Chapter 5: One Pirate Too Many
Alexander Tarrington, retired British Navy officer stood above deck, eying his recently acquired map. It was small, barely larger than his palm. In minute detail, the map had been drawn in black ink, which had smudged some through the years and the leather upon which it was etched was deteriorating along the edges. Thankfully, the map of the island had remained intact.
He had been many places in his life as a naval officer, and it just so happened that he recognized this little island. There wasn't much to the island as it had never been settled. For good reason too. It was in an isolated stretch of the Atlantic Ocean hundreds of miles off the coast of the North American continent. Ships tended to disappear within the waters that surrounded the island. Strange vortexes had been reported to appear in the middle of the water just as a ship approached. Sailors who made it back alive had gone mad.
Load of rubbish. Tarrington was an unusual breed of sailor. He cared not for the stories of superstitions surrounding the ocean—mammoth sea creatures and cursed waters being among the favorites. He'd never seen any proof that such atrocities existed to claim ships and their crew. These stories existed only for returning sailors to entertain their families after a long voyage at sea. Little else happened but for the occasional storm and that was hardly exciting enough to tell one's family about. The stories about the missing ships and the forgotten crews had passed from one generation to the next, growing with fervor and became even more fantastical with each retelling.
He'd been retired for nearly a year now, and it was not by his choice. The British commodore had deemed him too old to be of any use. Retired life did not suit a man who was not yet ready for it. So he'd been floundering about, gaining weight and becoming more disagreeable as time passed.
Many grand adventures he'd had during his days of service and he was keen to have another one. It came as a surprise that a treasure map, often considered to be a flight of fancy, had attracted him so. But the treasure hoards of pirates were very real, just as real as the pirates themselves and he was going to find this hoard, cursed ocean or not.
"Tarrington!" called the captain.
"Yes, Strongman, what is it?" he asked in a bored tone.
Strongman just so happened to be a pirate himself. Bit of an idiot too. He stayed below deck in his cabin most of the time due to seasickness. The rest of his crew was just as dumb and as greedy. Tarrington had promised ten percent of the plunder, though he had no intention of handing any of it over. The captain, however, had thought it a splendid arrangement.
"Me mates an' I were talkin' about this little island o' yers."
"What about it?"
"It lies in cursed waters. We're not goin' way out there!"
"Come now, Strongman. Show some backbone. You don't really believe in those cock and bull superstitions, do you?"
"Aye that I do, mate," he said, sticking his hairy chin out stubbornly.
"Have you ever seen a giant sea creature?"
"Well, no, but—"
"Or these so-called whirlpools that form out of nothing in the ocean?"
"Not yet, but that doesn't mean—"
"Then what are you afraid of, my good man?"
"Look here, Tarrington. Just because I ain't seen 'em don't mean they don't exist."
"Aren't you forgetting your ten percent of the plunder?" he reminded quietly. "If you were to turn around now, then any chance you have of besting Jack Sparrow for ocean infamy is lost."
"Jack Sparrow!" he spat. "He's nothin' compared ta me! Nothin'!"
His fat little cheeks quivered with rage and Tarrington smiled, having won this round. "Of course not, old boy. Let's push on then, shall we? The closer we get to the treasure, the sooner you'll be to making a laughingstock of Sparrow."
Breakfast was long since over, but Evy was still scrubbing. She'd been at it for so long, that her palms were raw, her feet were numb and every scrub was harder than the previous one. The galleywasn't just dirty. It was covered in muck and grime and other substances she had yet to identify.
Tenacity, however, was something she could possess to the point of obsession, and that was why the cookware gleamed like new. She'd rid all counters and cupboards of the grit that had permeated every surface. The bizarre smell that had been making her nauseous had at last disintegrated.
During all this, Evy came to the conclusion that men were disgusting, but pirates were downright revolting. It looked as though none of them cared that they ate out of a bowl that had crusty old food bits dried all round its interior. 'Twas only the grace of God that had allowed them all to not die of food poisoning or some other beastly disease.
Peggy had left her to it and was now stretched out on the floor, peg leg propped up against a table and snoring to his heart's content. Snoring. Evy tutted. She did not snore. Only men were capable of such distasteful noise, as evidenced by the old codger currently passed out on the floor. Jack Sparrow was only provoking her temper, which to Evy's chagrin, he was very good at. Something about the man made her want to scream at the top of her lungs and deck him for good measure.
To her increasing embarrassment, she couldn't forget the way he'd observed her all during breakfast. He'd seemed to find no insult to give or leering gesture to bestow. For the remainder of the morning meal, she'd kept her back to his table for as long as she could. Every so often, however, the hairs on the back of her neck would stand and she would shiver, feeling his eyes on her again. She'd ducked down out of sight when she noticed him stand from the table to make his way back to the main deck. Even though there was no longer a stubborn stain on the floor she'd pretended that there was just to keep from making eye contact with him. The thud of his boots had stopped just above her, the sound of a plate being returned echoed quietly. But she stubbornly kept her face turned to the floor. He must have been standing there watching her work. If she kept scrubbing, she'd wear a hole in the wood. Why didn't he just go?
Just as she was about to scream with frustration, his footsteps receded. She'd peeked around the corner to make sure he was definitely leaving, but he turned sharply and caught her eye as though knowing she'd been faking all along and had been waiting to call her on it. He threw an infuriating wink at her, waved bye and glided out the door with a big smirk.
Evy scrubbed harder, imagining his face as she scoured away the grungy stains.
"Evelyn, what are you doing in here?"
She started so badly that she dropped the bowl and it landed with a resounding clunk on the floor. Peggy snorted loudly, coughed and hacked, but went back to sleep.
"Mum, you frightened me!" she accused, hand over her heart.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to, dear." She came further into the room and stopped abruptly when she noticed Peggy. "Is he…he's not d-dead is he?"
"Oh no," she said, bending to retrieve the bowl. "Peggy's just sleeping. The floor is good for his back, so he says."
"Peggy?" she queried, brow furrowing.
"Long story," explained Evy. "You should have him tell it to you some time."
Her mum still threw the man a disapproving glance and edged away from him to join Evy behind the counter. "What are you doing?" she asked again, eying the counters and Evy's very dirty clothing. It was still covered in mud, but most of it had crumbled away into dusty smears.
"Cleaning of course."
"Did your father offer your services as Sparrow's slave?" she said acidly.
Evy refrained, with difficulty, from rolling her eyes. "No, I approached Peggy over there and begged for a job. Seeing as our livelihood was very similar to this, I figured I could offer something conducive to the crew…clean dishes foremost."
"Why?"
Evy scrubbed harder to keep herself from snapping. "Jack Sparrow saved Dad's life at the expense of his own and his crew's. The least I can offer is to help out around here."
"You don't owe Sparrow anything," she said, wrinkling her nose at mention of the pirate. "He's just a ruffian."
"I'm not doing it for him. I'm doing it because I feel like I should. Besides, it'll keep me from getting bored. I know next to nothing about sailing and would most likely sink this ship if I tried to help out on deck. That's why I'm below it, where I know what I'm doing."
"All right," she said defensively, not bothering to hide the hurt on her face.
She looked around the galley in silence and Evy felt guilty for having been so harsh. The fact that her mother was possibly feeling as wretched as herself only just occurred to her. She'd lost her home too. She was stranded with pirates too.
"Evy," she began suddenly. "I'm sorry for losing my temper with your father."
"Understandable I guess," she shrugged. "He can irritate something awful."
She smiled. "Yes, he can." She looked searchingly into her daughter's face and whispered, "Was he really going to be hanged?"
Evy nodded. "Emerson heard it in town while a patron discussed business at the blacksmith's. We couldn't just let him die, Mum. He didn't deserve that, no matter what you think of him."
"Oh, Evy, I don't want him to die," she insisted vehemently. "I was just afraid for my children. You can't begrudge me that. If you'd been caught—and you nearly were—they'd have convicted you as well. All three of you would have been hanged."
"I know," she whispered. "But we got away. He's safe. We're all safe."
She nodded, but didn't say anything. Neither of them really knew what to say. Each had apologized in a roundabout way for both had a little too much pride.
Suddenly though, "Evy, if there's ever a next time in which you and Emerson are going to break your father out of jail, will you please not keep it from me?"
Evy grinned. "I promise, Mum. Dad will more than likely find himself in jail again someday."
"Thank you," she said gratefully.
"Mum?" she asked, rotating her shoulder blades. They were very stiff from all the scrubbing.
"Yes, dear?"
"You called me Evy just now. You haven't done that before."
She seemed only vaguely surprised. "Did I? Hmm, old routines catching up, I'd say, being aboard a pirate ship again."
"What do you mean?"
"Evelyn, as you know, was your grandmother's name. I carried it on because my grandmother was dear to me. Your father was not too fond of it, however, so he shortened it to Evy, insisting that Evelyn made you sound like a crotchety old school marm."
She knew then, that her mother's refusal to call her Evy all these years was because it had been his suggestion. Another way to refuse he'd even been in her life at all. However, she did not voice this thought. Even more disconcerting was the fact that Evy herself had adopted this behavior, always insisting people call her by the crotchety version of her name.
"I'm not crotchety, am I Mum?" she asked uneasily. "I mean to say, I don't mind Evy, but I was just used to Evelyn, I suppose."
"No, darling. Of course not," she laughed. "As much as I loved my grandmother, perhaps Evy is better suited for your spirit. Caring though she was, Granny Evelyn spent most of her time knitting indoors."
Evy wrinkled her nose. Such a boring past time. She'd tried knitting and various other methods of sewing, but quickly lost patience with her inept talent for the task and had given it up.
Mum chuckled. "My point exactly. Evy it is, then?"
"Anything to keep from being crotchety," she agreed.
"Are you sure you can handle all this?" she asked, indicating the galley.
She laughed. "Of course, Mum. Running the inn's kitchen is hardly different, though, I do miss the cleanliness of our guests. Pirates seem inclined to be as gross as humanly possible."
"I can understand that, when I was..."
Evy waited for the rest of the sentence, but it never came. Briefly, it seemed her mother was about to reveal a glimpse of her time on board the Retribution with Dad, but was not forthcoming with information.
"Actually," she went on. "I know you can handle the meals for the crew, but what I meant was can you handle it by yourself?"
Evy stopped her scrubbing and stared in surprise at her mother. "Do you mean, do this together?"
"Yes, I do."
"Well…" she said carefully, "working in here means you'll occasionally have to look at and speak to Dad."
"You've obviously inherited his wit," she dully said, digging around for a rag with which to join in the cleaning.
"Is that such a bad thing?" she countered.
"That depends on how one looks at it."
"All right, then how do you look at it?" Evy pressed.
"You've got his persistence too," she said, a ghost of a smile drifting across her mouth.
Her mum joined in the cleaning, choosing to work on the tables, tiptoeing around Peggy as she did so. Any forthcoming explanations, however, did not appear.
Evy decided on a more direct approach. "Why don't you like talking about your time with Dad while you were on the Retribution?"
Mum didn't stop cleaning, but her hands slowed to revolve around the same spot. "Evy, that was a long time ago. Sometimes things are better left in the past."
"But as your children, we've born the direct brunt of your anger towards each other. It hasn't been easy you know. Emerson and I deserve some kind of explanation."
However, her mother didn't appear to think so, as she silently moved onto cleaning the rest of the tables. Evy decided to let it drop. Perhaps it was still too soon. Neither of her parents had said two words to each in their ten years apart. Now they were suddenly forced onto one ship and would most likely have no other choice but to get along.
"Evy, I…," she started. "Sometimes people bury things because they're better left forgotten. Trying to dig them up again can hurt you or the people you love."
"Like pirate's treasure, eh?"
She nodded. "Exactly."
"Unlucky for you and Dad."
"Why's that?" she asked with suspicious curiosity.
"Emerson and I are both half pirate. Looking for buried treasure is in our blood."
Evy threw down her rag, exhausted of scrubbing and began rubbing her hands, hoping to soothe their burning. Her mum had stopped scrubbing and was watching her with surprise.
"What?" Evy asked after too many silent minutes had passed.
"For a moment…you forcefully reminded me of your father. The stubbornness, unfortunately, is from my half of the family."
"Two halves make a whole, Mum. I wish you'd remember that."
Her mum looked away, cheeks coloring. "It's not that I've forgotten."
"But you've just chosen to," she accused, but not harshly. "Don't you want to remember? Weren't you happy?"
"Evy—"she said warningly.
She threw out the last question fearfully, but she had to know. "Do you still love Dad?"
Her mum's hair quivered as she shook, looking about ready to rage and storm, but she sighed with enormous effort and looked Evy square in the eye. "Love was not a problem, and if you ask me another question, I'll take you over my knee and give you the walloping of your life!"
Evy's mouth had indeed opened to ask another intrusive question, but she shut it. Though she was taller than her mother, Evanna Dawes could be a little scary sometimes.
"Now get out and let me finish cleaning. You've just about scrubbed your hands bloody."
"All right, all right," she said, annoyed.
As she left her mother, however, she couldn't help but smile in satisfaction. Mum had nearly exploded, which to Evy, was a good sign. She did still love Dad. The only question that remained was how to get them to both stop being so stupid about the whole mess they'd created.
To her surprise, Emerson was climbing down the mast, having left the crow's nest. He spotted her and smiled, jumping the last few feet and rushing over.
"Fine morning, isn't it, Evy?"
The boyish grin on his face was definitely new. She'd not seen it since he'd begun working as a blacksmith. It was also quite endearing and she couldn't help but return it.
"I'd have to agree, Em. So, being a pirate agrees with you, I see."
He scuffed the toe of his boot against the deck. "Well, I don't know about that," he said sheepishly, but couldn't suppress his grin, obviously pleased with her observation.
"You'll be a grand captain one day," she predicted. "Just don't take any lessons from Sparrow."
"Why not? He's brilliant."
"And a drunk," she observed, watching ship's captain ambling about the helm.
"Don't be so judgmental. Dad's a pirate after all, and Captain Sparrow capably sprung him from jail and got us out of Nassau alive."
Evy wasn't one to give in so easily. "Be that as it may, Dad is the only pirate I've known to care about the lives of other people."
"You think Jack doesn't?" said a voice from behind.
She spun quickly to see her dad. "If he does, it's buried under layers of rum and greasy hands."
"Oh, he's a drunken scallywag make no mistake," agreed her father. "But I've never met a better captain who looks after his crew."
"I'm not a member of his crew," she argued.
"True, but let me offer some advice. He's not given to making women walk the plank, unless they deserve it of course, so you'd best be civil to him."
"How can I when I don't even like him?" she snapped, determined to hate the man. "He's vulgar, insulting and most likely has fleas."
Dad laughed. "All of the above, however, Jack has a sneaking way of growing on you. By the time we catch up with the map stealer you'll be the best of mates."
Evy grunted her disagreement.
"Listen, little girl," he said, light mood abandoned in favor of a sterner one. "We've still a long way to go until we catch up with Tarrington. He's got nearly a week's head start and Jack's the best protection we've got. You'd do well to listen to him." He gripped her shoulder firmly and wagged his finger at her. "I suggest you make it easy on yourself and try not to be as hardheaded as your mother…or father," he added as an afterthought.
"Have you talked to Mum yet?" Emerson asked suddenly.
Jim's demeanor got shifty. "Er…no, I haven't even seen her."
"Why are you supposed to talk to her?" Evy asked with new curiosity.
"I'll tell you later," said her brother out of the side of his mouth.
"She's still in the galley," Evy informed him. "And quite alone."
His eyes widened as though caught between a rock and a hard place. "Blast it all," he muttered. "Fine. I'll do it now."
"What was all that about?" she asked, watching her father disappear below deck.
"Last night I talked him into sorting this out with Mum," he answered with a smirk.
Evy's mouth dropped open. "You didn't?!" she cried, amazed at the coincidence presented. "She just all but admitted to me that she still loves him. She nearly beat me over the head for asking, but I got a confession just the same."
"Sister dear," he said happily, clapping her on the shoulders. "I think the winds are changing."
"Oh, Em, I hope you're right."
"One road leads to bloodshed, the other towards coexistence. If they can take the second road with only a little bloodshed, everything should turn out fine."
A flare of hope ignited in her gut. Was it too much to wish for? Could years of anger all be reversed?
"Dawes!"
As one, Evy and Emerson turned to see Sparrow strolling towards them, arms flailing about.
"Speak of the walking infestation," she muttered grimly. "Whatever he needs you for, good luck, Em."
She only got as far as one step when Sparrow shouted again, "Dawes! Don't turn your back on your captain!"
She eyed him viciously. "I was under the impression that you were addressing my brother."
"Yes, of course luv, considering I was looking directly at you when I said your name. Clearly, I meant your brother."
She bit down her flippant retort in an attempt to follow her father's advice. "My surname it may be, but I go by Miss Dawes to you and you will address me as such."
He smiled in a very infuriating way, as though addressing a child. "'ave you forgotten whose ship you now live aboard and only by the good grace o' the captain?"
"Of course not…Captain," she added disrespectfully. Hang her father's advice.
Emerson backed away. "I think I've…er…got to…er right." He hurried off, throwing her an uneasy glance.
Sparrow sighed indifferently. "Listen, darling, you're on my ship and under my command so that makes—"
"Since when?" she spat. "I don't remember asking for a job."
"No, you just went and claimed one for yourself as ship's cook, eh? Bit bold don't you think? Taking on responsibilities without the permission of your captain?"
"You are not my captain."
"Very well, anyone who is not a member of this crew is therefore under this captain's jurisdiction and I award you the title of prisoner. Savvy?"
Mouth open wide, she spluttered her protest. "You can't—I won't—"
"Ah, perhaps you do prefer a cabin to the brig, eh luv?"
She tutted and glared back at him. "All right, Jack Sparrow…Captain Jack Sparrow," she added impatiently as he'd been about to correct her. "The Black Pearl is your ship and you are the captain."
"Right you are, luv—"
"But let's get one thing straight," she interrupted sharply. "What I'm doing here is not for you or any other pirate."
He rolled his eyes, seemingly unimpressed. "Did you forget that among your father's favorite 'obbies are pillaging and other unsavory past times?"
"Pirate he may be, Captain Sparrow, but he's my father first," she insisted.
"He's been a pirate since before you were born, missie. That's not something you can be changing or ignoring."
"Like you?" she sneered.
He grinned. "You don't like me very much do you, Miss Dawes?"
"I can't imagine what gave you that impression," she smiled sardonically.
"Am I really so terrible?"
"Do you really want me to answer that, Captain?"
"By all means, but be warned, girl, that anything you say can and will be subject to consideration for the brig."
"My father would never allow that," she said confidently.
"No? 'E's still a pirate and 'e's under my command. If I order you thrown in the brig, then 'e'll do it."
Evy glared back, but said nothing. She didn't doubt that he would be that cruel. "You're just proving my point."
"And what's that, luv?" he asked, interested.
"That pirates really are the most wretched and vile walking carcasses."
He threw his head back and laughed so loud, that many heads turned to stare at them. "Nail on the 'ead, darling! I think, 'owever, that I can change your mind."
"Hmph," she huffed stubbornly. "Unlikely."
"I did save your father's life, girl," he reminded her, "and one would think that'd earn me a little respect. You 'aven't even thanked me for it."
"Thank you," she said curtly. "Satisfied?"
He shrugged carelessly. "It's a start, isn't it?"
"Is that all?" she asked, half-turning to go.
"No."
She waited.
"You did a fine job this morning. Peggy's been in need of assistance."
"Thank…you," she said awkwardly, not expecting his sudden praise.
"Will you do this everyday?"
"Everyday," she confirmed.
"Good. Can't 'ave you lazing about. Now get back to work."
She arched one eyebrow. "Very well, Captain."
Evy thought she'd made an escape, but she was wrong.
"One more thing, darling," he said, catching hold of her elbow.
"Yes…Captain?" she ground out.
"This ship's getting crowded. I suggest you find yourself an empty cabin before the brig is the only thing available."
"I'll do that."
"If you find there's not a spare cabin, you can share mine. I've plenty of room," he said, grinning suggestively.
Evy threw his hand off. "I'd rather sleep in the brig." She spun so fast that her ponytail clocked him in the face. Without a glance back, she flounced off and went below deck.
50
