Chapter Nineteen

A Bullet Burning

Miranda opened her eyes to the darkness surrounding her. She blinked several times-her eyelids felt raw from crying. Had she been asleep, dreaming events of her past? Or merely so lost in memory that it felt almost real?

She drew in a deep, shaky breath, steeling herself for the task ahead of her. She gripped the cold, stiff wrists of the man she had once loved and began dragging him across the mounds of coins, jewelry, and other treasures the cave held. The ground was slippery; her bare feet were numb with cold from the seawater, and she fell several times into the shallow water. Gold plates and candlesticks rudely met her backside and hands as she tried to catch herself, but pain was something she was too used to to be bothered.

After dragging the body to her boat, she collapsed; exhaustion and grief forbidding her to continue. She tucked her legs to her chest and rested her head on her knees as she waited for the dawn.

/\

Miranda sat across the table from him, curling her legs up as she ate. Barbossa watched silently for a moment, opened his mouth, and then shut it again as if rethinking the words he wanted to say.

"What's bothering you?" It was a bold question; the captain had been curt to his crew the entire day and had hardly spoken a word to her.

"'Tis one thing," he began, his voice low and controlled. Miranda set down her roll and waited for him to continue. "To suffer this curse with a ship full o' those who also do. 'Tis another entirely to sit here as you eat and savor this food we only keep because of you."

"I'm sorry," Miranda began, and she meant it. She had wondered often in her first week of being aboard if he was now constantly reminded of his curse by her presence.

Barbossa seized an apple from a bowl on the table, his knuckles white as he held it. "Did you know that an apple was the first food I tried after the curse? That was when I first discovered I couldn' taste anything." He turned the fruit slowly in his hand before he let it fall to the floor. "And d'you know that an apple is the one thing I miss the most."

"Yes," Miranda agreed quietly, remembering a conversation they had had what seemed like ages ago. This must not have been what he wanted to hear, for Barbossa stood up so quickly his chair toppled behind him. In one liquid movement he had overturned the table; food spilled or tumbled across the floor. Miranda curled up tighter in her chair and looked up at him in shock and fear.

Barbossa stood very still, staring hard at her. She saw the muscles in his forearm contract as he tightened and untightened his fists. His chest rose and fell heavily out of habit rather than necessity.

Slowly and cautiously, Miranda rose from her chair, dipping her head as she approached him. She raised a hand to place on his cheek and tried to smile up at him, but she could feel the corners of her lips twitching from worry and doubt. Barbossa jerked his head away from her touch, his eyes burning fiercely.

"Miss Farthin', I'll have none of yer pity." He spat the word out with a snarl.

"I'm sorry, I-"

"Go." He said the single word quietly, his voice shaking as he suppressed himself. Miranda took a step back, willing the tears in her eyes to stay until she turned her back to him. She slipped from the room and onto the deck, pressing her fingertips to her eyes to catch the tears. She looked down as she felt the eyes of the crew on her as she crossed the deck and slipped down the ladder to the cargo hold. She wove around the crates and chests until she reached the door to the brig and sat down heavily on the steps leading down to the narrow row of cells.

She was a fool to have thought Barbossa would change just for her. She knew his character, his moods. Why had she thought everything would be perfect once she returned to the ship? It was true he was kind to her, but against his temper she was powerless. A flicker of doubt crept into her mind as she wondered if she had made a mistake. She grabbed her head with both hands in an attempt to control her thoughts. She had been captured several times, but this time she had come willingly. This is what you wanted, she reminded herself. The sea, freedom, him.

She had promised to take his temper in exchange for his love, which was an easy enough thing to say. It was an entirely different thing to do.

Miranda lifted her head, thinking hard. The best way to manage his temper was to avoid provocation. Food caused him to think of what he was missing, ergo she would eat in private. She knew feeling the wind toss her hair caused her to smile, so she would keep her face blank. His touch made her face flush, but she didn't want him to think she wasn't happy with his contact. That would stay.

She looked out the small porthole to see the sun as it slowly slipped below the darkening horizon.

/\

Miranda lifted her head as the golden light of dawn broke over her weary limbs. Was she sitting on the steps in the brig, or at the mouth of the cave in Isle de Muerta? She looked down to see Barbossa's body cruelly revealed in the morning light, and bit back a sob. She took his cold hand in hers and held it for a moment. She tried not to look at the wound, but found her eyes almost magnetically drawn to the blood stain that covered his white tunic and his throat. She wondered who had had been the man to shoot him, and what Barbossa had done to cause this man to want to kill him.

Perhaps better than anyone else, she knew he was no saint. As a pirate he had his enemies, even if he never spoke of them. Miranda tried to stop herself from creating the scene of what might have happened. When she closed her eyes all she could see was a bullet burning through the air before it burrowed into the captain's heart. What were his last words?

A bullet burning through the air. The concept rapped on Miranda's mind as if trying to remind her of something, but all she could think of was that infuriating Jack Sparrow and his ridiculous one bullet he had had to retrieve from the witch's house.

The witch. Miranda had given Tia Dalma very little thought since her encounter with the woman, but all of a sudden the woman's words enveloped Miranda like water and she felt as if she were drowning in an overwhelming onslaught of memories.

I seen you before? Latah, den. I see you latah . . . . It is so good t'see you happy. I d'not yearn for da next time you come. Sad people makeh me sad . . . . When you need sometin' done-sometin' big-come back to me . . .

She could see Tia's eyes boring into hers as she recalled the words and a cold wave swept through her body. She didn't know what Tia's limits were, but a foolish hope rose in her heart that perhaps Tia could bring Barbossa back.

Her feet were clumsy and bruised as she scrambled to stand. Her mind was going almost too fast to keep up with. She had to return to Tia. She'd need her own ship to get there, and for that she'd need a small crew.

Her heart sank. No sailor would allow her to captain a ship. Superstition had a better hold on most pirates than reason; she'd been lucky enough to get the captain she had to even accept her money and take her to the Isle de Muerta on his way to and from a nearby island.

When the idea struck her, Miranda almost laughed at how easy the answer was. The only thing that men understand, that can overrule superstition was gold, and she was sitting at the mouth of a cave filled with riches.

She looked toward the horizon. Craddock, the pirate who'd allowed her aboard his ship for an indecent sum, had told her if she wasn't where he'd told her to be at noon he'd sail right on by the island.

Dreading her next task, Miranda drew in a deep breath of resolve, and seized the body under the arms. She pulled it over to the small skiff. Climbing in first, she then drug the body into the small boat.

When she returned to the boat from the cave, her small bag was heavy with reales, sovereigns, crowns, and even a few gems. She untied the skiff and began rowing away from the island.

/\

Miranda watched the island slowly shrink as Pintel rowed the skiff towards the Pearl. In her hand she held three of the cursed coin and delight filled her heart. She looked up to the ship and saw Barbossa standing at the wheel. She knew he would be sour that her plan had worked better to retrieve the coins, but she didn't care. She hoped that this would perhaps show him that there needn't be a trail a blood from the coins to his collection.

She had managed to get the coins with civilized bartering and coaxing with the gentleman, and Barbossa need never know she had to use some flirting as well. When the boat bumped gently against the ship Miranda dropped the coins into her pocket and nimbly scaled the ladder. She heard Pintel whistle as he climbed up behind her, but she merely laughed and threw her leg over the railto step lightly onto the deck.

She hurried up the ladder to the stern and greeted Barbossa with a victorious, slightly smug smile.

"It worked, did it?" He asked gruffly, but his eyes were bright.

"Perfectly." Miranda dropped the coins into his outstretched hand. "Just like I told you it would. The man just needed something in return."

"Ah, tradin'." Barbossa struck his forehead with his free palm. "I don' know why we never tried that. We be pirates, darlin'. We take what we want." With this he pulled her into a hard, brief kiss. The men about him laughed. Barbossa released her and continued, "Now if yeh be wantin' another try at this, yeh can't be tradin' or you'll give us a soft name."

"It's still possible to find a medium between killing and trading, you know." Miranda said it lightly enough, but there was no amusement in her voice.

"Aye." Barbossa didn't challenge this. A sudden heaviness had taken the conversation with her words. The weight seemed to hit Miranda unexpectedly, and she was suddenly out of breath.

"I'm thirsty," she said almost apologetically, and turned to leave. She knew he would follow, but didn't want to have the conversation in front of the other men. She went to Barbossa's quarters and sat at the table.

Barbossa joined her shortly. He stood in the doorway, his hat in one hand as he looked at her.

"I'm not mad at you-"

"Ye have ev'ry right to be."

"And I was. Remember?"

A humorless laugh escaped the captain's lips. "Vividly."

Miranda stood slowly, her face was relaxed, emotionless. "Quentin's gone. I can't change that. But I've forgiven you for his death."

"Why?" Barbossa drew closer, his face incredulous.

"Because you forgive the people you love."