Hunted and Hated

An X-Men Evolution Fanfic by Quill N. Inque

I do not own X-Men.

Chapter 13: Kitty's Odyssey

In practically any coastal city or port you'd care to name, the waterfront district wasalways the seediest and most dangerous part of town.

Sailors on shore leave were wild and raucous more often than not, eager to jump ship and waste their wages on rum and prostitutes, many passing out dead drunk on the filthy streets. It was not uncommon for a tar to literally drink himself to death in those days, and you went into a tavern not knowing if you'd lose your gold or lose your life. Gunshots were heard night and day, glass shattered in tune with the almost constant bar fights, and drunkards laid into each other with swords and daggers on the side of the road. It was a place that appealed to many young men, wild, unpredictable and suitable for a lad searching for adventure, and almost no one of higher standing dared to venture into the sailors' domain.

No one, that is, with the exception of one Catherine Hernandez.

Kurt's capture had taken a heavy toll on her. Kitty's dress was torn and ragged, her face smudged and dirty, and her once-clean fingers coated with grime. She'd been on the run for days after Kurt's capture, fleeing aimlessly into the woods with no particular destination in mind.

The ache in her heart was almost indescribable, and Kitty had spent many lonely hours sobbing in the lonely wilderness. Kurt had become so important to her in such a short time, as if she'd never really begun to liveuntil she met him. Kurt was strong, brave, and handsome in his own blue, furry way, with a kind heart and sweet nature that was so hard to find in young men his age. But most of all, Kurt was not put off by Kitty's strong personality and fierce independence. If anything, he seemed to admire her for it when every other man in Europe expected his wife to be silent and totally submissive.

Kitty sighed, and tears once again threatened to spill down her cheeks. Kurt was such a caring and warm person…he didn't deserve the enmity of all Christendom just because he looked different than everybody else! How was it possible that only she could see the goodness in him? What was she to do without Kurt to protect her? He had supported and cared for Kitty the way no one else ever had, always willing to lend an ear to listen or a shoulder to cry on, always making sure Kitty had everything she needed before he took care of his own needs. More than once during those weeks in the Spanish countryside, Kurt had given his share of rations to Kitty when she was hungry. He'd done so much for her, and…and…

Kurt had stolen Catherine Hernandez's heart. There was really no point in denying it, for Kitty knew on an almost molecular level that Kurt was the only man in the whole world for her. No one had ever made Kitty feel like this.

So it was that the brave young woman resolved to rescue Kurt, or die trying.

Kitty knew enough about the Inquisition to determine their destination. Kurt was a valuable prize to them, so it was only logical that he be shipped to the Vatican for a very public and very painful execution. After all, what better place to kill a demon than the very center of European Christendom? And Pedro's ego, too, would settle for nothing else.

It was inevitable, therefore, that Kitty would be searching for a method of transportation.

There were two options in this day and age: going by land or going by sea. That first one was out of the question, since Rome was all the way on the other side of Europe. An overland route would require crossing the through Portugal into Germany (which consisted of a patchwork of kingdoms, and none of them were friendly toward outsiders). And assuming Kitty made it out of German alive (unlikely), she would then have to head south and cross the infamous Swiss Alps into Italy. All of that would likely take months, and by the time Kitty got to Rome Kurt would probably be long dead.

That left the option of traveling by sea. It was much faster and much more discreet, depending on who you hired for passage. But unfortunately, the people who usually agreed to take on secret passengers were usually of questionable legality, namely privateers or smugglers, and their rates were more often than not exorbitant. Another concern was that women usually didn't fare well in the company of such morally dubious men.

The money required for payment was just one more obstacle. Kitty was penniless, with not a single peso to her name, and it was for this reason that she found herself in the seedy part of Barcelona's harbor. Drunk men, she reasoned, were easier to part from their money; after all, one was bound to make larger and riskier bets when one's reasoning was impaired. Kitty was a competent card player, thanks, yet again, to Kurt's tutelage, but without any money she could not afford to lose.

People who couldn't pay had a nasty habit of disappearing around here, and an involuntary shudder went down Kitty's spine as she entered a particularly disreputable-looking tavern.

Inside the Three Goats Tavern…

In all the seas and oceans, there was wasn't another man like Black John Hughes. He lived for only three things: rum, wenches, and above all else, gold. Spanish gold was his favorite, but he would take whatever currency happened to come his way.

Hughes was a fearsome sight. At almost six feet tall, he towered over all the men in his crew. His vast brown beard, now streaked with gray, gave him an almost feral appearance. This was a man who'd seen a lot of action in his life, for Hughes was missing his left eye, and a long, ropy scar narrowly missed his right eye. A chunk of his nose was gone, too, as well as part of his right middle finger.

Hughes was of the opinion that a captain of a ship should look the part, and dressed himself accordingly. He wore a ragged, charcoal grey coat with buttons made of melted silver, and the frilly cuffs of his white silk shirt poked out from beneath its sleeves. He wore no hat, but a scarlet bandanna around Hughes's skull served to keep the wind and sweat out of his eyes. Both of Hughes's ears sported gold piercings, and his fingers were bedecked in precious stones. A short, heavy cutlass lay within easy reach, and a rather plain-looking pistol was tucked into the sash around his waist.

As the reader has probably inferred, Hughes was a privateer by trade, a sort of legalized pirate who would accept a dubious license or "letter of marque" from any European power who happened to be at war with its neighbor. Privateers were attractive to European governments; hiring the brigands was much less expensive than raising a navy. The only downside was that most of these privateers automatically turned pirate when peace resumed.

Hughes was no different. He had no sense of loyalty to any country, not even his native England, and he would fight for whichever nation made the best offer. But unlike his bloodthirsty comrades, Hughes was unique for two things: he was as clever as he was cunning, and he knew the limits of violence. That wasn't to say that the man hadn't slit his share of throats, but Hughes realized there was also benefit to not killing everything in sight once he took a vessel.

Hughes had bilgewater for blood and sea air for a soul, but in spite of this, he was almost fanatical about adhering to his contract. It was widely known that when Hughes gave his word, he kept it, and heaven help anyone who got in his way. Unusual for someone in his line of work, to be sure, but anyone who'd mocked Hughes for his scruples had stopped breathing on the end of his blade.

The sea dog sat at the chipped wooden table, downing a tankard of rum calmly even when surrounded by the chaos of a rather vicious bar fight. Hughes wasn't worried; no one would dare strike him for fear of instant death, and to be frank, one you've seen one bar fight, you've seen them all.

Then the ruckus died as quickly as if someone had pulled a switch. That was worth looking up for. A fight could start for any reason, but it took something really out of the ordinary to stop one before everybody involved was unconscious.

In all his many years at sea, John Hughes had seen many strange and wonderful things. Almost nothing could rattle his calm.

But the sight of a very attractive young woman walking into a sailor hangout made his bearded jaw hit the floor. This girl, he decided, was either suicidal or unbelievably naïve.

Kitty, meanwhile, took a seat at what seemed to be a very high-stakes poker game. A mischievous grin crossed her face. "Deal me in."

From his seat across the bar, Hughes arched a hairy eyebrow in amusement. The lady was certainly not lacking in nerve, he decided. The fact that she was surrounded by an assortment of unsavory and grizzled old seamen didn't seem to scare her in the slightest. Such bravery would have been commendable among any of his men. Hughes became more than a little annoyed, however, when one of the tars at the card table laughed in Kitty's face.

"This be no place fer a lady," he said, his grin showing off the rotted stumps of his teeth. "Be off wi' ye, wench!"

Hughes scowled, and his chair made not a sound as he quietly stood up.

Kitty, meanwhile, was somewhat put off. She hadn't expected a particularly warm welcome, but the simple fact was that if the tavern's patrons decided to throw her out, there wouldn't be much she could do about it.

CLICK.

Any further mockery on the speaker's part was cut off rather abruptly. A gun to the temple can work wonders when you want someone to shut the hell up.

"If ye value yer life, mate, ye'll honor th' lady's request," Hughes said in his gravelly voice. "She's got more spine than any five o' ye put t'gether."

"Aye, sir," the man replied, looking away.

Kitty smiled deviously as she picked up her cards….

Half an hour later…

Hughes was not a man prone to laughter. A lifetime of violence tended to kill one's sense of humor.

But the sight of a teenage girl thrashing a bunch of big, hairy men at poker was almost enough to make him burst. His shoulders shook with concealed merriment, and he momentarily put his pipe aside to wipe tears of laughter from his eyes.

When he looked up, she was standing right in front of him. That was nothing unusual, given Hughes's popularity with women, but the rather obese bag of gold in her palm was enough to make him listen. In his experience, people never had gold with them unless they had the intention of spending it.

"Thanks for your help back there," Kitty said, trying to conceal the fact that her knees were trembling with anxiety.

"Eh, some o' these louts need puttin' in their place from time to time," Hughes replied noncommittally. "But that's not why ye're here, is it?"

"No," Kitty admitted. "I'm here because I have a proposition for you, Captain."

That she knew who he was didn't surprise Hughes. His men were loyal, and only too eager to expound on his many feats of daring. "And kind of proposition be that?"

The jumble of coins plinked as Kitty set them down on the table. "How fast can you get to Rome?"

Hughes scratched his beard thoughtfully. "I can make it in per'aps a month, mebbe two. Why?"

"That's not part of the deal," Kitty replied. "Can you get me there or not?"

"Sure I can," Hughes said. "I take it ye need passage?"

Kitty gestured to the wealth on the table. "I can make it worth your while."

The money was considerable, Hughes admitted. It'd make a decent share for every member of his crew, and it would save him the trouble of plundering it himself. And to be perfectly honest, land never sat right with him. He was itching to be at sea again.

A small smile crossed his face. "Then settle yer affairs, lass. I'll take ye to Rome, right enough. We sail with the tide."

A/N: I know it's been a few days, and I thank you all for your patience! ^^ And, never fear, for Kurt will get some screen time in the next chapter! What will happen to Kurt in the clutches of the diabolical Captain Sanchez? Will Kitty make it to Rome in time? Find out in coming chapters!

Your humble servant,

-Quill N. Inque