Chapter Thirteen

"Jack?" Miranda called, leaning on the rail of the Tempest as she watched the small island draw near.

The man at the wheel took a swig of rum before glancing at her. "Yes, love?"

"That's . . . " Miranda struggled with the right words to question his navigating, but Jack anticipated her query.

"Not Port Royal. Yes, I know."

Miranda stared at him, but he merely grinned and set his eyes back to the sea.

"We had a deal," she pointed out finally. Four days sailing with him had been trouble enough; she most often stayed below deck and out of Jack's way as he mastered the little ship. His incessant off-key singing was topped only by his drinking, and not one night had gone by that Jack hadn't stumbled against Miranda's door, calling her "Roxie Darling" and asking her to drink with him. Needless to say, the thought that her trip with him would still be several days was thoroughly disheartening.

"Aye, lass. But when a man has a date, he musn't be late." His eyes lit up, and he looked at her with an open-mouthed smile. "And that," he began grandly, "was an exceptionally clever poem. I always knew I should be a writer."

"Let me guess," Miranda snapped sourly, ignoring his professed dream and addressing his excuse. "Roxie Darling?"

"Wha-? No, don't be ridiculous, love. She's only good for a limerick or two." Jack winked so lasciviously that Miranda whirled around and refused to face him as she directed her next question to the sky.

"And how long will this date take?" She felt a hand around her shoulder and then the sudden weight of Jack leaning against her. His face was disconcertingly close to hers as he also addressed the air.

"Don't worry, darling, it won't be long. I just need to pick up some effects I left my last visit."

Miranda thought back to the compass. "You don't keep good track of your things, do you?"

"It would be more accurate t'say they don't keep good track of me," Jack answered carelessly, returning to the wheel.

Jack dropped the anchor offshore of the small, densely green island and jumped down into the small skiff trailing behind the Tempest. Miranda followed suit whether she was invited on the date or not; any excuse to return to solid ground was good enough for her. The pirate didn't seem to care or notice her shadowing him, but rowed steadily towards the island.

As the two neared it, Miranda realized it seemed more like a marsh or swamp in the middle of the ocean. The waves lured the small boat into the murky waters swirling around thick-trunked trees coated heavily with spongy moss. Flowering vines hung down from the high canopy and trailed lazily in the water. Everything was very green and seemed very much alive.

The progressed deeper into the swamp until the thickness of the trees blotted out the sun entirely. Bright green and yellow fireflies danced about the trunks, skimming the water's surface and giving the whole scenery an ethereal glow. Enchanted, Miranda found herself smiling as she looked around and very much hoped she would someday return to this place.

A warm golden-red light twinkled in the dark ahead of them, and as the drew closer, she saw it was emanating from the window of a hut propped up on lopsided stilts out of the water. Soon a slow, deep song consisting of too many minor keys echoed towards them, casting an oddly dangerous mood to the swamp.

Jack rowed the boat in continued silence until they reached the stilts of the house, and he looped a rope around a nearby root. Hanging from the porch of the house was a rotten Jacob's ladder Miranda could only pray would support a person's weight.

Nimbly, Jack leapt onto the ladder and climbed up it not unlike a monkey. Miranda followed more cautiously and noticed but was not surprised when Jack did not aid her in the last few steps.

He fist was inches from a knock when the door flew open and a dark-skinned woman peered out. Her clothes were ragged but elegantly assembled, and if Miranda had any guess, she looked to be some sort of gypsy. The woman's face was pricked with ink-black circles, and her hair was matted and rolled into thick dreadlocks.

"Jack, I knew you'd come bahk," she said in a deeply Creole accent. She smiled and ushered him in, but then caught sight of Miranda and cocked her head knowingly.

"Ahnd you bring a friend for me," she added, beckoning Miranda to also enter the small hut.

"No, she's just a tagalong."

The woman ignored Jack as she continued to scrutinize Miranda, disregarding all manners and control.

"I seen you before?" she asked. Miranda shook her head, knowing she'd remember such an odd person. The woman smiled and laughed quietly, as if enjoying a personal joke.

"Latah, den. I see you latah." The woman's ridiculous conclusion didn't seem too absurd somehow as the words left her mouth. There was such certainty in her voice that Miranda had no choice but to believe this woman knew exactly what she was talking about.

"Tia, darling," Jack interrupted the conversation. "I left my bullet here."

"A bullet?" Miranda found herself demanding. "We came here for a bullet?"

The woman, Tia, smiled at Jack, and bustled over to a cluttered table on the other side of the room. Jack glanced smugly at Miranda. "Yes, love. I dragged you here for a bullet. But not just any bullet. The bullet."

"Oh, the bullet," Miranda scoffed. "And what, pray tell, is so special about this bullet?"

"You don't understand, lass." Jack's voice was suddenly reprimanding as he looked at her. At that moment Tia returned to Jack's side and handed him a single, insignificant-looking bullet. Jack wrapped one arm around the woman and took up the bullet with his other hand. "This bullet, see, belongs in a certain someone's chest cavity. More specifically: a certain someone's heart."

"Whose?"

"The man who stabbed me in the back. Figuratively speaking." He added, seeing Miranda's expression.

"But him did leave you for dead," Tia argued, looking up fondly at Jack. He nodded absently, his brows furrowed as his mind was clearly elsewhere. Tia looked back at Miranda, a mysterious glint in her eyes. "You stay for dinner?"

"We'd hate to in-"

"Of course!" Jack interrupted, jerked from his revery by the mention of food. Tia's smile broadened and squinted her eyes as she nodded happily and began bustling around by the small fireplace, banging old, dark pans together and stoking the emberous fire. Jack loaded his pistol with the single shot and then collapsed on a chair made from a tree stump.

"It is so good," Tia began, glancing at Miranda, "t'see you happy. I d'not yearn for da next time you come. Sad people makeh me sad."

Miranda didn't know how to interpret this statement, so she just forced a polite smile and asked, "You know the future then?"

"I know ev'ryting, child," Tia replied, smiling.

"Before you ask rudely," Jack started, engaging himself in the conversation. "Tia's a witch."

"Jack!" Tia scolded kindly, the smile still happily across her face. "I don' like dat word. It's ugly, ahnd makeh me feel old."

"Well, darling, if the boot fits . . . "

Miranda smiled as the two commenced in a duel of light bickering. She beheld the strange woman with utmost interest--witchcraft was not something taken easily in England. Or Port Royal, for that matter. However, because it had always been distantly addressed, Miranda felt no direct fear towards the woman before her. She wondered curiously what Tia had meant when she alluded to her future but was jerked from her thoughts by the smell of something truly repulsive.

"Frog and mushroom stew?" Jack asked in mid-insult to his beloved as the scent wafted over to him. Tia smiled proudly. "Aye. Just for you." She hastened to the fire and began pouring the chunky liquid into three bowls of various sizes. To Miranda's thorough dismay, she received the largest bowl.

"She cooks each frog," Jack started saying through large bites, "only halfway through, so no bite is too hot."

Sadly beholding the mud-brown soup, Miranda dipped her tarnished spoon in and took a sip of the broth. The shudder was completely involuntary but went unnoticed.

"Tia." As long as the three were dining she might as well make conversation. "What are the limits to your magic?"

Tia laughed softly, and stirred her soup. "Oh, child, I'll prob'ly nevah live long enough to find out. "

"What do you . . . "Miranda paused, looking for the right word, and ended weakly with, "do?"

"All sorts o' tings. Transformin' is easy, so's movin', and seein'." Tia cocked her head devilishly and leaned closer to Miranda across the table at which they were seated. "When you need sometin' done--sometin' big-come back to me."

Her words seemed greater than anything else that had been said that evening, and Miranda knew Tia had in mind a specific reason for when Miranda would return, and the fact that she showed no signs of elaborating was infuriating.

Tia seemed to sense her thoughts, for she only smiled wider and more slyly. She looked from Miranda to Jack, and then back to Miranda, and softly said, "I's a shame."

/\

"Is she always like that?" Miranda asked as she and Jack neared the Tempest. The sun was rising and Miranda's back ached from sleeping on the wooden porch. Jack had told her the sleeping arrangement would be either to join him and Tia in her bed or sleep outside. The choice had been an easy one.

Jack glanced back at her as he continued to steadily row. "All mystery and no answers? Yes. Maddening to most women."

"You aren't intrigued by things she says?" Miranda persisted, incredulous.

"Love," he drawled, "When I'm with that woman, I'm probably only thinking of one thing--and it's definitely not her frog stew." Another wink.

By this time they had reached the ship and Jack grabbed the rope of the skiff in his teeth and proceeded to scale the ladder up to the deck.

"And when will we reach Port Royal?" Following closely behind him, Miranda changed the subject with unveiled pointedness. Jack leapt on deck and coiled the rope intricately around the railing, giving Miranda a skeptic look.

"I don't know why you can't stand my company, love."

"It truly is a mystery," Miranda agreed drily, struggling over the rail as Jack watched her with amusement.

--

A/N: I've actually gone back and rewritten chapter one--nothing vitally important to the plot has changed, I just reread it the other day and hated how I wrote it. So if you'd like to check out the new and improved chapter one, feel free!