Chapter II
"That's the difference, mate."

Bree felt the whip fall across her back, accompanied by the bosun's harsh voice, "Git up, ye lazy rat! This ain't no pleasure craft!"
Bree rolled out of her hammock, landing awkwardly. The whip continued to fall until she staggered to her feet, rubbing at her eyes with a grimy hand. She looked about, the haze of sleep still impeding her vision, but she snarled, "I'm up, I'm up! Gimme that whip an' I'll give ye some lessons with it!"
As she turned, the bosun flicked his whip forward, wrapping the end around Bree's legs and pulling sharply. She fell heavily, scraping one side of her face on the rough deck, a sharp, jagged edge of a dead barnacle cutting into her cheek. She sucked in her breath, clapping a hand to her face to staunch the blood. Rising, she turned to the bosun, baring her teeth but not saying anything. She moved away, stumbling toward the galley.
On the ship Goresail, the crew had been fed well enough. The Dutchman was a different matter. Bree was handed a strip of meat, almost raw. She was comforted by the fact that she was at least given a ration of grog. Retreating to a corner, the girl nibbled at the grisly bit of meat, too hungry to refuse it. She didn't savor her grog, but downed it in one gulp. It wasn't the best she'd had, probably a type of seaweed grog, but it was better than nothing.
As Bree's senses became alert, probably helped along by the grog, she observed her new mates. The bosun was the main one she focused on. She swore silently that she would get her medallion back. She could see it hanging from his neck, now covered in a coat of slime. She growled, biting down hard on the rim of her tankard. Along with the captain, that was another one she swore to kill!
But who was she fooling? Davy Jones was…well…Davy Jones. He was immortal, in a way. A young, female pirate like Bree wouldn't stand a chance against him. But she didn't care. Why not try?
Ye'd be killed, mate! her reason spoke. But Bree objected, I'd rather be killed than sit an' do nothin'! Someone needs to stand up to Jones! But her reason spoke again, Ye stood up to 'im an' now look where ye are! She thought about this, and then remembered But I'm still alive.
Bree pulled a ragged blanket she had found tighter around her shoulders. It was so dank and cold! Small sea creatures were constantly crawling over her, so much so that she had given up trying to flick them away. A small hermit crab began crawling over her knee. She watched it, thinking, Ye're a lucky fella. Livin' on this ship but doin' fine. Wish I could cope. She shook herself. Well, ye can't! So stop wishin'!
I can cope until I escape. Reason objected, Ye won't escape! Jones'll be watchin' ye like a hawk! He knows how wild ye are! He'll expect somethin'! But Bree's wild, warrior spirit rose, He can't stop me. Bree can't be held in a place she don't want to be!
Bree cupped her hand, scooping up the small crab and setting him down gently, speaking softly as if confiding to an old friend, "Ye'll see. Soon, I'll be as fierce a pirate as Jones 'imself. Then I'll face 'im. An' then, whichever comes first, I'll escape. Aye. With the medallion and my revenge."

Bree made her way up to the deck, spotting Greenbeard at the helm. She cleared her throat. He turned and saw her. She was his relief, and he stepped away from the helm, handing a bottle to her.
Bree took her place at the helm, swigging away at the bottle. Rum. Very nice. Something civilized at last!
Bree had worked hard all day, avoiding any encounters with the captain, and the crew was impressed and surprised that she could outwork all of them. The jeering still went on and they all made life hard for her, but she had gained some respect. Pulling at the bottle again, Bree looking towards the captain's cabin. Hopefully he stayed in there all night. She didn't want to encounter him.
Bree gently turned the helm, following the course set out. She was surprised this ship even had a course. She was a ghost ship! All she ever did was attack helpless merchant ships, or even pirate ships, like the Goresail. The Dutchman never made port. Bree shuddered, wondering how they stocked up on food. Of course, there wasn't really a need for food.
Bree found herself drinking too much of the rum. It seemed her only escape. She gulped it down until her sight went fuzzy. The bottle was empty. She clutched at it tightly and held onto the helm for support. Suddenly, she sat down with a hard bump, leaning against the helm and drifting off into a drunken stupor.
Maccus poked his head up from the hold, spying the slumped form of Bree, still in her drunken state. Grinning cruelly, Maccus climbed up the steps, holding something in his left hand. A brand. How he had heated it, no one knew, but there it was.
Maccus stood over Bree, holding the brand out, ready to touch the heated edge to Bree's cheek.
Suddenly, someone came up behind him and knocked the brand from his hand. It landed on the damp deck, extinguishing with a hiss.
Maccus turned, anger in his eyes. When he saw who it was, he laughed grimly, "So, ye've decided to play the rebel again, eh? Suppose ye've taken a likin' to the girl, aye?"
The other, another crewmember who was closer to a human than any of the others besides Bree, crossed his arms over his chest, unafraid. He spoke in an unwavering tone, "The girl's had a hard enough time, mate. Leave 'er be. She's too tough to scream, if that's what ye were hopin'."
Maccus growled, hissing, "Would ye rather me rat on 'er to the captain?"
The other didn't move, undaunted, "He can't do any more to 'er. She isn't afraid of 'im. She's got true pirate blood in 'er, I can tell. A brave girl. She's got more backbone than ye."
Maccus shouldered past, sneering, "I swear, Bootstrap, ye're too kindhearted to crew the Dutchman!"
Bootstrap ignored Maccus. He knelt down, gently removing the bottle from Bree's hands. Then he removed his own cloak and placed it around her shoulders. Bree, still asleep, shifted and clutched at the ragged cloth, pulling it around herself.
Bootstrap stepped back, looking at the young girl. What a cruel fate! To be so young, so brave, only to have life end aboard the Dutchman.
Bree murmured something in her sleep, restless. She slumped down further, the cloak warding off the chill. Bootstrap stood over her, keeping watch for her. If the captain came out, he would wake the girl. He had seen how cruel Jones had been. He didn't want the girl to get into any more trouble.

Bree felt someone gently shaking her. She opened her eyes, yawned, shook off the piercing headache and rubbed at her eyes. She looked up, seeing a crewmember. She instinctively tried to back away, but she was up against the helm. She snarled, but the crewmember only offered her his hand. A little confused, Bree grabbed it and allowed him to help her up. She felt a bit woozy, but she could stand.
The crewman looked Bree over, saying in a kind tone, "Are ye alright? I'm sorry to wake ye, but yer relief should be comin' soon. Didn't want 'em to find ye asleep."
Bree was astonished that anyone on this ship would show her kindness. This man…well…was like a man! He didn't look entirely like a monster. He had sea creatures living and growing on him, but he still looked a bit human. "Who are you?"
"Doesn't matter. I'd best get down below before someone finds out I woke ye."
Bree watched as he went down below decks. She was touched that someone cared about her. And she didn't even know his name! She hadn't seen him before. Of course she had only been with the crew for a day.
Bree stood at the helm, her headache clearing. She was still tired, but knew that once her relief came, she could sleep…as long as her mates allowed.
Bree nearly jumped out of her skin as Clanker nudged her to the side, taking his place at the wheel. Bree backed away, slowly descending down into the hold. She made her way through to her hammock, crawling into the mildewed canvas. She pulled the ragged blanket over herself, falling instantly to sleep.

Bree woke before the others, perhaps by instinct. She rose, moving as quietly as possible. Slipping on her jerkin and boots, the girl snuck to the ladder, moving up to the deck. She peeked out, seeing who was at the helm. Clanker still. Bree sighed, slinking back down into the hold. She cast about the area, delighted to find a bottle that was still half full nestled under one of the hammocks.
Uncorking the bottle, Bree took an exploratory sip. Grog. Not too bad. She settled down in the corner, waiting for dawn to come. Then an idea struck her. She looked around the hammocks, spotting the bosun, snoring loudly. She set the bottle down, rising and sneaking forward.
Her necklace was still looped around the bosun's neck. Bree got as close as she dared, and then reached out, gently taking the medallion in her hand. There was no way to loop the chain off without lifting the bosun's head, so she began tugging lightly. The chain was sturdy, and she failed in breaking it. Cursing under her breath, Bree backed away. She went back to her bottle, taking comfort in it.
Bree must have dozed off again, for the next thing she knew, the bottle was wrenched away from her and she was hauled to her feet. Greenbeard kicked her roughly in the direction of the deck, hissing, "C'mon, beauty! No time for sleepin'!"
Bree made her was to the galley again, accepting the meager fare. Someone had put something in her drink, but as to disappoint them, she drank it all down, never flinching. After all, she was crawling with slime and sea creatures anyway.
As Bree ate in her corner, she looked around the room for the one who had been so kind to her. She didn't see him with the others. Wait…there he was! Sitting in the opposite corner, alone.
Taking her tankard of grog, Bree stood and made her way over to him. Sitting down across from him, Bree said, "I…I meant to thank ye for what ye did, sir."
Bootstrap looked at the girl, smiling slightly. "There's no need to, young'un. And ye needn't call me sir, either. You an' I are equals on this ship."
Bree sipped at her grog, forcing herself to swallow whatever her mates had put in there. She scraped at her tongue and then said, "I don't know yer name, mate."
"My name is Bill Turner, but ye can call me Bootstrap," he answered, and then said, "An' yer name is Bree, aye?"
Bree nodded, spitting out a bone as she chewed on the grisly meat. After she had swallowed with some difficulty, she spoke again, "Ye ain't like the others. Ye mind me askin' why not?"
Bootstrap liked the girl's inquisitiveness. She reminded him a bit of Will, his son.
"I haven't ever called meself one o' this crew. I'm doomed to sail forever on this hulk. How long is your sentence?"
Bree shrugged, saying, "Dunno, mate. I never agreed to anythin'. Jones forced me into the crew. An' I don't know why, seein' as how I'm a girl an' all."
Bootstrap shrugged back, answering, "'E likes breakin' hard, wild spirits, mate. He knows ye're wild. An' I think he might respect that."
Bree laughed grimly, pushing her tankard away, "Aye, an' fish might roost in trees. 'E just likes torturin' me. But I ain't willin', and I ain't ever gonna take orders from 'im. I'll stand up to 'im and do 'im in one day!"
Bootstrap admired Bree's fire and courage, but he had to speak reason, "Ye're a fine young maid, Bree. I can tell by lookin' at ye that ye can fight as well as a man, but Jones is the fiercest pirate to sail these seas. Ye can't beat 'im. Besides, 'e can't die."
Bree slumped back, dejected. Then she looked up at Bootstrap, "Ye mind me askin' how you got 'ere?"
Bootstrap nodded, "I was a member o' the Black Pearl's crew."
Bree gasped, "The Black Pearl? Blow me, I've 'eard stories o' her since I was no more 'n a li'l girl! The crew o' the Goresail told me those tales! Barbossa an' 'is lads an' the cursed gold? An' Jack Sparrow…did ye know 'im?"
Bootstrap nodded again, "Aye, I knew 'im. But I didn't hold wi' the mutiny, so Barbossa sent me overboard with a cannon strapped to me. But I was cursed an' couldn't die."
Bree shuddered, just imagining what that would be like. Bootstrap continued, "Jones found me an' made an' offer. An' I accepted it. So here I am."
Bree crossed her arms, "I'd rather die than serve here. I hate Jones…"
Bootstrap chuckled, "I think we all do."
Bree turned back to Bootstrap, "I thought the curse was lifted a year ago? That's what I heard, and the Isla de Muerta sank beneath the sea, along with the cursed treasure."
Bootstrap nodded, suddenly looking proud, "Aye, Jack an' Will ended it."
Bree looked confused, "Who's Will?"
"My son. I was reunited only a year ago with him." Bootstrap suddenly blinked away a tear, "He's dead, now. The Kraken…it killed him."
Bree felt sympathy flood through her. She placed her hand on Bootstrap's shoulder, saying softly, "I'm sorry…what about Jack?"
"Jack? Poor old Sparrow…he-" Bootstrap didn't finish.
The bosun stomped up behind Bree and hauled her up by her hair, grabbing the back of her neck and twisting hard. Bree yelped but turned, sinking her teeth into the bosun's claw. Cursing, the monster slapped her hard across the face, snarling, "Shape up, bilgerat! Time to get to work! No time for idlers!"
Bree growled but saw the bosun fingering his scourge. She moved past, looking back at Bootstrap, giving him a smile. He was her mate. So was everyone else, but he was her friend. And that was the difference.
"Aye…that's the difference mate," she said to herself as she climbed up to the deck.