excuse me?" he laughed.
I turned from the water to look at him. The lanterns still glowing on the gun deck made his shaggy red hair look like it was on fire. The lights also made the green in his eyes dance. His skin was also nearly as tan as hemp. He had been the most accommodating and open of the entire crew. Not that either of us would admit it.
"I mean, Mr. O'Connor, that if you hadn't winked at me during that little slurred speech of yours, I wouldn't have known you were actually sober.
He smiled a bit with the corner of his lips. "What make's ya think I'm sober." He slurred again, tilting ever so slightly to the side.
I raised an eyebrow slightly and went to walk past him to my quarters, giving him time to work off his humor before I lost my temper. But as I passed next to him, he grabbed my arm. I was actually starting to doubt whether he was sober or not.
"Ya never answered m' question." He continued to slur.
Looking him in the eyes, which was easy since we were the same height, I glared at him slightly. "Let go of me right now, Mr. O'Connor."
He shook his head and smiled at me again. "Not 'till ya answer some questions."
"Mr. O'Connor, let go of my arm before I break yours." I snapped, feeling his grip tighten on my upper arm. It didn't hurt, but it wasn't comfortable either.
He laughed under his breath and loosened his grip a bit. "Come now, Cap'n I know a won't do someth'n like tha'. I also know ya won't use ya corporal punishment either."
I smirked with his laughter and proved him wrong. Pulling my arm away, I grabbed his wrist with my free hand. Pinning his own arm behind his back, I twisted it until he was standing on his toes. "Care to think again?"
He laughed again and did something I didn't think he could. Using his unrestrained arm, me grabbed my shoulder and pulled me in front of him. When I tried to fight back, he slipped his boot behind mine and pushed me to the deck. I kicked him in the gut as he went to pin me. I had bought enough time to stand up, but I didn't use it. As he stumbled back, he lost his tilt and his voice no longer slurred as he cursed under his breath. "I told you you were sober." I laughed.
Laying on the deck with my legs stretched out and crossed and my hand behind my head, I watched him recover slowly from my kick. I hadn't thought I had kicked him very hard, but I was beginning to question his injuries. When he had to sit down against the opposite railing to catch his breath, I scrambled to my feet and went to his side. "Sorry about that." I whispered as I knelt beside him.
He shook his head and smiled at me, but it was a pained smile.
I sighed. "Stop acting this instant, Mr. O'Connor." He nodded and slumped his head against the railing behind him. Looking him over quickly, he wasn't bleeding, but he was clutching his side where I had kicked him. "Does it hurt to breathe?" I asked, thinking I might have broken some of his ribs.
"Aye." He breathed, wincing a bit.
I nodded, shifting my weight a bit on my knees. "I think I might have broken some of your ribs. Now, I need to get you to your quarters so I can dress them." He nodded, smiling slightly.
As I helped him to his feet and make the painful walk to his quarters he managed to still run his mouth. "Sorry 'bout the whole act. Thought you would answer more question if ya thought I wouldn't remember." He panted, wincing with almost every word.
"Don't worry about it." I told him gently. But I dreaded what questions he would ask me. "If you promise to not say a word until I have you dressed, I'll answer some of your questions.
He nodded, not smiling this time; finally letting on how much pain he was in. When we finally reached his quarters, I pushed open the door and led him to the bed. Sitting him down on the edge, I saw a flicker of fear cross his eyes. And I was not afraid to call him on it.
"What are you so afraid of now, Mr. O'Connor? You were laughing at my corporal punishment a few minutes ago." Trying to stay light, I didn't want to upset him.
He began to slowly move his arms to remove is shirt. "You'll see in a little while, Captain."
"Stop that." I told him, a bit sharper than intended. If one of his ribs was hanging loose, then he could push it into an organ if he kept moving around. He stopped. "I'll get it." I said in a gentler voice.
His shirt tied halfway down the front, so I undid that. Rolling the material from the bottom-up, I carefully worked his arms out and the shirt over his head. Looking at his now exposed torso, I saw the three lumps where his ribs were indeed broken. I also saw the edges of what he must have been afraid of. Looping around his sides were thick, alabaster scars. I didn't look closely at them then, but I estimates that there were at least fifteen scars going from one side of his back to the other.
Rummaging about his room for some material to bind his ribs with, I found some by his desk. Returning to him, I saw that he had never taken his eyes off me. "I can see them." I said softly. He nodded gently. "Just a bit longer, then you should feel better." He nodded again, this time he kept his eyes on the ground.
Carefully I wound the material around his ribs; making sure it wasn't too tight or too loose. After a few minutes, he was bound eight times around his midsection. "There you go." I whispered, the first sound in the room for a while.
"Thank you, Captain." He sighed, easing himself down to lie on the bed.
I helped him down and smiled a bit at his helplessness. "Hannah, just Hannah." I told him.
"Then as far as we are concerned in this room, I'm just Sean." He joked. "Now, I would like some answers, Hannah. And I don't speak for the crew, I speak for myself. Whatever you choose to answer with will stay only with me." He looked me dead in the eyes, pleading silently to know what secrets I was withholding from the crew, from him.
I sat on the bed by his feet. "What do you want to know?" I sighed.
"Who is your father." He had jumped straight to the chase. He was apparently much more observant than I thought.
I stood up and walked to the porthole in his room. Looking out, I had the same view I did from the deck. I didn't want to answer. But looking back at Sean, I knew I had to. "Davy Jones." I whispered.