Chapter 29: Healing the Breach
I poked my head out of the little room Nathan had reserved for "our" use and whispered sharply, "Tom! Tom!"
My fiery-haired Irishman opened the door to the room lying opposite mine across the narrow, dark hallway, his hair rumpled and his eyes at half-mast.
"Aye?" he moaned, rubbing his forehead. "What is it, lass?" I took two furtive glances to my left and right before fully exiting the room and gently closing the door behind me.
"I need some laudanum," I said quietly, not looking him in the eye. I began to fidget, rolling back and forth on the soles of my sore feet.
"What the hell is that?" he answered crossly, the effects of his excessive alcohol assumption obviously getting the better of him.
"Just a drink," I shrugged innocently, leaning against the brittle, wooden door to my room and showing a thin smile.
"Whaddya need it for?" I exhaled a sigh at his persistence, knowing full well that I was wasting precious time. I needed that laudanum. And fast.
"Nate and I want somethin' to drink," I replied sincerely, almost laughing inside. My intent was not in the least bit honest.
Tom ceased rubbing his brow and looked directly at me, peering at me as seriousness shadowed his chiseled face. He took a step forward and glanced at the door behind me before returning his vision in my direction. I grinned at him.
"Astrid." His voice was near a growl as he spoke, and he raised his arm and pointed his index finger rigidly at the entrance to my room. "Your plan ain't gonna work on Nate, love."
"Plan?" I echoed, feigning ignorance as I curled my eyebrows at him. "What plan?" Tom rolled his eyes lightly and gently took my arm and pulled me aside, bending his head low so that his words would be sent to my ears and my ears only.
"If you plan on getting him dead drunk so ye don' have to sleep wit' him, then yer mistaken, Lassie. He'll know what yer up to."
"Nonsense," I muttered, disappointed that my intentions had been read so easily by a man I had barely known for a few months. If Tom could see what I had arranged to do, then there was the likely chance that Nate would also.
Damn.
"Can't I just try it?" I pleaded, pouting and batting my eyelashes at him. He turned away in disgust and hobbled back over to his room. "Tom, please!"
He did not respond to my cry and simply disappeared into the darkness of his room, murmuring things to himself. I scowled and kicked at the wall, shooting jets of air out of my nose as I tried to get myself out of my current mess. Nathan had offered me an unprecedented five guineas to share a bed with him, far more than the first ten shillings he paid me just to talk. During that conversation, he simply asked me my name, my origin, my age, and other personal things of that sort. Of course, I told him all lies, except for my name, and some two weeks after that conversation, he came back, overjoyed to see me; and immediately—as soon as he walked into the tavern—his grey eyes locked on mine and into my hands he dumped a very heavy bag.
"Five guineas, lass," he puffed proudly, slipping his hand under my chin. "Tonight."
He sauntered away while my knees turned into jelly, and I almost felt like doubling over on the floor and retching. I couldn't think of a way to get out of sleeping with him, and I needed the money. The only way to hold onto what was left of my innocence was to somehow trick him, but my deceiving skills already proved ineffectual as I had been discovered as a girl and Mad Anne had duped me with her pirate cunning effortlessly.
My saving moment came just moments before Nate and I entered the reserved room, and I almost let it slip by screaming a boisterous, "Aha!" I remembered my studies with dear Cavanaugh and thus recalled the potency of laudanum, an alcoholic form of opium, a heavy sedative. I tittered evilly inside and couldn't wait to put my plan into action, but Tom had to refuse my wish, and I was back to square one, kicking and cursing at the wall.
"If you kick some more, you'll cause him to come out," said a voice behind me. I spun around and saw Tom again, a fat bottle in his hand.
"Is that…?" I began, surprised to see him come back to me.
"Yes, it is. You're lucky this place has a decent medicine chest." He handed the bottle to me, and my fingers instantly wrapped around the thin bottleneck.
"Thank God," I breathed. "I owe ye, dear Thomas."
"Yeah, I know," he smirked, tapping my nose with his finger. "An' you'll be payin' up tomorrow night. You an' I need to have a little chat."
"Oh God no!" I gasped, and Tom shook his head again at me.
"Not that, ye twit." I shut up sheepishly and figured that such a phrase would be common in any of our future conversations, and so I made it up in my mind to accept the insult whenever it came. "Honestly, we're gonna talk, love. Now hurry up with yer… thing."
"Will do, Tom." I nodded gratefully at him and went back into my room, coming face to face with the thick black darkness as I trapped myself once again in a box of trouble.
"Ye got me somethin' to drink, Astrid?" I heard Nate mumble from where the bed was supposed to be located.
"Aye, I did, lovey," I returned sweetly, making a dry, silent retch afterwards.
"Good. Bring it 'ere." Obediently, I went to him, fumbling my way through the black and being careful not to trip and drop the bottle of laudanum on the floor. If that happened, I would be doomed. What would I have him do if I did drop the bottle? Have him lick it off the floor?
Now, where is that damn bed? I asked myself, still stumbling through the room. However, I didn't need to search any further. A strong arm encircled my waist and lugged me down onto a flat mattress, and a wet pair of lips magnetically adhered itself to my own. I pressed my lips tightly together to keep my mouth shut and to keep his tongue from ever poking in. My left hand was still grasping the laudanum bottle, and I was struggling to sit upright and roll him over so that I could pour the damn liquid down his sorry throat.
Free your mouth, dammit! His kisses wouldn't end, and so I had no alternative but to kiss him back, and I almost vomited into his gob when his slimy tongue touched mine.
"Lift me up," I demanded in the short time allotted to me when he allowed me to breathe again. "I want a drink."
"But we're already drinking from the cup of love, my dear," he chuckled, coming down again. Oh no you don't! I pushed him back with both of my hands and then swung my leg over his side as I pinned him down, with me sitting on his stomach and him grinning lustfully at me.
I popped the cork off of the bottle and brought it to my lips, pretending to drink and hoping to attract him into tasting some of it himself. My ploy worked and he sat up, his hand running up my leg, but his eyes gazing at the obtuse bottle in my hands.
"It'll make the kisses sweeter," I remarked, raising an eyebrow at his sudden interest in the mysterious beverage and popping the spout from my lips. "Open up; I'll let ye taste a drop." He now believed that I was playing a teasing little game with him before we actually performed what prostitutes were known to perform, and he opened his mouth, eager for his first and probably last dose of laudanum.
I beamed and carefully let a clear droplet of the alcoholic mixture touch his tongue, and he breathed onto my face as he relished the honeyed, saccharine flavor with a savage lick of his lips. "More?" I offered, laughing inside at his ridiculous rapture over such a concoction.
I didn't even wait for him to nod. I knew he wanted more, and so I let the mouth of the bottle touch his and soon he was snogging with the bottle, not me, and I was highly relieved. He quaffed down the liquid as if it was water and he smacked his lips as he came to the last remnants, his grey eyes now growing dull as the opium seeped into his veins.
"Let's have a kiss now, shall we?" he said drowsily, finding my lips again. I decided to kiss him readily, with the hope that I'd wear him out with a few passionate ones, and at one point, I even bit his tongue and he pushed me away, cursing.
"Damn, lass," he groaned, grimacing as he tasted his mouth for any traces of blood. I snickered softly.
"Can't take it?" I boasted, poking him in the chest. He swerved his head in my direction his jaw drooping and one of his eyelids closing.
"No," he snapped, rubbing both of his eyes as slumber met him fast. "I can take it," he insisted as he yawned. "Give me what ye got."
All rightey then. You asked for it, you stupid dog.
I gripped his fine jaw and gave him such a kiss that I could feel him trying to pry me off. Give up already, you fool. At last, I let him go and his head sank into his pillow heavily. "Damn," he said again, looking even more exhausted than before.
That's it. Sleep. Sleep. Sleep. I chanted the word in my head as I waited impatiently for him to close his eyes already.
"Lay with me," he ordered weakly. Too happy with the progress that I had made, I did so and wrapped my arms around him and then commenced to squeeze the air of him in a choking embrace.
"I said lay with me, not God damn kill me," he said bitterly, pushing me away a bit. But his shove was feeble, and I could sense the lethargy falling upon his limbs as he probably wondered why he had become so tired so swiftly. He wouldn't permit me to embrace him again, so he wrapped me loosely in his own arms, resting his head against the side of my face.
He's going to do it, Astrid! Sleep, you bastard! Sleep, damn you! Sleep!
He managed to caress my neck in the few moments of consciousness he had before his breathing pattern slowed dramatically and his grey eyes were closed and his dark eyelashes fluttered against my skin. I tapped his face lightly with my hand as I smiled in the darkness, proud of what I had done. I had gotten out of a night of foul play and got to keep my money. I almost wanted to celebrate by having a few of my own drinks, but I wisely decided not to.
I gently moved Nathan off of me and let him lie peacefully in his sleep, still fully garbed and fully sedated. As for me, I was still in my bawd wear, and I got up out of bed and hurried out of my room, calling for Tom again.
He came out more quickly and more alert than before, a candle in his hand as he opened his door for me. "What now?" he inquired.
"I have something to show you," I said, taking his hand and leading him into my room. I brought him over to where Nathan lied on the bed, his limbs sprawled and a delicate trail of drool beginning to leak out of the corner of his mouth.
"Hell, Astrid," chuckled Tom as he flicked Nathan's nose with his finger. Nathan didn't even flinch. "You actually did it. Well done, lass. Ye might want to kick him right in the family jewels jus' to make sure though."
I laughed and jabbed him in the ribs lightly with my elbow. "Nah," I happily declined. "I think he's fine."
"Fine, eh? He won't be fine in the mornin', I'll tell ye that. His wife would laugh at 'im if she saw how he got dead drunk by a little lass like you." My nose twitched as he said 'wife,' and without even knowing it, the blood had drained from my face.
"Wife!" I screeched, turning to Tom and slapping his shoulder. "He's married?"
"Well… er…yes. Officially, yes, but not… truthfully," Tom replied, shooting a bitter look at me and then rubbing his shoulder. "He an' his wife were married 'bout a year ago, but neither of 'em are God damn loyal, Astrid. Why, his wife is off bein' pirate herself. But I don't think o' her kindly. She's a bitc—"
"She's a pirate?" I interrupted, my voice shivering. Cold sweat collected on the edges of my grimy brow and the only thing that I was thinking of at that moment was if his wife was, God forbid, Anne Flint.
"Aye," said Tom, turning around and preparing to leave me for the comfort and sleep of his own empty room. "But she's not liked 'ere. 'Specially by Jack. She's the one what stole his ship, which is why, like I tried to say before, she's a bitc—"
I let out such a horrified shriek that Tom jumped and spun around, dropping the candle in his hand and letting it fall clamorously to the wooden floor as he gawked at me, his green eyes wide and aflame with a mix of bewilderment and furious irritation.
"What!" he demanded irately. "What the hell is wrong with you, love?"
I didn't answer. I couldn't. I had just sunk myself deeper in the mud by getting Mad Anne's husband dead drunk with laudanum. When he woke up, he'd be sure to know that I was the one who tricked him and then he'd tell his dear wife, and she'd sail out to kill me, as if she wasn't already out to kill me from the beginning. Oh, dammit, Astrid!
My fingers had latched themselves to my lips as I chewed nervously at my nails, panic pumping through my body. I glanced over at Nate's insensate self and then I switched back to staring at some insignificant spot on the dusty floor as I tried to think of what to do. Now I couldn't stay in Tortuga any longer. If I did, Nate would ensure that he got what he paid for, which would only mean more disgrace for me, and if he didn't, then his wife would surely terminate me with a good pistol shot to my head.
"Astrid," I heard Tom say, but his voice seemed distant as it entered my ears, bouncing and echoing with fading gusto in the boundaries of my thick skull.
"I need to get out of here, Tom," I said at last, leaping for my small little sack of belongings hidden in one corner of the room. "I can't stay here anymore. I've only caused more trouble."
"What are you talkin' about?" Tom questioned, speculating my actions with a raised eyebrow.
"Oh, don't you see it, you dense little Irish bastard!" I yelled, grabbing the sack and pulling out my tattered mid's uniform along with the new jacket and trousers I had managed to get back in Egypt. "Mad Anne's going to have my head!"
"What?" he squawked. He bent to pick up his dropped candle and stomped out the little flame that had started on the floor, and then he walked towards me, his relaxed manner still ruling his steps.
"I need to get out of here," I repeated, pulling the heavy skirt off of my hips and slipping into my more comfortable britches. I didn't mind if Tom was watching me. He didn't see anything. Just my under-drawers, which were poofy and uncomfortable as any other feminine article of clothing that I owned. I slipped my arms into my jacket and then scurried out of the room, ready to make a run to the dock and sneak onto a ship, but Tom caught the back of my collar and hauled me towards his own quarters, laughing at something to himself.
"Lass," he began, as he shut his door and gestured at a chair near a small table for me to sit at. Having no interest in talking but rather moving, I continued to stand, silently protesting my strong desire to leave the place and escape my very certain death. "Tell me what's going on."
"I told you, Tom," I returned bitterly, crossing my arms over my chest.
"Aye, you told me that you have to leave, but ye didn't tell me why." I hmph-ed and turned my back on him, glaring at the other side of the room.
"It's a long story," I mumbled.
"Well, we have the time. Let's hear it."
"No," I returned brusquely, looking at him as if he were mad to propose such a thing, but he only stared at me as if I were lost in my bearings.
He laughed and raised his arms over his head, stretching as he yawned in the late hour of night, and I found myself unconsciously watching him, perhaps too keenly for my own good. He spotted me ogling at him and made me aware of what I was doing by sending me an unanticipated wink. The heat surged to my cheeks like water from a pump, and I looked down and turned away, bringing my palms to the sides of my face as I tried to hide my embarrassment.
"It's a long story," I uttered miserably, dropping my bottom in a stiff wooden chair. "There's a reason why I'm looking for Jack…"
"I could 'ave figured that, love," replied Tom, reaching for another chair and dragging it across the floor noisily beside me. He sat himself in it backwards and leaned forward in my direction. "I've been wonderin' 'bout it for ages now. I thought it was odd that ye never told me an' Cord why you was lookin' for the pirate."
"I would 'ave told you by now were it not for Cord because her story ain't much diff'rent from mine." Tom peered quizzically at me.
"Whaddya mean, lass?"
I sighed and fiddled with the cuffs and buttons of my jacket and soon my fingers were knotting themselves in my hair as I sought to go on with my confession. It was hard enough telling my naval comrades about why I was at sea, and I thought back then would be the only time I'd ever have to reveal my pirate ancestry. Unfortunately, I feared that my little adventures would be told for many a time in the near future.
"Oh c'mon, Astrid," Tom pressed, swatting my shoulder gently. "Out with it."
"Don't tell Cord," I said, giving him a leveled look. I was dead serious about it. His lips slipped into a neat and purely mischievous smile, and I couldn't help but show off my own pert grin at him.
"Not a word, love," he answered.
"Well, ye know me name, Tom," I started, "My first name. Though, I never told ye my surname. So let me start with my full identity. I am, and will forever be, Astrid Jacqueline Sparrow…"
I waited patiently in the dying hours of night, my head resting against the panel of a door as I waited for Tom to come out, laden with the bags and bags of money fraudulent little Priscilla stowed away in her "secret" little hidey-hole. However, apparently she had graciously allowed Tom in her room more than once, and with her off in some other room in bed with some other man, he took advantage of the liberty and knowledge given to him and snuck into her room and filched her profit. More importantly, he was risking his Irish behind for me.
He had come to know my true origins, although a bit shocked to accept them at first, and he agreed to get me the hell out of Tortuga as soon as possible, but Cord would have to come with us. She was, after all, under his supervision, and despite his free and easy ways with women and morals, he knew that Cord was always top priority. Well, usually.
I backed my elbow into the door and hit it hard enough to make it jolt. "Hurry it up, ye slo—" The door gave way behind me and I nearly fell back, only to be stopped by the lean mass of Tom O'Brien, with money bags in arms.
"If you wanna be the pirate, you do the hardwork." Without a warning, he shoved the jingling sacks into my hands and I nearly collapsed from the weight he dumped into my arms. I gave a yelp and crumbled to my knees, my skinny, frail arms struggling to keep the bags from tipping over and spilling all their wonderful, golden contents onto the floor in a hideous clatter
"Tom," I rasped, my face growing red as I tried to hold onto my poorly stolen treasure. He rolled his eyes at me and relieved me of my burden and I got up to my feet again and thanked him as sweetly as I could. He didn't buy my falsehood for one second.
"Let's go get Cord. She'll be with her grandmum."
And so we snuck out of the whorehouse and lurked about through Tortuga town until we reached Cord's grandmum's little, quaint abode. I was glad to find that the house was a bit on the outskirts of the foul establishment and I judged that Cord's grandmum was a nice, decent lady. Little did I know that she was far more than that.
"You want to take Cordelia?" asked the old, thin woman who answered the door after Tom and I rapped a few times on its surface.
"The things is, Esmée," began Tom, speaking before I could even introduce myself, "is that I'm leavin' tonight an' if I leave, Cord needs to come with me."
"So soon?" replied Esmée passively, stepping aside and making room for us to go through, although Tom had no intention to go in. He wanted to get Cord and then spend the rest of the few hours left of night to steal a ship.
Esmée had a silk, orange scarf tied around her graying wavy hair, and she had a golden hoop looped through her left earlobe and her dark eyes and brows reminded me of Ana Maria's own defined visage. She dressed in bold, bright colors, and by the amount of gold jewelry she wore, I took it that she wasn't a pirate like her daughter.
"Please," implored Tom, shifting the bags of money in his arms. "We need to leave tonight."
"Come in for a moment, young man," she responded, almost sternly, like an order. Surprisingly, Tom interpreted it as a demand and walked in with little hesitation. I was reluctant to follow, considering that Esmée didn't even know me.
"You too, child," she added, glancing quickly at me and beckoning me in with her hand. I obeyed and went in, and she closed the door behind me.
"Tom, you can wake Cord. She's in her room. Upstairs," Esmée directed, not even looking at him. She acted as if Tom came by every week to wake up Cord in the middle of the night and take her out to sea.
Tom set our money on the ground and then scurried up the steps, leaving me with Esmée who had now fixed her dark eyes on me.
"What is your name, girl?" she asked, her arms crossed loosely over her chest. She did not speak crossly or fiercely at me. In fact, her tone seemed to be fully influenced by sincere curiosity, and I warily answered, still feeling out of place in her home.
"Astrid, Ma'am."
"Ah." She smiled as she looked down and walked closer to me, her steps slow and steady. "I can see it now. You have your mother's face."
"You know my mother?" The question came out before I even knew what I was saying.
"Yes, I knew your mother. You resemble her fully in face and form. Big things await you as her daughter." I cocked an eyebrow at her and she chuckled at me, uncrossing her arms and letting them fall to her sides.
"How on earth could you predict that? Or are you just trying to get me hopeful?" I returned, a bit unnerved with her laughter. She did not know me. She did not know why I was going out to sea. She did not kn—
"I know, Astrid," she answered, looking at me with an omniscient stare. "It's my practice, child. It's what I do. And your life, my dear, will be far from… what would you call it? Ah, yes, dull."
"Do you know if I'll meet my father?" I posed tremulously, believing her unsupported wisdom. I began to understand what her profession was. She was a fortuneteller, a gypsy, a palm reader.
"Very soon," she said. "Very soon."
She said no more afterwards. Tom had gone down the stairs, a barely conscious Cord lying sleepily in his arms.
"Hullo, Astrid," Cord greeted meekly, waving her little brown hand at me.
"You three troublemakers go now," Esmée allowed, opening the door and ushering us out. "Dawn is coming."
With Tom carrying Cord, and me back to lugging along our stolen goods, we exited Esmée's home and headed for the docks, our eyes already aiming for the perfect vessel to steal—or rather, commandeer.
Cord shoved her doll in my face, whining to me about how her hair was not perfectly arranged in the latest French fashion. I issued a soft moan at her whimpers and took the doll and gave Cord the look of, 'You cannot expect me to do this for you every day.' She only humored me with her toothy, wicked grin—something I was sure she learned from Jack—and sat beside me on the deck, instructing me on how to precisely make her doll (which she named Jacinth) the most beautiful miniature version of a French noblewoman.
While I was fussing with the strands of yarn sprouting from Jacinth's wooden head, I stole a glance at Tom who stood at the wheel, whistling as he lazily tipped the wheel larboard or starboard in accordance with our wind, which we had plenty of.
"How ya doin' over yonder, Tommy?" I called, giggling to myself afterwards. His red head turned to look back at us, his eyes squinting as the sunlight streamed onto his face.
"Jus' fine, Missy! You two can go on playin' with yer little dolls instead of mindin' the sails like I asked you to."
"Tais-toi!" Cord groused, making a face at his turned back. "Faites-le vous-même."
I snorted with laughter at the insults she threw at him, but Tom continued to mind his own, his hands still lightly on the wheel and his hair in the wind.
"It's a good thing I don't know a goddamn thing yer sayin', little Cordelia," voiced Tom. "I wouldn't want to speak that vulgar French tongue anyway."
Cord sucked in a breath and raised her finger to fire another counterattack in French, but she stopped and turned her attention back to her doll, her lips smiling as she observed any improvement in Jacinth's appearance.
"I could have said more," she told me, pointing to a misplaced hair that I needed to fix. "But it will go nowhere. I will make fun of him in French, and he will bark back in Gaelic, and no sense will come out of it."
"And I'll make fun of you both in good ol' English!" I cheered, whooping afterwards. Cord scrunched her nose up at me and shook her head.
"French, Irish, English… all on the same boat."
"Ship," I corrected, and then suggesting afterwards, "We should make a flag." Cord beamed at the silly idea.
"We can call ourselves…" She paused and thought. "Irefrancitain!"
"Ire-hell-a-what?" yelled Tom, overhearing our conversation.
Cord and I only laughed at him and continued to talk amongst ourselves. A fat, gust of wind blew alongside our boat and poor Jacinth's hair came all undone again, and while Cord fussed and cried at all the hard work gone to waste, I looked aft and met another gust as it smacked me in the face. I whistled to Tom and he turned back, seeming to understand the concern I had on my face.
"I know, Astrid," he said, his grip on the wheel getting tighter. "It'll be a rough night."
I slid across the deck and rammed into the larboard railing, scowling as my shoulder banged against the lumber. A wave reared up on the starboard side of the ship and smashed down, sending a rushing current streaming down the deck and whacking me again as I tried to get back on my feet.
"Tom!" The ship teetered back and forth, always switching from one dangerous angle to another, and I could barely keep up with the consistent fluctuation of our poor, battered cutter. Rain bombarded the deck in sharp, stinging little blows and to make matters worse, we lost our only lantern to the waves and were sailing in the pitch darkness.
"Get below, Astrid!" he ordered, at the wheel and using every bit of his sailor knowledge to get the boat to stay upright.
"The sails!" I shrieked. "We need to reef 'em or the masts'll break!"
"Are you mad, woman!" he bellowed, spinning his head towards me, his head drenched in the saltwater. "Ye can't balance yerself up there. Ye'll fall off an' I can't save ye. Cord's still below prolly curled up in a ball o' fear an' I'm not gonna be havin' you drowned at sea, all right?"
"I've been at sea too, Tom!" I persisted, grabbing one side of the wheel and holding tight as another inky black wave clawed at our boat. I heard wood crack. Uh oh…
"Sod off, Astrid, for God's sake!" He shoved me aside as the wave receded. However, he judged his action poorly, for as soon as he pushed me, the ship tilted in the direction I was pushed in, and gravity pulled me down, letting me tumble back now to the starboard railing, which I hit with a loud thump as I met the bark with my back.
With a growl, I stumbled back onto my feet and dashed for the rigging, ready to climb up the one mast of our ship and roll up her ripping sails.
"Astrid!"
Too late. This ship isn't going to go anywhere but to the depths of the sea if I don't reef her sails.
I leapt onto the ratlines and started climbing, though the ropes had gone pretty slick from the rain, and I wasn't exactly paying attention to my footing. Luckily, I managed to reach the yardarm and hooked my feet onto the horseline, bent over and started hauling up the soaked sails, with Tom still yelling for me to get the hell down from where I was.
A dagger of lightning flashed from the sky and struck the sea with a blinding light, and a rumble of thunder boomed overhead, drowning out Tom's curses.
Then I heard another, but very profound, crack.
"Dammit!" I squealed, feeling the yardarm wiggle a bit. I tried to calm my racing mind by reminding myself that it was just the wind. I was fine and I was almost finished anyway so I could go down soon and everything would be fine and—
Crrack!
I let out a piercing scream and stupidly decided that I had done all I could and was no longer safe—Wrong, you idiot. You were never safe—and proceeded to descend. Only, my limbs had gotten so shaky that I was making slow progress, and my Irishman had to come get me, even though he was already on his way up to slap sense into me for disobeying his orders.
He was already up the ratlines when I was trying to get down and he grabbed my ankle and yanked firmly, purposefully making me lose my footing. I slid down and he caught me and then had me clinging to his side as he brought me down to deck, but he wasn't very happy about doing it.
"I told you to get down below with Cord!" he shouted, pushing me towards the hatchway. I looked over at the wheel and of course, no one was controlling it, and the fear in my gut only sharpened.
"But—"
He would have none of my ripostes and dragged me down to the captain's cabin, where he swung open the door and shoved me through.
"You stay there. Both of you." And then he turned away, muttered a brutal, "Dammit!" and shut and locked the door.
Cold and dripping wet, I realized the absurdity of my actions and felt like a lump of uselessness again. My nose ran with snot and I wiped my face with my drenched arm sleeve. Cord came up beside me and hugged me closely, burying her face in my shoulder.
"Astrid," she wept. Another boom of thunder pounded through the sky and she shuddered. "I'm scared, Astrid. I'm scared."
And then came the last and final, crrrrack!
Oh God…
Tom barged back into the cabin shortly after, his green eyes bright with fear.
"We lost our mast. This ship is done for," he said breathlessly, searching the meager cabin for our belongings. Cord howled hysterically. "Hush now, Cord," he ordered, getting our stuff along with a coil of rope.
"What are you doing?" I asked, rising and trying to get Cord to stop crying.
"What does it look like I'm doing? This ship is not going to last, Astrid. We need to be ready should she sink." He dug through our stuff and tossed out a few things. Cord's doll including one of them.
"No!" she wailed, reaching for her toy, but Tom wouldn't let her have it.
"You hold onto your clothes only, love. Your other things will sink you." She only cried harder.
"What's the rope for?" I questioned, taking it from him.
"Tie our wrists together, so we don't get separated. Here." He crouched and slipped a small knife from his boot and handed it to me. I cut two pieces of rope from the coil and commenced to tie one end of both pieces to each of Cord's wrists. The other end of one I tied to Tom's wrist and then Tom tied the end of the other rope to mine.
"All tied and secure?" he asked me, looking at the bonds. He smiled a bit at them. Sailor's knots. "Good. Grab your belongings and hold onto each other. The rest of our voyage won't be so pretty."
I nodded and Cord clung to me again, murmuring her wishes into my side: Come find us, Daddy, please. Come find us and take us away…
"Go ahead, poke her. She's wakin' anway." The voice was soft in my ears, but I could discern that thick Irish brogue anywhere. So we're not dead after all?
The next person to speak, however, did not have a voice I recognized in the least bit. It was a male voice, that was true, and it was heavy with a defined accent—neither English, neither Irish nor American, but definitely an accent of some sort. It was low, and by his tone, slightly confused or mystified. My eyelid twitched as I tried to figure out who was looking at me.
"A bit edgy, isn't she?" There was a pause, and then, "It's a she, isn't it?"
"Oh no, Cap'n. It ain't a she. That face, truly, is one of clear masculinity." Tom laughed at his own sarcasm. "Masculinity my arse."
Well, I never…
Tom's jeers once again provoked me to arouse my weakly conscious self and I pried an eyelid open, only to catch a glimpse of a tanned, bearded, and beaded face.
I screamed.
"Get away!" I found that I sat in a hammock, and I seized the pillow supporting me and raised it to beat the odd-looking, dreadlock-haired, golden-toothed, dark-eyed, red-bandana-wearing, big hatted, ring-wearing—My hands unclenched and my eyes had now settled on his bemused expression, wide and unblinking.
I sat, mouth a-gape and a likely trail of drool leaking out at the corner as I gawked at the man who stood in front of me. I heard Tom chortle.
"Lass," said Tom, coming over and laying his hand on my shoulder. "This," he gestured at the pirate before me with a bow, "is Captain Jack Sparrow."
Oh. Great. God.
And the immortal Captain Jack Sparrow lifted his hat, brought his hands in a prayer-like fashion, nodded and said:
"You look somewhat familiar. Have I threatened you before?"