Chapter 19 – Welcome to Tortuga

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They weren't at the Faithful Bride, or the Strutting Cock, the Braying Ass or even the Crow's Nest. Jack checked the Crown & Scepter (too fancy), the Winking Maiden (too seedy) to no avail. It was as if the two wenches, Scarlett and Giselle, had disappeared off the island of Tortuga altogether.

"Perhaps they've gone on holiday," Gibbs said, trying to be helpful.

Jack frowned at his quartermaster. "They're strumpets. Their idea of 'holiday' is a new ship in port."

"These crumpets, they must be special to you, non?" Pierre appeared at Jack's elbow, like a bad dream. "If I were a maiden most fair, I too would fancy le capitaine, oui."

Jack frowned even deeper. "Go away!"

Pierre pouted, but nonetheless continued to dog their steps. Ignoring him, Jack set out up the street towards the haberdashery over which Scarlett and Giselle rented a room, fully confident that they would be there – after all, if they were not working, where else would they be?

There were not there either. Not only that, the proprietor and landlord, Mr. Beasley, announced they'd moved out several weeks before, their destination unknown.

"Good riddance," Mrs. Beasley piped up from behind the counter. "A cheap pair of tarts, bringing nothing but shame to this fine establishment." She pointed her nose in the air, reminding Jack of a fox hound, a rather plump one. "My husband is well rid of them."

Pierre, who was poking around the dusty shop, gave the woman a withering look. "You call this finery? Pah!" He picked up some ribbons and tossed them back onto the table in disgust. "Cheap, tawdry! Why, I would never subject one of my masterpieces to this… this disgraceful rubbish!"

Mrs. Beasley bristled, her mouth forming a perfect circle as she fumed, "What does a dandy, such as you, know about quality? My husband…"

"…knows not the first thing about the fashion!" Pierre was suddenly animated, waving his arms around. "I have trained in the finest houses of fashion in Paris. I would be the laughing stock, no better than a couturière, were I to use any of these on one of my creations!"

Jack used the distraction to slip out the door unseen, while Pierre and Mrs. Beasley continued to argue. There was one place left to check. It wasn't one where Jack would ordinarily expect to find the girls, but he'd run out of other options. He headed up the street at a fast pace, a determined set to his jaw.

"What now, Cap'n?" Gibbs asked, trotting to keep up with Jack.

Jack nodded his head towards the hills, where the more exclusive establishments were located. "Only one place left they could be: The Purple Rose."

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"What do you think he wants?" Giselle asked, sitting cross-legged on the floor of the Griselle's Great Cabin. It was late afternoon and the two women were enjoying a rare moment of leisure, engaging in a bit of girl talk as they fixed each other's hair.

Scarlett paused for a moment. "I don't know, he hasn't mentioned any payment." She shrugged then resumed braiding Giselle's hair. "Though I highly doubt he's doing all this out of the kindness of his heart."

"I dunno, Letty. Thomas seems to be a nice…" Giselle started to reply, before her roommate interrupted with a snort.

"Now don't you go getting all starry eyed over this one!" Scarlett scolded, setting down the brush with a thump. "You see where your trust in Jack Sparrow got you. And this man is a friend of Jack's. And more importantly, he's a man. They're all the same, only interested in one thing."

"Maybe." Giselle shrugged, going over to the mirror. "But this Thomas seems different – don't you think?" She glanced at her friend, with a hopeful look.

Scarlett leaned back in the chair. "I don't want to think," she sighed. "Then you get to hoping, and next thing you know, you're being disappointed, or worse." She sat up and said decisively, "No, once we get you up and about, we'll find us a place to stay, and a way to pay back Captain Thomas for his troubles."

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"Ain't seem 'em," the bartender at the Purple Rose said with a shrug, wiping the bar with a grubby rag. "Don't believe they'd fit in with this establishment, even if they did try. The Madame running this place don't take just no one." He glanced around and lowered his voice. "Gotta have credentials."

Jack frowned. "What sort of credentials? They're strumpets."

A voice shrilled from behind him. "We don't use that word in this establishment. Dreadful, demeaning, just like all the rest of 'em." The woman flounced past Jack and Gibbs addressing the bartender in a voice dripping with contempt. "Stephen, show these gentlemen to the door. Our cliental do not cater to the likes of them."

"Don't see where me bit of shine is no less spendable than the next blighters," Jack protested. "Nor where you get off acting so high toned and fancy about it all."

"You best come along with me," Stephen said quietly, "Else she'll have the lot of 'em down on you."

Jack fitted his hat back on his head, and frowned. He wasn't used to being thrown out of a brothel. Well, at least not when he had money to spend. "Is she always so disagreeable?" he asked of the bartender. "It's a wonder any blighters bother to do business with her t'all."

Stephen glanced over at the doorway, where the irate woman stood, hands on hips. "Ol' Florrie's not so bad, s'long as you don't ruffle her feathers. She don't think too highly of men."

"And she runs a brothel?" Jack shook his head in disbelief. He glanced up at the sign over the door: Purple Rose Social Club. "Not sure sociable is exactly how I'd describe 'em."

Jack turned and stomped off, coat swirling around his boots, Gibbs trotting to keep up.

"Where to now, Cap'n?" he panted, as they retraced their steps back towards the waterfront.

Jack was in a foul mood. Bad enough he'd had to endure the pestilent Pierre throughout the voyage. Now to find both his favorite wenches missing, not to mention the flagrant insults from Flouncing Florrie, put him of a mind to do one thing: get piss drunk.

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Captain Thomas whistled a jaunty tune as he made his way along the street, his destination the haberdashery, where he hoped to procure some ribbons and other fancies. He smiled as his thoughts drifted to the two women who were presently staying on board his ship, the Griselle. Strumpets, true. But beneath their powder and rouge, he had found two lovely and appreciative lasses, who could have graced any fine parlor on the island, had the circumstances in their lives taken a different path.

The younger one, the blonde Giselle, was a sweet, if somewhat naïve thing, with an undaunting spirit, considering the brutal treatment she had received at the hands of a gang of drunken sailors. Though it was the other, the redhead Scarlett that intrigued Thomas the most. Fiercely loyal to her friend, the toughened exterior Scarlett presented to the world belayed her inner self, both insecure and sensitive, as she struggled to survive in a world both harsh and cruel.

Thomas wasn't sure what it was that had drawn him to the women; he certainly wasn't in the habit of investing much time or emotion on a whore. In and out, cut and run, was usually his motto. But after seeing that poor girl brutalized that way, with nowhere to go, he had offered the pair sanctuary on his ship, allowing them both time to recover from their ordeal. Now, with Giselle's injuries all but healed, she and Scarlett would soon be taking their leave. But before they did, Thomas had decided to offer a parting gift in the way of a new sewing kit for Scarlett. Her previous one, a present from Giselle, had been lost amid the chaos of the days following the attack.

Thomas reached his destination and frowned, his reverie disturbed by loud, angry voices coming from the notions shop. Curious, he peered through the dusty shop window to see what was causing the commotion. He guffawed at the sight before him. A large, rotund woman was standing in the middle of the shop, wielding a parasol as if it were a club. Opposite her stood a petite dandy fellow, French from the sound of it, also wielding a parasol, as if it were a sword. Thomas watched in amusement as the diminutive man parried and thrust, apparently intent on disarming his opponent. A third person, a gaunt man with wispy grey hair and spectacles perched on the end of his long nose, stood aside, wringing his hands in dismay.

"Edna, please!" the thin man pleaded, cringing as a errant sweep of her parasol knocked a display of talcum boxes to the floor, enveloping both combatants in a cloud of sweet-smelling powder.

The Frenchman sneezed before taking the advantage with a quick thrust of his own, sending an assortment of beads, buckles, buttons, and other small items clattering underfoot. Another parry and a display of yarns, laces, ribbons, and trimmings became the additional casualties.

The woman turned to her husband, her hair in disarray and covered in powder. "Don't you 'Edna' me!" she shrieked, waving her parasol weapon at him. "If you were half the man I married, you'd defend me against this beast!"

"Beast?!" The equally powdered dandy sputtered in protest. "You act, the animal, yet you call ME the beast?" He swung his weapon, toppling a pile of hats, sending up new dust cloud as they fell.

Thomas chose that moment to step inside, deftly sidestepping the tumbling hats. With two steps, he had reached the combatants, disarming the woman with one swift move. Then, turning to the smaller man he held up a hand. "What seems to be the problem?" he demanded loudly.

The Frenchman pointed his parasol at the woman and said indignantly, "She called me a beast! How dare she, this peasant! She calls this a shop of finery?! Pshaw!! It is nothing more than gimcrack and garbage!"

The woman's face went florid as she sputtered and waved her arms, her enormous bosom heaving. She reminded Thomas of an albatross, flapping its wings in a futile attempt to take flight. Seeing he had the advantage, the Frenchman advanced, backing the woman with menacing jabs of the parasol.

Having not enjoyed a good laugh in a long time, Thomas was tempted to sit back and watch, but, he had come for a reason and it was getting late. With a sigh, he took two long strides and grabbed the Frenchman by the collar, swiftly disarming him of his weapon with the other hand. Shaking his head and trying not to laugh, Thomas turned to the quivering shopkeeper, safely tucked away behind the counter.

"Pardon the interruption, but I was hoping to purchase a sewing kit." Thomas glanced around the shambles of the notion shop and shook his head in mock dismay. "It appears it might not be a good time. Perhaps I should return tomorrow?" He turned and frowned at the man squirming in his grasp. "In the meantime, I will see that this scoundrel is escorted elsewhere."

It was the Frenchman's turn to sputter. "Scoundrel?" He waved his arms wildly and stomped his foot. "This is a grave insult, you have cut me to the quick. I am no more a scoundrel than my good friend, Capitaine Sparrow, who was most kind to have brought me here." He threw up his hands in disgust. "Pah! Another island populated by peasants."

Thomas raised an eyebrow. "Jack Sparrow?" He released his hold on the man's collar and smiled. "Well, I'll be hog swalloped. That ol' son of the scurvy dog's here in Tortuga?!" He brushed off his hand and stuck it out. "A friend of Jack's deserves an introduction at least. Name's Thomas."

"You are a friend of my wonderful Capitaine? This is truly a fortuitous event!" The Frenchman shook his hand with vigor. "I am Pierre Bouspeut. It is a pleasure to meet a fellow friend of Capitaine Sparrow." He gave Thomas a bow and said with glee, "Come! Let us go have a drink and celebrate our most illustrious friend together."

The shopkeeper found his voice and squeaked, "What about my shop?"

"This horrible man should be arrested!" His wife, regaining her voice, echoed him.

Thomas laughed then, a deep belly laugh that he'd been holding in, slapping his leg and shaking his head. "Welcome to Tortuga!" Turning his back on the outraged shop keepers, he gestured to the door with his head. "Monsieur Bouspeut, I am ready to take you up on that offer of a drink, and the tale of how you happened to be sailing in consort with Jack Sparrow."

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