Chapter 28: In Mother's Footsteps
"Tom?"
A shrill, petite voice penetrated through the dense, gloomy cloud of fatigue smothering my aching head.
"Aye, Cord? What be on yer mind?"
The response to the high-pitched question was evidently male, with a mellow deepness to it that was conveniently and naturally paired with thick, broad Irish brogue. His voice only triggered a rush of happy memories of my time on the Resolve and my lovely British sailors. But any peace in the recalled events was short-lived, for my knowledge of the whereabouts of the very same sailors was nonexistent. I had little or no way of learning about their current positions. They could have been dead despite my hopeful wishes.
"Is…" There was a pause, and then a soft, "I think this person is a she…" followed by a louder and more jarring, "Is she dead?"
The innocence of such a blunt question convinced me that a child was speaking, and at the thought of people watching me, I willed my body to awaken. However, my limbs were sore all over, and an ever-present pang in my skull persisted to throb unremittingly.
My body's pain made a jolt upwards as a sharp object poked my arm, causing me to twitch involuntarily at the sudden probe.
"Dead?" answered the man, a merry air on the tip of his tongue. He must have observed my wincing self with grinning common sense. "No, I don't think she's dead, but she sure smells like a deceased, rotting cow… If it's a she at all."
What a pleasantly vulgar young brute, I thought, forcing an eye open to glare at the cad what said that to my ailing self.
"Awright," chimed the child. "Let's wake her up!"
Both of my eyes bolted open, now alarmed and awake, and the first full image I soaked in was the confused expression of a young, red-haired Irishman crouched down on a sandy, golden shore, with a small, brown-skinned girl trotting away, laughing.
"Cord!" he called, his eyes still fixed on me. I remained gawking at him in return.
The girl didn't hear him or chose to ignore him, and her cheery little self came hopping back, her hands firmly grasping a wooden bucket that was finely dripping with water.
Not even a full gasp of unmistakable protest escaped me before the girl dumped the cool seawater over me, covering me in a fresh, wet film of sea salt and a lone, orange sea star. My eyes were wide and stinging, the grainy salt in the brackish water burning the fragile skin around the edges, and at my great discomfort, the young girl simply took a step back, her square, white teeth biting into her bottom lip and her hands shoving the now empty bucket behind her back to hide any evidence against her. Unluckily for her, I, the targeted victim, had witnessed the whole display of outright and purposeful disturbance.
"Now why the hell did ya have to do that, Cord?" chastised the man as he swatted the frayed hem of her brown skirt with his hand. She didn't even flinch; her attention was still entirely given to me as she continued to look at me as if I was some sort of public exhibit displayed for the leisure of the ignorant public, her round, brown eyes fixed in bare curio.
Regardless of her inquisitiveness, I did not delay in expressing my plain provocation and narrowed my salt-crusted eyes at her posthaste, easing my aggravation only after the girl had been humiliated enough to look down, her thick, mahogany curls falling over face.
"I'm sorry, M-Miss," she squeaked, beginning to sway athwart and rocking on the balls of her bare, sand-coated feet. I could perceive her uncertainty in speaking with me, especially with the 'Miss' part. After all, I was still dressed in my not-so-fine midshipman's uniform, sans one stocking, both shoes and my hat. And in embarrassing addition, my hair was still cut short. Some 'Miss' I looked like.
"Come now, Cord. Chin up," said the man, bumping her chin up and then peering at me. "What's yer name, lass?" he asked, his tone considerably more trenchant than when he spoke with the crestfallen child.
"Astrid," I answered firmly, attempting to gather my puny strength to stand. Though, I only succeeded in sitting up, propping myself upward with one arm.
"Where ye from, eh?" He came over to me and pointed a finger at my soiled navy-blue midshipman's jacket. "Now what's a girl like you doin' in man's garb?" He laughed and flicked my shoulder with false amusement.
"Long story," I muttered, shooting a glare at him and then rolling over so that I was on my stomach. Unsuccessfully, I tried to push myself up with my hands, moaning and cursing as I pushed my bruised muscles to lift me up.
"Well then…" I heard the man breath out, followed by another light laugh.
I had only managed to get on my hands and knees before this man grabbed my middle stiffly and hauled me up onto my own flimsy limbs. And at his touch, I slapped his hands off of me on instinct. I had honestly had enough of men for a while.
Unfortunately, men ruled the earth and no matter where I went, they would still dominate the atmosphere.
He easily acquiesced to my warnings and took his hands off, chuckling as he let me go.
"Ye seem like a very amiable little bairn," he remarked wryly, with just as jocular a smirk on his visage.
Indeed I am, I retorted mentally as I struggled to balance my battered body on my lubberly feet.
"We humbly apologize for wakin' ye, Missy," continued the Irish bugger, taunting me further by bowing in my direction and taking off his hat. "It won't happen again, now will it, Cord?"
"No, Tom," beamed the child as her round countenance smiled at me. She seemed no older than ten, and for some odd reason, there was a familiarity in her facial features that pestered me.
The child was incontestably of mixed origin, for her brown skin was light in comparison to others and her nose was distinctly European. Perhaps she was a mix of European and native African blood? I honestly had no clue, but her face was so hauntingly familiar that I began to rack my exhausted mind for answers.
Thankfully, the Irishman pulled me out of my daze with a sonorous, "Allow me to introduce ourselves. Cord, would ye like t'go first?"
"Aye, that I would, Tom," replied the girl as she bobbed a swift curtsy to me and then proudly announced, "Me name is Cordelia, 'cept everyone calls me Cord for short. An' that bloke what teased ya is me good mate an' guardian, Tom O'Brian." She stepped aside and presented him with a nod while he took his hat off again with a flourish and bowed, taking my hand and kissing the back of it lightly.
If their particular act was meant to make me laugh, then I gave them full credit for succeeding. Their introductions seemed both rehearsed and impromptu, which made it all the more entertaining. Plus, after kissing my hand, Tom made a side glance at Cord and whispered, "That's the French way, aye?"
Cord giggled and nodded, and I joined her, regretting ever thinking unkindly of this strange but dynamic duo.
They offered to take me into the port for some refreshment, and after agreeing, I asked them where I was as we made our way towards the docking yard.
"Egypt," said Cord, grinning broadly at the name. "But Tom an' I are takin' a ship to Tortuga in the Caribbean."
"The Caribbean!" I yelped, acting as if I had not heard the name in ages, for certainly, I could hardly even match a memory or image to such a place anymore.
"Aye," Tom commented dully. "We're in Egypt 'cause little Cord here thought it'd be fun t' explore a ship an' accidentally snuck onto a French sloop when we were last in Tortuga. An' whaddya know? We ended up here."
I looked at Cord, amused with the tale, and she laughed sheepishly. "She adores France," added Tom, slightly disgusted. "It's a bloody long story."
"I can tell you if ye want, Astrid," proposed Cord enthusiastically, tugging on the threadbare sleeve of my jacket.
"Later, Cordelia," ordered Tom, waving a disapproving finger at her, and a sudden memory of Maggie scolding me back at home flashed before my eyes. I blinked and shook my head and saw Cord consent with a pout, and then the three of us entered a seaside tavern.
It was obvious that the two knew the place well, for Tom easily sauntered up to the bar and leaned over, rubbing his trimmed, neat red goatee as he conversed, or rather, flirted, with the barmaid serving drinks and meals on the other side. The brunette woman spoke in endearing French words to Tom's rugged English, and shortly after, Tom flicked a few gold coins onto the countertop and left the bar with a wink at the barmaid.
"Lucky you," he said to me as he came back. "Annette jus' so happens to like me enough to let ye have a free meal."
"The why'd ya throw the money at her?" I questioned bitterly, displeased with his sarcasm.
"For something else," he answered, initially frowning at me and then easing back into his wicked grin.
"You dirty bastard!" I yelled, but he rolled his eyes as he touched his goatee again.
"Not that, ye twit," he groaned. "She's gettin' ye a bath ready. Ye stink like hell."
When the French barmaid came out with my meal, Tom and Cord found it appropriate conversation to tell me that they'd be leaving for Tortuga that evening and that I was welcome to come along if I wished. At first, I was apprehensive of their offer, wondering why they would let me, a complete stranger, join them on their voyage. I didn't know if they saw anything in me, but they did seem quite hospitable and welcoming. Their offer was far too tempting for me to decline. And Tortuga was Mad Anne's origin. Perhaps I could get some gossip about her once we arrived there. It would certainly help if I crossed paths with her again, which I very much intended to do.
"So it's settled then?" I posed, wiping my gravy-covered mouth with the sleeve of my jacket. "I get to sail with you to Tortuga?"
"Not in that outfit, lass," scorned Tom. I balked in profound disagreement, my face ready to scowl at him but uttering no sound from my wide open mouth. "For one," he resumed, enjoying my disgust, "The cap'n of the ship we're sailing on won't let ye on board dressed as a damn pretty boy. An' two, that uniform ye wear makes ye too openly… English."
"Right," I scoffed, snorting as I crossed my arms. "I forgot we're in Froggy-land."
A distinct hmph shot out of Cord's own nose as she glared at me, and I immediately recalled her undying adoration for Old Boney's nation and property, and I murmured to her my own indistinct apology.
"Then what should I wear?" I dared to ask, and Tom's naughty little smirk resurfaced. Though, I had never seen such a charming smile and I found my pouting lips slightly quivering as he looked directly at me.
"A dress!" squealed Cord, clapping with frenetic delight as she thought of the prospect of dressing me up like a doll.
"Yes, a dress!" agreed Tom, imitating Cord's zeal.
My face was drained of any joy, and I found myself gawping at them in disbelief. Cord noticed my silent rebuttal and frowned.
"Ye don't like dresses?" she asked, pretending to sulk at me.
"Hell no!" I shrieked, and even Tom was taken aback (literally) by my bark. Cord became all the more disappointed and appeared to be on the verge of crying, resting her chin in her palm as she looked down at the table we sat at.
"Oh, but wait!" she suddenly burst, raising her head back up and not a trace of sadness left on her face. "You haven't tried any French dresses yet, Astrid!"
"I think yer missin' the po—" She grabbed my arm and pulled me out of my seat, dragging me out of the tavern door and into the streets, where she directly brought me to the closest tailor shop: Monsieur Lécuyer'stailor shop to be exact, La Maison de Belle Robe.
"Go in, Astrid. Please?" she implored, tugging on my sleeve again. Tom had caught up with us and stood behind me, silent and expecting my answer.
"If I get a dress will you never ever ask me to get another one?"
"Oh, fine," Cord grumbled. "Now, go in!" She nudged me toward the door, and I held my breath… again.
Cord received her wish, and I was granted mine. She was exaggeratedly gleeful, laughter bubbling out of her when she saw me come out of the shop with a simple, dark blue gown that appeared to still be stubbornly tight across the middle and waist. I didn't know about Cord, but this French dress seemed almost identical to my English ones back home. But, I did sneak in my own prize: a new jacket and trousers, which wasn't easy to get for free either. The dress, Tom paid for. The extra apparel I had to wheedle my way about with the fresh, French tailor's son, who had taken his father's place while he was away. And I succeeded in my little bargain by returning to my whorish, coquettish ways for a few minutes, and with a farewell kiss on the cheek, the young man happily gave me what I wanted.
Though, I had to admit, my actions were not in the least bit becoming and I knew that if Bennett saw me, he'd be fuming mad. And the worse thing about it was that I realized I was acting no better than damn Mad Annie, especially with all this manipulation I was doing against the male race.
Oh, dammit, Astrid…
With new dress, trousers and jacket in hand, we exited the shop and returned to the tavern where I got my bath and reluctantly changed into the damn dress I was forced to buy. Annette, the barmaid, was kind enough to help me with the whole corset routine and she approved of my selection of clothing like any other fashion-adoring woman would do. The only thing she didn't like about my appearance was my short hair, and so she gave me a spare bonnet to tie over my head. I really had no intention to use it, but these French were too damn kind and charitable, and out of respect and humility, I took every gift they gave me.
Before I made my debut to Tom and Cord, Cord snuck in to see me and danced at my sight. "You're lovely, Astrid! Tom will like you. Aye, that he will," she giggled, and I felt my face burn at the compliments. Mentioning Tom's opinion of me only made me feel queasy. Dammit, Astrid, always falling for every handsome bloke out there who offers you a helping hand…
Sure enough, when I stepped out and revealed myself to Tom (and the whole of the tavern for that matter), his eyebrows shot up and he speedily looked me up and down before turning around and marching out of the tavern.
"Let's go, shall we? It's getting late. Our ship'll be leavin' soon." He coughed afterwards.
"Oui!" cried Cord, taking my hand. "Allons-y!"
And off we went to Tortuga town.
The slow voyage to Tortuga was nonetheless an enriching time for Tom, Cord and me. Having to share the same cabin on the fat merchantman we boarded made for a perfect bonding atmosphere between the three of us, even if it did mean a few natural bickers at the beginning of the voyage before our differences were finally set aside.
Our hammocks were strung up in the snug cabin side-by-side, and I was stuck on one end with Cord to my right and Tom on her other side, which was a good arrangement, if you ask me. I enjoyed lying in my hammock at night and telling stories of my time on the Resolve to Cord, who seemed to like my tales only because they often involved our encounters with the French. Tom enjoyed them for a reason he never told or made obvious to me. He just lied in his own hammock and listened attentively, interrupting here and there with a few comments and such, but never sitting up and leaning towards me as if he was sucked into the story itself. Cord did, clutching an old ragged doll in her arms as she squealed, laughed and cried at the instances of attack, humor and death. Tom didn't. He seemed aloof whenever I began another anecdote of the infamous Jackaroe's adventures, but he followed every account, just with absent interest.
Now, even if they listened to my stories, I never gave them the reason behind them. I wasn't quite certain yet if I could trust them, and so I kept my pirate ancestry and Jack a secret. However, Cord and Tom didn't seem to hesitate to tell me their histories. In fact, after hearing their backgrounds, I came to realize that we had far more in common than I had predicted.
Tom's origins were easy to distinguish. He was an Irishman, and by his dress and demeanor, I believed that he was a sailor who had either deserted the Navy or was a jolly liberty man.
"To hell with the God damn Navy," he snapped when I asked him if he was a sailor. "Those British toffs can go kiss my fine Irish arse for all I care."
"Were you pressed into the Navy?" I probed, leaning on the starboard railing of the quarterdeck and looking at him as he stared out at the grey ocean.
"Were I pressed? Damn right, I was. I was jus' mindin' me own business an' then all o' a sudden these grubby fat men started wavin' their clubs and sticks at me and hauled me down, tyin' me up as if I was nothin' better than a dumb calf." I cast my eyes south and focused on the small, foaming waves gently touching the black hull of the merchantman, thinking about Tom's unfortunate introduction to the Navy.
"Tom worked for the carpenter of his town in Ireland," intruded Cord when both Tom and I fell silent. She sat on the deck, fussing with her doll's hair, and didn't even look up at us when she said it.
"The lass is right," Tom admitted with a sigh. "An' so on my first voyage, I was the carpenter's mate. I went on about four more voyages until I was twenty-three, in which I was given leave on land in Tortuga. There, I met my present captain. An' I ain't a pawn of His Majesty's damned Navy anymore either." He smirked at me and came closer, leaning down so that he could whisper in my ear, and quietly he said, "I'm a pirate, love."
I could have kissed him after hearing such news.
Cord meandered up to us, her doll in her arms and she squeezed herself between the two of us and looked up at Tom. "What did you whisper to her?" she asked.
"I told her that I work for yer dad, lovey," replied Tom, opening his arms wide and allowing Cord to jump up and get carried by him.
In the meantime, I was near euphoria. If Tom was a pirate, then his captain was also a pirate. And maybe his employer knew Mad Anne and could let me join his crew! I suppressed a shriek from shooting out of my mouth by biting my tongue, but I only ended up laughing.
"What's your captain's name?" I managed to say between laughs.
"Captain Jack Sparrow!" cheered Cord as she punched her little brown fists in the air.
My laughter came to a dead halt, and I stood still, looking at the both of them with a wavering consciousness.
"Captain… Jack… Spar…" My head swayed and I fell back, fainting directly onto the polished deck with a dull thud.
It just so happened that after I regained consciousness, Cord and Tom found it a mandatory obligation to ask me why the hell I fainted, and so I told them, after getting some grog in me, that I had been looking for Jack for years now.
To my relief, they didn't ask me why I was looking for him.
"Well, the reason why we're not with him right now," explained Cord as she began to dress her doll again, "is because Tom got injured during a duel he started on lan' and me mum never liked me bein' on a pirate ship, an' to tell the truth, I di'n't like it much neither, and so she suggested to Jack to drop both Tom an' me at Tortuga for a while where I'd be stayin wit' me grandmum an' where Tom would recover from his stupid brawl. An' we've been away from me daddy since."
Daddy? I thought, almost choking when she said it. Jack was her father!
"He's your father?" I asked, in disbelief. If I wasn't the only one, then there was no telling how many Sparrows were out in the world.
"Yep," she answered, not minding my alarmed visage and continuing to play with her doll.
"Then who's yer mum?" I demanded, my question almost coming out as a shrill.
"My mummy's name is Ana Maria."
My eyelid twitched and I felt another swoon coming, but Tom wrapped an arm around my shoulders and shook me. "Easy there, love," he said. "When we get to Tortuga, we'll introduce you to 'em. He'll like you."
"What makes you think that?" I griped, letting myself sink into his embrace.
"Because we like ye. That's why."
And that ended any further argument.
We arrived in Tortuga some good month later, and I expected to meet Jack on land, but after Tom and Cord poked around in some of his usual places of rest, they received the reply that he wasn't in the town at that moment. When they asked if he'd be back any time soon, their answers were obscure and useless.
"Sorry, lass," apologized Tom for the umpteenth time after exiting another tavern.
"So where are we supposed to stay?" I inquired, stepping aside and crossing my arms in great discomfort when some mome in altitudes narrowly missed grabbing me as he chased after some other painted wench.
"Well," started Tom, not so much his confident self anymore. He took off his hat and ran a hand through his red hair. "Cord is stayin' with her grandmum, an' on land, I jus' stay in an inn."
"So that leaves me where?" I seethed, placing my hands on my hips.
"Uh… you could… work for your room and food," suggested Tom with a scratch of his head.
"No, no, no!" I yelled, stomping my foot and poking a finger at his chest. "No way in hell am I gonna work in some stinkin' little—"
"Well, where are ye gonna work, eh, lassie? There ain't exactly a place here that fits the kinda job you want, Astrid."
"But… I can't! I won't!"
"Oh, don't go pipe yer eye on me now, lass. For a few weeks. That's all. 'Twon't be too bad. I'll be right by yer side."
Right my arse, you filthy little… I stopped my mental insult and decided that to curse at him would not help my position. I looked at my hands and traced the fine lines of my palm with my eyes, eyes that I had inherited from my mother. And this was her place of origin. I didn't want it to be mine as well. But it seemed as if following in my mothers footsteps was imminent, and it hurt my pride to have to come down to such a level in order to survive.
With me nearly moping like a baby, Tom led me to a particular public house where he knew the tavern keeper was looking for some extra hands. No amount of coaxing would keep me from muttering curses to him and to this future work place of mine despite how warm and comforting his embraces were. He was taking me to my doom, and I would never forgive him for it if I were to be harmed in the building.
Upon entering, Tom immediately punched out a guy who had charged straight at us, red and delusional from over consumption of alcohol. The man flopped to the floor, passing into slumber with a wide, toothless grin on his grimy face. I kicked at him and Tom yanked me away, scolding me for my needless aggression.
"You wait here," he told me, pointing to a spot in the corner of the tavern that appeared to be out of the way of the drunk lunatics running about.
"Why can't I go with you?" I questioned, fearing being alone in such an intimidating space. The air was fuggy and hung around my face with a thick fetor of alcohol, sweat, candle wax and wet, rotting sewage.
"'Cause if I go up t' Priscilla with another dame, then she won't be open to negotiate, that's why." He turned and left me before I could even make a stubborn reply, and I stayed in my corner, my arms crossed so tightly across my chest that I was almost hugging myself.
My eyes scanned the place continuously, making sure that I made eye contact with no one. None of the men seemed respectable, and the majority of them seemed older than me by at least a decade or two. Shoulder-bare women contributed to the hideous cacophony of growls, yowls, breaking glass, hard punches and scurrying feet by laughing their sharp, shrill titters and coos. I grew sick thinking that I'd soon be joining them in such an occupation if Tom succeeded in getting me the disgraceful job.
I was lost in my thoughts for a few moments and when I looked back up to resume my keen observation of the tavern's activity, I saw that a circle of men sitting at a distant table were looking in my direction.
I gulped.
"Hey, Astrid!" yelled Tom, as he came toward me, waving his arm in the air to get my attention. I shifted my gaze at him and saw that he had his smile on his face and my spirit only sank further in me. "I got ye a job, lovey. Priscilla jus' wants t'see ya so she can fit ye in a proper uniform."
I glared at him and wanted to push him and punch him for what he had just done. He had made me into an official prostitute, dammit.
"I ain't gonna wear no damn whore's shift!" I shrieked, feeling the tears well in my eyes. I had tried so hard to avoid ever putting myself in such a situation and yet my virtue had been stolen from me and I was newly employed as a Tortuga wench. Nothing ever went my way. Nothing.
"Calm down, love. What's the matter? Don't mind the men. Jus' do yer work an' pick up their dirty dishes and be mindful of their hands and ye'll be fine."
"Stop it, you dirty Irish bastard! I know for a fact that's not what'll happen an' I'm not gonna fall for your stupid tricks!"
"I ain't fooling you, Astrid!" he bellowed, grabbing hold of my arms and shaking me a bit. "Ye know I can't pay for yer meals and food until Jack comes back. An' ye can't stay with Cord because it's hard enough for her grandmum already. Ye gotta be on yer own for a while. I'll watch over ye as best as I can. Stop cryin', love. Stop. Astrid, please."
I couldn't stop the tears now. My mother's doom would now be mine and I saw everything I had worked for once again slip out of my hands like sand through my fingers. What if Jack never came? And even if he did come, would I be able to get out of this career once it had become embedded into my brain?
"Astrid, chin up, love." He bumped my chin up with his finger and forced me to look at him and at his green, Irish eyes, eyes that were pale and the color of water. How could he of all people tolerate a place like this? But then I remembered he served under Jack and was still serving under him. Jack went to places like this and I was his daughter.
And in such a simple realization, I found that I was acting hopelessly foolish with my babyish weeping, and I nodded at him and wiped my eyes. Seeing that I had regained my composure, he brought me to the mentioned Priscilla where she dismissed Tom, took me to the back of the tavern and dressed me out of my French frock and into the shameful garb of a young, naïve strumpet.
I was to work immediately and was told my duties as soon as Priscilla pushed me out to my audience of froward asses. My orders were simple: pick up dirty dishes, pick up any new drink or meal demands and pick up any money presented on the table not intended for gambling. And, oh yes, accept every bit of money offered for whatever reason.
Priscilla thought that it'd flatter me if I wore a tight, black bodice over a tattered silk shirt that was too big for me, and then finish my discreditable apparel with a long brown skirt. She also insisted that I paint my face to 'enhance' my features but I rigidly declined, and she sent me off with a scowl and a battered wooden tray to pile dirty dishes on.
The top part of my sleeves slipped off my shoulders as I stumbled towards the horde of littered tables and raunchy men. I tried pulling the sleeves back up, but the shirt was too large, and I cursed when I made my paltry entrance with no avail in making myself looking like less of a moll.
It immediately came to my attention that the other 'waitresses,' if they even deserved to be called such, were obtusely seating themselves on the happy laps of several men instead of scooping up the growing pile of grungy dishes that begged to be removed from the tables. Then again, I also noticed the bright, golden circles of coins scattered across the dark tabletops, and Priscilla's words came back to my head. I had to accept any money offered for whatever reason.
I ended up standing for a good five or ten minutes just evaluating how to advance towards any table in need of a 'waitress.' No one seemed to mind me just standing there lost in a daze, and so I continued to wait and watch until I had thought up a safe, intelligent way to approach such disgusting persons. However, I never came to a satisfactory plan of action on account of two reasons. One, I never really was good at thinking up plans to get myself out of deep messes, and two, I realized that Tom had taken a seat at a table and surrounded himself in the opprobrious debauchery trademark of Tortuga. He even had a woman on his lap, the bastard.
So much for keepin' an eye on me, you libidinous dog.
Indignant and insulted, I clenched my fists and felt my jaw tighten as I finally gathered enough mettle to meet those profligate carousers head-on. And into the throng I went, coming to my first table without so much as a smile to greet them.
The calls and hands came out like traps.
"Well, aren't ye a pretty one, eh?" rasped one as he pinched a part of my skirt. Luckily, I swerved just in time to have him pinch empty clothing instead of what he was really aiming for.
I honored him with no reply and simply reached for more of the empty tankards sitting on the table.
"Of course she won't talk to ye, ye ol' man," spat another one, his voice remarkably smoother than the first's. "She'll talk to me." A hand seized my waist and yanked me down, plunking me onto the lap of a young, but not so good-looking pirate. My hands still held the wooden tray with dishes and all piled up on it, and my hold only tightened. "What's yer name, lass?"
"Arsehole," I muttered, jabbing him hard in the chest with my elbow and thus earning me my freedom from his grasp. He winced and I gladly left, tray in hand.
I had similar encounters as I went to the other tables and none of them offered me any money to take yet, thank God. My hostile behavior did me well from further interesting any man who thought me as simply another prostitute he needed to get in his bed. However, I was careful never to go to Tom's table. I had glanced over at him a few times as I worked and noticed that all the men at the table were rather, well, young and handsome, which explained why so many whores lingered nearby to catch any of their admiring winks and glimpses. My consistent looking at them caused me to realize that it was that table that had spotted me when I first entered the tavern with Tom.
And now they were looking at me again, their grins far wider than before. The only man who sat at that table and didn't look at me was Tom. He, might I add, was quite happy with the girl on his lap.
"Blast it all! Some bitch get this clutter off me table!" yelled one as I passed by. "You! Lass! C'mere." I honestly thought he wasn't calling me, and so I continued to walk away, only to see a tankard whiz by my head as it was thrown from behind. Alarmed, I spun around and met eyes with the young brute what threw it at me, and his grey eyes flickered fiercely at me.
"I said c'mere!" I had no choice but to go and so I went, timidly, my hands clutching parts of my skirt as I walked forward.
"Astrid!" beamed Tom, waving at me as I reached the table. Damn, he's as drunk as Davy's sow. I glared at him and my restless hands had the urge to flick a rude gesture in his direction, but I didn't because I had already forgiven him for his vulgar ways.
"Whaddya want?" I asked bitterly, looking up at the young pirate who had nearly hit my head with a blasted mug.
"Get this stuff off me table," he replied, more gently than before. He sat down in his chair and leaned back, giving me space to reach in and gather the dishes, but I was stupid to have fallen for his trap. Damn him.
As soon as I had filled the space he had made for me, he hooked a finger in the back of my bodice and swiftly tugged, allowing me to fall back onto him. "That's more I like it," he chuckled, pushing some of my hair away from my shoulders. I scolded myself for not cutting it. I shouldn't have let it grown.
"What'd ye say 'er name was, Tom? Astrid?" he asked. I looked at Tom, and he stared back blankly, saying, "Aye. That's it, Nathan."
"Well then, Astrid," he said, turning my face towards his. "Ten shillings for a private word with ye, love." He placed a small, black pouch into my hand.
"How long?" I demanded, my fingers closing around the bag.
"Not long," he answered. I was hesitant to agree, even though I had already accepted the money. I thought about what Bennett would have thought of me if he were to see me in such a place. He'd never want to see me again, I knew that. And Roland would have been just as unforgiving, wherever he was.
But I needed the money if I was ever going to see him again. I had to get enough to buy myself out of this occupation if Jack didn't come in time, and I wasn't about to let Roland fall into the hands of whorish Mad Annie. I couldn't and wouldn't allow it. I had no alternative. I had to accept any money presented to me. It was the only way.
Oh, God, forgive me…
I swallowed and nodded, and the pirate gave a jolly whoop and let me up as he stood on his feet and led me a bit away from the others.
When I went to bed in the small room allowed for me in the tavern, my mind became overrun with endless nightmares. The roar of cannon fire, the thick, choking smoke, the bloody deaths of my comrades—they all came back to haunt me, and I always remained fixed in fear and paralyzed by an unconquerable helplessness that ushered hot tears down my face as I screamed and wept for help. But there was no aid in my dreams. Nothing came. Just the thunder of spitting guns and the cries of men drowning in a hideous black pool of severed limbs, headless bodies, ribbons of blood and red-eyed demons chasing me with a noose in hand.
I woke with a start, cold sweat trickling down my brow and my lungs heaving sob after sob as I awakened to nothing but the darkness of my dank little room. I wept for Bennett. I wept for Roland. I wept for Jack. I wept for all of them to come help me but none of them were there. The solitude was maddening, and my recent encounters with lustful pirates only worsened my chances of ever finding comfort because now memory of Griffith's assault returned, and the fear I had kept clogged up in my throat since the day I met Cord and Tom now came out in a horrible torrent, and I felt entirely powerless to overcome such frightening images. The familiar feeling of defenselessness and frailty returned despite my strong desire to be brave and capable, and I spent the rest of the night weeping, with no one in the world aware of my torment.