"Up the bum is an extra piece in gold, my darlin'" Evie told the heavily sunburned and peeling lout who breathed foulness into her face with every exhalation. "Seein' as how it be such a delicate place and all."

The fellow had been fixing on his particular fancy for a full seven months at sea to the point it had become an obsession. A young girl's tight arse-bud, he gasped to Evie when she asked what it was he was after. He had grown red with excitement, breathing in great, wheezing gasps, his dry lips like a clam's as he then went on to describe such a thing in detail – to feel the muscles a-twitchin' round me cock while the wee little thing gasps to feel herself so wrenched apart.

Evie fought hard to keep an expression of gentle calm upon her face when what she really wanted to do was let her lip curl in disgust and tell him what a grotesque brute he was. But, for an extra piece…

Fortunately for Evie she was both the youngest and the cleanest looking on the docks at the time, and the sailor particularly yearned for someone young and so did not object to the extra coin, so urgent was his need. Fortunately for Mary-Beth, a precocious twelve year old who had started turning tricks but two months before, she was with another gentleman at the time – Evie had a strong feeling this fellow would not be much inclined to gentleness, especially with a young one – her years of catering to fellows such as he had told her an awful lot about their natures. And Mary-Beth talked a good game, but she didn't know the tricks Evie did.

Beneath the docks they went, pausing in slitted shadows for the transaction to be completed. The coins winked briefly in the light that squeezed through the planks above them, blotted out by the staggering, skipping or storming feet of those who traversed the port. Evie examined the coins up close to assure herself of their authenticity, then, with a curt nod of satisfaction, she managed a grin at her wheezing, trembling companion and led him further in, quickly and silently secreting the fee in her hidden pocket so that he did not see. Darkness was essential for what she was planning on doing.

"'Ere's a rum spot, my luv," She grinned at him suggestively, and he made to fall upon her, fingertips twitching. "Oy oy, now!" She stopped him mid-grope and pushed him back, shifting her smile to one of coy teasing. "Don't you want to look at it first?"

The fellow gulped, sweat beading his forehead. He was frantic to have his satisfaction but Evie was determined to maintain control – or otherwise he really would be fucking her arse.

Turning around she threw her skirts up above her head and positioned herself beneath a gap in the slats, so that the palest slicker of moonlight illuminated her round bottom. With her other hand she quickly withdrew a pouch of grease from amongst her skirts, and took a good handful and made a great show of rubbing it upon her rear opening.
"Make it so it's ever so nice and slick for you, eh luv? That'll feel good around your johnson, won't it?" The fellow's breathing increased and she heard him fumble with his breeches and quickly she stepped back as though coming closer to him – but in reality she stepped out of the moonlight and into the darkness, quickly thrusting her hand up between her legs and making a fist of it. He stumbled forward, jabbing at the air with his prick and found her tightly clenched hand with it. Pushing against it with an agonised moan, the grease, the darkness and his desire conspired against him and he thought he'd found his pleasure. Evie squeezed her hand shut tighter, then, as he pushed, slowly allowed it to be opened with a loud moan as she did so and his cock slid all the way into her hand and she gripped hard upon it. "Oh, your prick feels so big inside my tiny bottom!" she cried, "Oh, oh, it 'urts it does! You be ever so big my darlin'." The fellow began to pound away at her hand in earnest, short, sharp moans of ecstasy emitting from his chapped lips. "Yes, yes!" he cried, "Tell me how it hurts you! Tell me how it feels to have me take you so!"

Evie stifled a giggle and continued her show, letting her voice rise high and pitched. "Please, please stop, won't you, luv, it's 'urtin' me so and stretchin' me out so bad!" And on she went, while the fellow continued to pant and thrust, faster and faster until finally he let out a stifled, choking groan and Evie inwardly thanked Heaven. He froze, his hands grasping her hips, and the choking sound continued, making Evie suddenly straighten. Rigid, sputtering, the fellow keeled sidewards into the sand, his limbs splaying ungainly in all directions, his face a dark and mottled hue in the dim light.

Evie let her skirts fall down about her and, in some alarm, bent over the fellow. He remained utterly still and in the striped threads of light from above she could see his eyes were wide and staring, his face locked into a grimace of the most awful sort. Tentatively, she dared extend a hand to poke at his cheek – nothing – and then, daring further, slapped him. Still nothing. Straightening again, she put hands on her hips and let out a whoosh of astonishment.

"Lord a'mighty! A noble death indeed!" For yes, the fellow was quite dead and growing stiffer by the minute. Evie could not feel much, except for being glad it did not happen closer to the crowd, and a sort of contemptuous pity for the brute, who had succumbed not upon the sea in battle but whilst playing out a repellent fixation upon the tears of young girls. Fitting, really, she supposed. He'd not even made it to climax – which gave her a curious satisfaction, and swiftly, she stripped him of what money and jewellery he had and anything else that could be of value. Once or twice she glanced above as footsteps passed over her head, but she was secure that no one could see her in the gloaming. Then, rearranging her skirts and adjusting her bodice, she turned her heel to the inert and vile figure and made her way back to the port.

Even as she vanished, a rat crept from a pile of garbage and seaweed and scurried over to the forever-silenced body, cooling with every second. Cautiously, it circled the puffed and purple head, its glittering eyes fixed on the man's dead ones. Then dared a nibble upon his ear. Thus satisfied this creature would not yell and rise furiously to its feet and stamp at the rat's sensitive tail, the rat grew bold and began its feast in earnest.

Evie was feeling smug by the time she reached The Lamb and Flag. The man's rings and earring she would sell. The coins she would trade – there were the odd lot that traded one currency for another – for what superstitious leanings she had extended just for enough not to want to spend the money of a dead man she had robbed. Whores, by nature, were a superstitious lot altogether. Tell another girl she looked pretty in that dress and she might as well go home, for sure as houses she was not going to make a single piece that night. And right as one girl met another both just starting work, heaven forbid either girl state that the evening was going to be a brisk one, because then they would have a long, slow night without doubt. The colour of a girl's dress, her lucky charm (or charms – Evie knew a girl named Martinique who had a ring on every finger, each meaning something else. She'd once taken them all through with Evie: "this one is to ward off wicked spirits, this one is to discourage bad 'uns, this one be for drawin' gold"; but she'd be blessed if she could recall any of them now), the ornament she wore in her hair, getting her cards read, saying a special prayer to a certain idol – all of it could mean the difference between bothering to get out of bed one night or not. All knew when the Moon was full, the biter's would be half-crazed, the wind all up their tails, and they could count on a difficult night. Some girls were so superstitious they wouldn't leave their rooms without checking which way the wind was blowing (against them and no biter would catch their scent for the whole of the evening). Evie was no exception, but her beliefs did not extend to passing by an extra nibble for nothing when it presented itself to her. Which is why, as she entered The Flag only to be accosted quite suddenly by Black Ruth who enquired as to her willingness to make some easy money, she asserted herself as interested.

Back into the chill night it was, and around the corner, and once again in a dank and muddy alley where the buildings on either side seemed to bend in sheer exhaustion and support each other in the centre, trapping all the foul odours of piss, vomit and blood into the very air. In this rank enclave, a skinny, indolent figure leant against the wall that appeared most reliable, his lanky shoulders slumped in lazy carelessness and his face lost to the shadows. But Evie had no need to glimpse his personage to recognise him simply by the arrogant slouch:

"Well, well, well, been wonderin' when you would be darkenin' our doorstep again, Pierre!" She tittered, hands on hips, her voice as dark as the shadows with sardony.

The Frenchman did not glance at her but chewed on a fingernail. "Mam'selle, beauty such as the likes of yours would always urge me to return, et cetera. " She caught the wink of a smile in the gloam before he spat into the filth at his feet. She did not take offence; Pierre was always spitting. He seemed to have an excess of saliva built up in his mouth that made his every word sound faintly wet and often, mid sentence, he would suck back on it for a 'thhhfft' sound that made every whore on Tortuga cringe.

"Now as you two lovebirds is reacquainted," Black Ruth interjected, "per'aps we can be getting' on wit' the business – Pierre, you do the 'onours."

His grin growing ever wider, Pierre stepped closer to Evie so that she could inhale his scent of sweat and stale spices and began to murmur the game.

In a warm and dim lit corner of the Lamb and Flag, a ragged group of sailors clustered. They had been but a few months earlier very much down on their luck, the merchant ship they sailed upon having been ruined in a hurricane and they barely escaping with their lives. But they had found another ship to sail upon; not a pirate ship but then again not exactly a ship of virtue, either, and found their luck to suddenly and dramatically improve. Now they celebrated with ale and rum, slamming tankards upon the wooden tables in short snatches of drunken song and each slipping a surreptitious hand beneath the table to finger the bursting purse at his side, still in disbelief of their improved fortunes.

It so happened Pierre had been travelling aboard that ship of dubious virtue and was quick to make friends with these gentlemen, having a very sharp eye for an opportunity and more than enough patience to wait for the right moment to seize it.

It was Pierre who had introduced them to the Lamb and Flag that evening and Pierre who had been buying the drinks with cheerful abandon – for he intended to collect the due, and with interest. It was Pierre who had vanished into the hot, pressing throng of the crowd to buy the next round as well, and who had snatched hold of Black Ruth's fat wrist and pulled her out the door with him, quick, and enquired as to what lady could best act out a bit of sport with them.

And it was Pierre who returned to them now, all raw knuckles and filthy, splintered nails clutching a half dozen brimming new tankards and they let up a roar of delight upon spying him, for very fond indeed they had grown of their new, quick-tongued friend.

"My friends, " Pierre cried, his pockmarked face gleaming boldly in the candle glow, "a toast to you all, you brave and peerless servants of the brine, thhffft, the ocean never saw such true salt dogs as you all be, forsooth! For though the bitter and jealous Sea sent tempest and storm to claim you to her soggy bosom, you bore up and roared down her waves as would the ferocioisist of sea lions and dissolved her fury to naught but the gentle skim of foam - to you I raise my tankard – " and he did so, sucking back in quickly, " - and say blessed am I to sail with those of such great fortune for so long as I do, I am sure to survive whatever the Sea should throw at our noble vessel. To you, my friends, may your health – and your wealth – grow ever more robust."

And with a cheer they all drank, one or two sniffling into their ale in appreciation of Pierre's generous words, so sentimental had the evenings indulgences inclined them to be.

"Aye but that were a most vengeful storm," spoke one quietly, when they had all finished and rested their tankards down upon the table. The others murmured agreement, their muddled thoughts wandering back through time to that long and awful escape in the longboat, the blistering in the sun, the hunger and the death of one who had been rolled over and into the sea. The one who spoke – Jojo, an older man – fingered the wooden cross about his grimy neck and Pierre fixed his eye upon the gesture.

"I take it you neglected to light a votive before your voyage?" he spoke gently but searchingly and Jojo glanced at his wide-eyed for the briefest moment before lowering his head.

"Aye," he mourned. "An' pay for it I did, and for all the times I didn't do 'owt as before. " Pierre nodded, his scarred face grave with understanding.

"'Tis important not to vex the Powers," he agreed, "Before setting foot upon any a ship, I will seek out the wisest woman in the vicinity and entreat her to give me a telling, so as I might know what my fortunes would be. Not one wrong foot has it steered me once, either, so long as I paid heed to her words and did as she might say."

A young fellow at their table, Jimmy, gaped at Pierre. "Says you! I never thought of doing as such, me pap always said to me as the best thing to do was throw a reef upon the tide as it was going out as a gift and all sailing would be clear for so long as the flowers bloomed."

"Aye!" Pierre said "You should do that –and you should seek advice of a seer and you should light a votive in your Church. You should do all this, and more besides, when you intend to dance upon the waves of the great Sea, for she is an unpredictable partner and will as soon as slap your face and knee your tommies as kiss you and allow your hands to wander upon her personage."

The table fell to discussing the various superstitions that saw triumph or ruin strike a voyage and then, skilfully aided by Pierre, they moved beyond that to the broader spectrum of such beliefs and fixations. He regaled them all with the story of a girl he'd come across in Scotland, blind as a bat she'd been, but with a second sight – no man could cross her path without all his sins being known to her and she would speak them out loud in a voice as clear as the bells of judgement; so that all the townspeople shunned her but for her own mother, even the town priest, for no one wanted their vices being betrayed.

"I knowed a girl like that once, " a boy named Briggs said, but he was called Braggs by all and they jeered at him. "I did!" He protested. "It was back in Cornwell, where I growed up – she couldn't walk and 'ad to be carried everywhere, but just one glance from her and sure as our ship was sunk, but if you was a woman you'd never bear child and if you was a gent your seed would dry up. " Jojo guffawed and slammed his tankard.

"Braggs you be, and braggin' is all you ever do. You never knowed such a girl so quit your lyin'. Why if Jim there said 'e'd seen a bluebird on a Caribbean Island, you'd be claimin' you'd seen a green 'un."

"But it's true," Briggs protested as the others drowned out his voice with their chortles. "She were a mite of a thing, red hair and long fingers she had, and – "

Quite at the perfect moment Black Ruth, who had been idling nearby in apparent conversation with whoever was about her set her fists upon the table and leaned over the little group, a bright look in her eye. "I knows a lass like that of which you speak, " she intoned and so impressive was her massive girth and the suddenness of her entrance, that the table fell silent and her words rolled around their ears. "She be right here, upon this very island, and 'as been – well, none can say now, as to how long exactly she been here. But she's here, all right."

Jojo, who had been stirred up by Braggs and was in a mood now to contrariness, snorted. "Where is she then, this lass? This lass who can spay and see all then?"

Black Ruth smiled, holding the little party still in the curve of her mouth, then turned and lumbered into the thick crowd. Jojo snorted again and returned to his drink in grim triumph. "What did I tell you?"

But then Ruth returned and with her was Evie now, petite and exotic with her caramel skin and red hair, conveniently backlit so that a flame was set upon her curls and her face all shadowed but for the glint of her eyes. In dark red lavishly fringed in gold and with Barbossa's ruby necklace about her throat, she cut a dramatic figure and the table – Pierre being careful to do same – let out an involuntary gasp. There is nothing like liquor and witchcraft to make a man easily impressed.

"'Ere she be," Ruth said grimly, "Evangeline, she of the cat's eyes and the serpent's tongue, there be nothin', nay I tell you, not a thing under this sun she cannot tell you."

"Ullo, gents, " Evie said cheerfully, "you 'ave a mind to share tonight, eh?"

The little crowd relaxed and Jojo turned in disgust. "She's nawt but a whore!" he exclaimed, "the only thing she knows is how to jerk a drunk. Begone with you wenches and leave us be to drink in peace!"

"Says you, Jeremy Jeffries, but for your information, I also know 'ow to tug one ball, such as you got."

Jojo's jaw dropped and the table fell silent once more. They all knew Jojo's full name but as to this last snippet of information – well, the look upon Jojo's face told them that was true, too. A dozen eyes swivelled in sweaty faces to fix themselves upon Black Ruth and Evie, the former with her arms crossed upon her massive bosom, the latter with her shoulders thrown back, the better to display her own uplifted breasts. Pierre suppressed a smile.

"Gowan on then!" Jimmy exclaimed, "What else about Jojo do you see? Can you see 'is future? Can you see mine!" and a small tumult went up from the group as the others interjected with questions of their own: "Is me wife true to me?", "Will I see me old mate from boyhood again?"; "Will I retire a rich man" and Evie made as if to answer, but Ruth stopped her with one hammy arm across her waist.

"Nay! You gents were rude enough to doubt me, an' her, so you will be gettin' no more from 'er, come on me love, let's away from these doubtin' blighters!" And now they both made as if to turn when Pierre intervened.

"Ho, now, ladies, no offence were meant, 'tis true, won't you stay a bit longer – for a silver piece per'aps?" and he proffered same from his pocket.

Ruth turned once again with hands upon her hips and Evie turned her nose in the air. "So it's like that is it? You think we could be bought so cheaply"

Pierre recoiled as though struck but recovered quickly. "A wager then. Two pieces of gold says your miss there can't tell me what 'appened in my childhood to turn me to the sea."

Black Ruth glanced at Evie who nodded and Ruth leered back at Pierre. "Done."

Evie stepped forward, eyeing Pierre narrowly before slapping a hand down sharply upon his head and grasping him there, shutting her eyes tight. The little table sat transfixed as she drew in a great breath before intoning: "When you were fourteen your pa died and left your family penniless, so your mam sold you to be a powder monkey on a merchant vessel, only the Captain took a fond eye to you – very­ fond – and made you his manservant." She opened her eyes and gazed at Pierre. "Would I be right, sir?"

And with a groan, Pierre threw up his hands and exclaimed: "By the Powers, you be right, young miss, and I be two pieces poorer!" and he slapped the gold upon the table where Ruth scooped it up with a triumphant chuckle.

"'Old now!" Jojo said "that could be any boys' tale, and a commoner one never 'eard. I am not convinced – I call for more proof!"

Black Ruth bent over to Jojo and leered at him with dark teeth. "All right then, Sir Lopsy, what'll you wager then my young friend 'ere can give you all of that gent's – " and here she gestured to their portliest companion, a wheezing old fellow called Robert, " – most meaningful memories with but a passing of her hands?"

And so it began. Tempered by the alcohol bought for them by Pierre, enchanted by the novelty of hearing their histories poured out the mouth of a pretty whore with ample breasts and taken by the spell of gambling, that which afflicts all men once they begin for every hand might be the one they win the pot, they all fell to wagering, against each other and Black Ruth and time and again Evie answered correctly. Pierre made sure to bet himself now and again, for it was all of no consequence – he would collect it back, with interest, afterwards. It simply was that Pierre was an expert in extracting even the most sensitive of information from his fellows under the guise of confidant, and then using that information to his advantage – without betraying himself, of course. He was boon companion to every man – the kind they trusted without question. Only women seemed to see through him in an instant and find him every bit as slimy as the patch of hair on the small of his back. But Black Ruth was not averse to doing business with him now and again and when it came to business Pierre at least was not a cheat, though he was most every other kind of scallywag.

Evie cared not; she'd had him once or twice as a customer and knew his talent for making money without doing much work and this caper at least was a diversion from the monotony the night had promised to be. And as Black Ruth's purse filled and her laughter grew ever more gloating, Evie grinned inwardly too and knew an equal third of the pot was hers.

And then, just as the little group of wayward sailors were beginning to grumble and grow discontent as their pockets continued to lighten, a shadow fell upon the table and the whole nine of them looked up to see who it was who broke their party.

Evie felt her heart lunge. It was Barbossa, splendid and glowing in green and gold, his blue eyes sharp and the smile on his mouth worryingly sinister. He did not look at Evie and she tried not to let her expression betray herself.

"Gents." He set the bottle he clutched in one hand upon the table and leaned over them much as Black Ruth first had, so that he impressed and intimidated at once. "It be a fine game ye've had on hand here and I have not been able to help myself but to overhear it. But fortune's not been smilin' upon ye and that be the truth. Ye've not tested the lady's – " and he jerked a head dismissively towards Evie " – talents but well enough. A group of ye, all together since first arrivin', is it not so? Chatterin' without payin' heed to who might be listenin'. Betrayin' each other's secrets. " And Evie felt her hurt begin to sink and beside her, Black Ruth began to swear beneath her breath. Oh,what was he doing?

Barbossa let his words sink into drunken ears and as the party began to exchange alarmed glances, he straightened up and raised his rum bottle. "I want in." And took a swig.

Black Ruth let out a whoosh she quickly disguised as a snort. "Is that so then, my fine gen'elman? Well, I'll 'ave you know that if you be wantin' in, you better put your coin where that smart mouth of yours is – and the only coin worthy here and now is go – "

"Ten pieces." Barbossa cut her off and Ruth recoiled, the corners of her mouth now set quite certainly downwards. "What say you?"

Evie did not dare look at either of them, but shifted her foot to press down sharply on Ruth's toe. "All right," Ruth said finally, "You're on."

Now Evie did turn to Barbossa, raising her face to look into that which she had sorely missed. Oh, he was more weathered now, to be sure, looked as though, despite his grand clothes, he hadn't had a decent meal recently, or a good tumble. She gazed deep into his eyes, trying to see what his intentions were, trying to guess at what he wanted. But he kept his countenance still and calm, and betrayed nothing to her and she blanched under the coolness of his gaze. "All right then, Missy." He spoke in throaty, quiet tones, in that commanding voice that could still make her shiver. "Prove your weight. And I won't be askin' no leadin' questions." And the merest dart of a smile glanced his lips.

Composing herself, she took a step back. The entire table waited, transfixed, the pause swelling in the humid air about them. She looked him up and down – not just part of her game but so that she might see more of how he was (and oh, she wished to be crushed against him right now, back in her room and quit of this silliness) and came to rest her eyes upon his face – no, not his face – his ear – from which dangled –

"That tiger's tooth you wear in your ear." She kept her voice measured, now, rather than the jovial tones she'd taken with the others, for it stood well now to deepen the tension. "You got that at the age of thirty-four in India. Your ship was hauled up for repairs, marooning you and the crew and a man-eater lurked the jungles nearby. You lost three men before you took your cutlass and pistol to the wilderness and no one other of your crew dared join you. You were gone two and a half days tracking the beast before you caught each other up. You were the victor, but only barely and you took from your prey that tooth and three deep scars, one for each man lost, on your right hip."

She finished and the others watched, turning their eyes from her to Barbossa who stood, face inscrutable but for the merest tinge of amusement about his mouth. He let the silence grow for but a moment more before throwing back his head. "She speaks true!" he exclaimed and an astounded roar went up from the table. Ten gold coins were laid down and Ruth plucked them up, chortling once more. But Barbossa was not done.

"But I know there must be some trickery at hand here!" He swigged from his bottle again and gestured to the sailors. "I determine to uncover it. Fifteen pieces, Matron, fifteen pieces, what say you?"

Ruth laughed and chugged from her own tankard. "I say we'll make it twenty, Gen'elman."

And by the time Barbossa had lost in excess of fifty gold pieces of varying sizes and denominations, Evie had identified unusual and hidden tattoos, the name of the first ship he sailed upon, the maiden name of his dead bride and Russian gold the buttons on his coat were fashioned from. This, and more, both seemingly divined from thin air and in response to questions posed to her by Barbossa and the cluster of sailors whose spirits were once again restored now that someone else was loosing money. So restored, in fact, a few of them were making noises about wagering again (though each encouraging each other to do so, rather than themselves). She knew he would be expecting an equal share in their winnings once that got back underway, but Pierre could argue that with him. Better now she turned to the rest so that they might have all the more to share.

"Do you accept defeat then, Capt'n' so that these lads might try their luck again?" And she could not help the pertness of her tone.

But still, Barbossa was not done. Smiling, still smiling all the way through, he lowered his eyes to her and she felt a lurch at what she saw there. Then he looked beyond her.

"I wager all that you have in your pockets and mine, Matron" his eyes flint-like on Black Ruth before fixing back on Evie. "And you, Missy. For the night." He took up a handful of her hair, letting it run through his fingertips and she grew warm between the legs.

Now Ruth paused and Evie could see Pierre's shoulders draw tight up to his ears, though his smile remained frozen hard on pocky face. Not for any concern for her, of course, but for the night's winnings that so began to burst the seams of Ruth's pockets. What was Barbossa's game after all? Compelled by greed, which he contained as much a surfeit of as cunning, and knowing only that this was a meddlesome stranger who seemed to be intimate with Evie and who would probably ask for a share at the game's close, Pierre played his part:

"Yes, 'Matron', what say you? Finally, a real wager, the wager of a man, the likes of which he can sink his teeth upon and feel true pride in its wining – can a mere woman rise to such a wager?"

Black Ruth broke the game long enough to fix a murderous glare upon Pierre before barking a short, sharp "Aye" at Barbossa:

"But when you loose – for loose you will – " she warned him "You're to turn yer back and be off and let us be about our business."

Barbossa's snide smile did not reach his eyes but he made a brief incline of the head – though by what he meant was anyone's guess. Once again he beheld Evie who went to "divine" something new, but before she could Barbossa spoke coolly:

"I want to know – oh a trifle really, nothing compared to the likes of which ye've divined here this eve, wench - I want to know – what were the name – " and he practically purred the last of his query " - of me father?"

Evie was struck; his father's name? Her stomach plummeted and she knew a sweat broke upon her brow and to cover this sudden squirmishness, she stepped forward and took up Barbossa's hand (and oh, she wanted to kiss it!) and stroked it, feeling the roughened palm against hers, the warmth of it and she flushed as she remembered it cupping her breast. What was his father's name, had he ever mentioned it? No, he had spoken nothing of his father except that he were a rich man and Barbossa his bastard. Well then, though she was unique amongst soothsayers that eve in that until now she had spoken nothing but the truth, she supposed it was time to follow in their footsteps and concoct a marvellous fancy.

She rubbed Barbossa's hand again, cupped in both of hers now, and breathed upon it. "William. " She kept her voice steady and sure. "His name was William Barbossa and he gave you this ring. " And she fingered the great ruby that sat on his middle finger. "Family heirloom, from his father and his grandfather and beyond besides, and he entreated you on his death bed to wear it always."

She stopped and felt the others all holding their breath, waiting for the answer, were it true or were it false? And Barbossa let them wait, while Evie remained hunched over his ring, while Pierre gripped his tankard so tight the broken skin of his knuckles split further, while Ruth's great bosom rose and fell so quickly she seemed to be palpitating and then, he slowly slid his hand from her grasp and Evie lifted her face to see his answer.

"You are – " he murmured, so quietly the whole haggle of sailors and wenches leaned forward. And then he widened his eyes and hissed: " – Incorrect."

Behind her Black Ruth let out a howl as the sailors all guffawed and raised their tankards to Barbossa and Pierre tried gamely to join in though he splintered a tooth clenching his jaw too tight in a smile. But Barbossa did nothing but smile upon Evie while she stared at him, stricken and trapped. The night was of no consequence, nor Pierre, but the money – all that gold – lost – and Black Ruth, would she think Evie had played a part in it?

Grasping hold of Evie's wrist and pulling her close to him he addressed Ruth above her head. "Come now, Matron. My winnings."

With a face as black as her name, Ruth began to empty the gold onto the table, a luscious, twinkling pile the whole table looked mournfully upon as Barbossa scooped it into his pockets, neither gloating or chuckling. He left a pile of twelve and nodded to the sailors. "For yer salve, gents." Evie wondered how long before they noticed Pierre had been omitted from Barbossa's equations. And he flicked a single coin to Ruth without bothering to look at her. "For yours, Matron. Come, Missy, I intend to make full use of my night." And Evie was hauled away, into the heat and throng of the Lamb's clientele, crushed beneath Barbossa's arm and feeling the hard press of the coins that stuffed his pockets burrow into her hips. She wanted to ask him what his game was, but he gave her no chance so quickly and intently did he move, heeding not if she were shoved or pushed at any turn. The suddenness of the night's chill was a shock to her senses, dizzied by gin and the heat of the tavern, but Barbossa pressed on, seeming not to be phased in the slightest either by the cool or by her fury, leading her around the corner.

"I suppose you think you're pretty funny!" she sneered and he merely roared in response, before grasping her around one slender wrist and tossing her up against the stucco wall of the nearest squat. Her skirts were hauled up, she was lifted to meet his hips and he plunged deep inside her, growling at her neck. And despite her vexation she could not help but be somehow suddenly glad at that familiar feeling, of the bump of his thrusts and the bitterly sweet smell of him, his breath hot on her ear. He leant back to look at her, his eyes as ravaging as his body, before tearing her bodice off one shoulder and grasping one breast to nip the exposed nipple. She felt from him some greedy triumph in having "won" her, he was positively savage about it all and she was damned uncomfortable in this position, and the hunger with which he attacked her was almost frightening and yet it was delicious as well, to be so utterly consumed, to feel the full fire of his passion lick all the way upwards from inside her. She recalled that time upon his ship when she'd resisted his urge to fuck her amongst company and now here they were, on the streets of Tortuga in full view of any who entered or exited The Lamb and Flag and sure enough she could hear a snatch of cheers from a few revellers that laughed to see them so entwined. "Give it 'er, mate!" One cried and Barbossa chuckled as Evie gripped him tight and lowered her face to his neck.

When he finished he lowered he with comparative gentleness and even shielded her while she rearranged her skirts. Curiously, she was almost embarrassed in front of him now, not so much at the public rotting but that she had enjoyed it – and possibly he knew that.

"Well, wench," Barbossa spoke to her now, finally, as he packed and lit his pipe. "Ye've certainly made this trip a bright one already. That was truly some fine sport in there."

She recalled then that she should be vexed with him and made to retort when a shout came to them from across the way.

"My friends!" It was Pierre – he had followed them out and waited until they'd finished their business before approaching. "My friends, how can ever I thank you?" On lanky legs he darted across the street to join them, where Barbossa fixed him with a disdainful face. Pierre was smiling, relaxed now, and outstretched a hand to Barbossa. "My friend, good Mon-ser, Captain Barbossa, what a marvel you were! Simply magnificent! What a show you made, they are still talking of it now, I am sure. Tthhhft. Though I do so wish dear little Mam'selle had mentioned another to join in our sport when we made our negotiations. " Though he smiled still, the glance he gave Evie was cold and she protested: "I knew nowt of it, yer bugger!" But Barbossa silenced her with a hand on the back of her neck.

"She speaks truth, boy, on that score at least." He confirmed to Pierre. "But it don't take a genius to spot tricks of that nature and it amused me to join in." And he smiled. "I hope ye weren't put out."

Pierre shook his hand and gesticulated enthusiastically with his hands. "Not at all, not at all, let me assure you! I found it most amusing. Most amusing indeed. You've a quick eye and a sharp tongue, Captain, and it's easy to see why you bear the reputation you do. Tthhhft. Why I would be honoured to work on such a caper with you again. But for now, I must retire for the evening so if we could perhaps square up before we do, I'll leave you two alone to, er, enjoy yourselves."

Barbossa raised an eyebrow and feigned a perplexed look. "Square up?"

Pierre continued to smile and spoke in his wet, charming way. "Yes. Divide the winnings. You know. "

"Oohh," Barbossa exhaled. "I see. I'm afraid ye be under some delusion there, boy, I won the wager and the winnin's – they be mine. So. " He bared his teeth in a grin. "Be off."

He spun on his heel, turning Evie with him and they made to depart but Pierre's voice, high and irritated now, followed after them.

"No, no, good Mon'ser, that's not at all the way the game was played, and I cannot let you – "

With a roll of his eyes, Barbossa pulled the pistol from his belt and levelled it between Pierre's eyes.

"I very much fear, me boy, ye not be understandin' the situation. " He spoke carefully, enunciating each word. "I won. The gold be mine. The lass be mine. Ye played over yer head and ye lost. Now, if ye want to lose yer head as well, then by all means continue to pester me."

Pierre smiled that ingratiating grimace once more and backed down. "Not at all, not at all, Mon'ser. You're right, of course." He spat and glared murderously at Evie who was glad for Barbossa's arm still about her.

Barbossa stepped forward so that the butt of the pistol pressed cold and hard into Pierre's forehead. "And boy. I better not be hearin' no tales about you botherin' the Missy here, or ye'll learn where truly I got me reputation from. "

Pierre's smile was as wan as Evie had ever seen it and he backed up slowly, not taking his eyes from Barbossa's pistol. "Of course not, of course not. Well then, good Mon-ser – by your leave." And he darted quickly off into the shadows, disappearing down an alley where a scraggy dog took chase. They watched him go for a moment and then looked at each other.

"'E always was a coward." Evie said in disgust and Barbossa chuckled, reholstering his pistol.

"Rats have mere cunning, not intelligence. " He stated, "It were his own fool fault."

And he tugged on her and lead her away from the tavern, toward the Mason Rouge.

"Well, you didn't need to interrupt, you know, " she sulked, "spoiled it for all of us – and what is Black Ruth going to think of me now? You ever think of that? I gets my coca leaf from her you know and she could cause me real bother 'ere."

Barbossa only laughed. "Black Ruth got me into it from the start, right after Pierre first suggested it. It were all set up. Fear not, she'll get her share. "

So, Ruth had tricked her and so had Barbossa. She flushed angrily and wrenched away from Barbossa, slapping him hard across the mouth. "I gave up a night's earnin's for that, you fucken' wretch, what, you two think my life is some sort of game? You think a poke in the dark s'gonna make up for loosin' that much stash?"

He stepped forward and hit her so that stars danced in her eyes and she fell backwards. But he caught he before she fell far and hauled her to him. "Don't dare lay a hand upon me, whore, nor doubt me honour. Ye'll get yer share as well and be grateful ye get anythin'!" He shook her hard and she struggled against him. "Enough!"

They stopped at once, together, and he let go the rough grip on her shoulders and let one hand slide down, down across the necklace he'd given her, over her soft breasts and she crushed herself to him. The truth of it was, she had missed him sorely and the thought he had cheated her had been unbearable. And though he still glared at her she thought there was something, a little something deep in those flinty eyes, that spoke of longing. And when he kissed her, she crumbled and threw her arms about his neck, the delirious familiarity of his tongue and mouth soothing away all remnants of annoyance. The kiss was deep and full of searching hunger and when they broke apart she could feel the blood pounding in her lips, and in her nethers and she grasped his hardness and squeezed. "Take me 'ome and make sure you take your winnin's bloody 'ard, you 'ear me?"

And he smiled at her once more.

Later they idled over gin and wine and he counted out the gold from the night onto her coverlet where it winked in the glow of the candles and filled her heart with warmth – though not quite so much as laying a soft line of kisses across the tiger scars did.

"There. " He stated, as he counted out the last piece. "An equal share, for me whore. " and he pushed her hair back off her face and chucked her under the chin. He leaned over to where his coat hung and reached inside a pocket, withdrawing a small stack of what looked like thin card with bright pictures illustrated upon it. "Now, since ye seem to have such an aptitude for gamblin', pay attention. I'm goin' to teach ye to play cards. It'll stand ye better in yer old age than hocus pocus. "