Chapter III
"You aren't your own"

Bree had done it at last. Jones had been expecting it. Near the middle of the day, she had tried to jump ship. She had been hauling up some tackle. She had suddenly swung a hard belaying pin at the nearest crewmember, thrown the rope down and scrambled to the railing in the stern. Unfortunately for her, Jones had stationed one of his crew to watch her every movement.
Bree was dragged into Jones' cabin, one side of her face bloodied and scored with five clawmarks. She was thrown down, and Jones looked up at the bosun, "Leave."
After the bosun left, Jones strode over to Bree, nudging her with his remaining foot, "Get up."
Bree slowly rose, wiping blood from her eyes. She didn't dare look at her captain. Most likely he would have her killed. She did, however, look at the room. A huge organ took up the far corner, and pipes made from coral surrounded them, varying in size. She had never seen anything like it, but her attention was brought back to Jones.
Jones surprised her. He put his claw under her chin, forcing her to look up. He examined the scarred side of her face, grinning with satisfaction, "That'll leave marks, girl."
Bree bravely said, "Aye, more reminders that I've got to kill ye!"
Jones thrust Bree backwards, laughing harshly. He sat down, saying roughly, "That was a foolish thing to do. Ye're brave, I'll give ye that. But no one's ever escaped this ship an' lived."
Bree snarled, answering, "Don't think that'll discourage me! Ye can't hold me here!"
Jones turned his back on Bree, as if he hadn't heard her. Bree's eyes strayed to the hilt of his broadsword. No, it would do no good. She couldn't kill him. That's what Bootstrap had said.
Bree started to step backwards, but Jones whirled around, "Stay where ye are, whelp!"
Bree froze, not daring to move as Jones's watery blue eyes examined her. Suddenly, he spoke in an almost conversational tone, "Tell me, how are yer mates treatin' ye?"
Bree was shocked, but answered, "Well…" Then she thought, I'll show 'im I ain't phased by any o' this!
"Fine…I can deal with 'em. That rat ye've got for a bosun ain't too skilled with a whip."
Jones mused on this, then said, "Well, ye're bein' very kind, offerin' to help 'im practice." He stood and grabbed her arm in his vice-like grip.
Bree set her jaw tight, showing fearlessness. Then her eyes strayed to Jones' organ. A small space for charting and writing was laid out beside it. She spotted something…a heart-shaped metal piece. She looked at it without realizing why.
Jones noticed this. He followed her gaze. Wrath suddenly filled him and his tentacles began tensing and writhing. He struck Bree across the face, hissing, "Stop gawkin', weevil!"
Frog marching her to the door, Jones pushed her out onto the deck, following after. The crew stopped, turning expectantly.
"Lads, I'm sad to tell ye that Miss Bree here isn't too pleased with the conditions of her stay here," said Jones, his voice filled with mock pity. The crew all laughed as he continued, "But, bein' the kind, thoughtful young lady she is, she's decided to give ye all some sport." He thrust her forward, and the bosun grabbed Bree by the neck, dragging her to the grating.
Bree looked around wildly, spotting Bootstrap. She only got one look at him before she was slammed hard against the grating and her hands bound. Once again her tattered jerkin was wrenched from her and the bosun readied his scourge, brought back his arm and snapped it forward.
Once more, Bree didn't make a sound.

Bree lay in her hammock, her bleeding back bared. Bootstrap stood over her, tending her, "This'll sting."
Bree felt coolness pressed to her back, but the pain was so intense she gave a sharp gasp.
"Hold fast, mate. It's just salt. I know it hurts but it'll clean those stripes."
Bree clenched her fists around the canvas of her hammock, managing, "Why are you here?"
"I thought we were mates, now," Bootstrap said with a slight smile.
Bree gasped in pain again, answering, "Aye, but couldn't ye get in trouble for helpin' me?"
Bootstrap chuckled, "They can't exactly do anythin' more to me."
Bree looked around, asking again, "Where are the others?"
"Up on deck. The cruel blighters…ye passed out after the fourth dozen," Bootstrap added in an admiring voice, "I didn't know a girl could handle so much."
Bree gave out a hoarse, groaning laugh, "Aye, I can handle anythin' Jones throws at me."
Bootstrap smiled fondly. This girl was so much like Will. He banished a threatening tear and continued to tend to Bree.
Bree slipped into a fitful sleep as Bootstrap worked, but soon felt someone shaking her gently. Bootstrap whispered to her, "The others are comin'." He handed her her jerkin and she slipped it on, rising from her hammock. She smiled gratefully at Bootstrap and then slipped over to a corner.
Greenbeard was the first to spot the young pirate. He grinned, whispering something to his mates and pointing. Bree could still see the cruelness in their eyes, but she also saw…what was it…
They were impressed.

Bree was back to work the next day, her entire body one massive ache. She was strong, but the work set out for her here was almost too much. Her limbs and abdomen were on fire with pains and cramps, but she worked on.
Of course she got her share of the whip when she slacked. Water wasn't very plentiful, and Bree's tongue cleaved to the top of her mouth, aching for some relief. She actually tried catching some sea spray in her mouth, not caring if the water was salty, but that only made her thirstier.
Bree was busy mending one of the sails, not able to keep a good grip due to the algae and seaweed coating the canvas. She looked down, startled by what she saw.
The captain was out on deck, but he was watching her. His eyes never left her. And even though she was far from the deck, she could feel his gaze penetrating her. It unnerved her. Scooting to the side, she hid behind the mast, shutting her eyes tight as if to block out Jones' stare.
Bree wasn't minding where she was stepping, she was so unnerved. Suddenly, her foot slipped on the moss around the sail and she began to fall. She grabbed onto one of the filthy ropes of rigging, but it did no good, as it too was covered in slime.
Bree gave out a yell as she hurtled down. She slammed into the deck, pain lancing through her back. However, a fall like that would have killed her, or at least broken a bone. But nothing happened.
Bree scrambled up, limping slightly. Bootstrap was by her side, steadying her, saying, "Are ye alright, mate?"
Bree nodded shakily, "Aye…why ain't I dead?"
Bootstrap explained, "Once ye're one o' this crew ye're undead."
Bree looked at Bootstrap, not believing this. She knew the others were undead, but she…
Anger flared up in Bree's flaming blue eyes. She turned her stare towards Jones, clenching her fists. Jones met her gaze calmly. This drove Bree into a frenzy. How could he be so calm? So cruel? So sadistic?
Bree, still too angry to think clearly, began stomping over to Jones, her teeth bared in a snarl. Jones didn't flinch. He seemed to expect this.
Bree went right up to Jones, looking straight up at him. Two pairs of intense blue eyes stared each other, never flinching.
Bree snarled, saying, "You enjoyed that, didn't ye?"
Jones answered in a calm voice, "I think everyone did, lass."
Bree clenched her fists, growling, "What ever made ye so heartless, mate?"
Bootstrap spoke behind her, actually daring to answer, "He has no heart."
Jones' gaze snapped to Bootstrap, and he growled, "Shut yer mouth, Turner!"
Bree suddenly grinned, saying, "I knew that…it's buried on an island…"
Jones struck her across the face, but she didn't flinch, "Ye cut it out yerself, mate. Don't blame me for it."
Bree leaped back before Jones could touch her. She then turned, saying, "I'm goin' back to work…sir."
Jones looked at Bree, feeling his emotions battle within him. Part of him couldn't help but admire this girl. She was a true pirate, brave, strong, tough. But he loathed her as well. She threatened his authority with every act of defiance. She was so much like…no!
Banishing these thoughts, Jones turned away, returning his thoughts to the present.

Bree worked beside Bootstrap the rest of the day, asking him questions when the captain wasn't near, "Why does the captain always look at me? Ain't he got enough to worry about besides a new crewmember?"
"I think he…well, is a bit unnerved by ye, mate."
Bree was surprised, "Why?"
"Ye stood up to 'im. Normally one look at 'im sends pirates reelin' to the deck. I don't think 'e's ever had anyone stand up to 'im before." Bootstrap explained.
Bree looked determined, "Well, 'e'll have to get used to it."

The Flying Dutchman had caught up with another unfortunate ship. It was a merchant ship, the Seabuck. Bree stood at the railing, looking out over the water with the others. She looked up at the bosun, asking, "What'll cap'n do? Are we goin' to board 'er?"
"Aye, mate. An' if I know cap'n, 'e'll leave no survivors," answered the bosun, grinning eagerly.
Bree was a pirate. It was in her blood to thieve and kill. She felt a certain eagerness about it, but she came from honest stock. She wasn't keen on mindless, pointless killing.
Bree turned as the captain came to stand beside her. She looked up at him expectantly.
"Time to show if ye're a real pirate or not, Bree," said Jones, and to Bree's surprise, he handed her her broadsword. Bree took it, fondling the hilt and actually mumbling, "Th…thank ye!"
Jones sneered and cuffed her back to reality, "Best not try an' get away. I'll be watchin' ye."
Bree looked up, her eyes back to their normal fire, "Ye think I've got any place to go?"
Strapping her broadsword to her back, Bree looked back at the opposing ship. First they would cripple her with the cannons, then use grapnels and board her. She grinned. At last, some real piratin'!
"Make ready the guns!"

"Cast loose!"
Bree cast loose her gun, signaling for her mate carrying the powder cartridge.
"Run out!"
Bree hauled on the ropes, bringing the cannon's nose forward out through the hole. She stepped back, covering her ears as her partner held out the fuse.
"Fire!"
The sound of the cannon fire was deafening. Bree didn't even flinch, used to it now. She was safely out of the way as the cannon leaped back. Bree looked out, pleased to see that they had made a hit. Straight through the mast!
Bree heard Jones' voice on deck, "Prepare to board!"
Bree scrambled up on deck, wiping soot and grime from her face. She grabbed a grapnel and began whirling it. She then let go, watching her grapnel sail through the air to land amid the rigging. Before swinging over to the other ship, she cast a look at Jones. He looked straight back at her, his eyes hard. Bree simply nodded, acknowledging his silent warning. She then leaped forward, swinging through the air and skillfully landing on the deck of the Seabuck.
Bree looked around, noticing that no one was following her. She looked confused, until one of the crew members emerged from the ship's cracked mast, as if he had grown from it. Ah yes, now she remembered. That's how they did things.
Bree looked around, unsheathing her sword. She saw the merchant sailors staring in horror at all the others. One or two glanced her way but she only got strange stares. Why would a young girl be in the crew of the Flying Dutchman? They'll find out, Bree thought grimly.
Leaping forward, Bree brought her sword slamming into one of the sailors, slaying him instantly. Captain said no survivors. No survivors it was.
Bree stepped over the felled man and ran forward, actually smiling. Piratin'! Aye, mate, this was it!
Jones stood on the deck of the Dutchman, watching Bree. He was impressed. She was a ruthless fighter. A true pirate! He had underestimated her.
Bree slashed madly away at the sailors, leaving none alive as her crewmates did the same. At last, all were slain. Bree stood amid the carnage, cleaning her sword. One of the crew actually slapped her on the back good-naturedly. Bree grinned back at him, her emotions unstable.
Greenbeard emerged from the hold, dragging a young boy with him. He threw him to the deck, calling to Bree, "Kill 'im, missy!"
Bree looked up in horror. No, she wouldn't kill a child!
Bree shook her head, saying bravely, "No. Let the child go. 'E ain't a threat. Let 'im go."
Bree suddenly felt herself grasped by the back of the neck and whirled around. Jones gripped her neck hard, his eyes like chips of ice as he said almost calmly, "Showin' a soft spot, eh, Miss Bree?"
Bree struggled but it was no use. She managed, "I ain't gonna kill a child."
Jones shrugged, motioning to Greenbeard. Bree was whirled around again and forced to watch Greenbeard skewer the child on her own sword. Bree gave a roar of outrage, "Ye cruel-"
Jones flung her forward, calling to the bosun, "Once we're back aboard the Dutchman bring that rat to my cabin."
Bree picked herself up from the deck, horror rising in her. Not to that pit again!
Jimmylegs bent to pick Bree up, but she slapped the bosun's hand away, snarling, "Don't touch me!"
Jimmylegs backed off, grinning wickedly. He fingered his scourge expectantly. Bree pulled herself up, looking around. If there was anything of worth on this ship, she wouldn't have any share in it. She watched as Jones seemed to morph over to the Dutchman. She shuddered, looking away.
Palifico suddenly grabbed Bree by the collar, dragging her toward the railing. Bree was frog marched straight into the side, only to find herself suddenly on board the Dutchman. She shook off her escort, a little shaken. She then looked at the door to Jones' cabin. She shuddered again, not wanting to imagine what punishment awaited. Did Jones have no mercy at all?
Jimmylegs grabbed Bree but she shook him off again, saying, "I can walk on me own!" She went fearlessly into the cabin, seeing Jones standing there like an executioner waiting for his victim. She should be used to this by now.
Jones didn't speak for a while, and simply stood examining Bree, as if trying to guess her thoughts, his eyes boring into her. Bree shifted uncomfortably, squirming under his intense stare.
Jones' harsh voice made Bree jump, "I don't like a rebel, missy."
Bree felt her mouth trembling, but she looked up, "Then ye must hate me! I ain't about to start takin' those kinds of orders from ye!" She remembered the body of the boy, her own sword through him.
Jones stayed calm, even smiling as if he found her defiance to be amusing. He motioned for Jimmylegs to leave again, and then strode closer to Bree. He bent down, his eyes at her level, and scrutinized her. Bree tried not to flinch, but it was too terrifying to face.
At last Jones spoke, "Whatever brought ye to piratin', girl?"
Bree thought it a strange question, but she answered anyway, still not looking at Jones, "I wanted to. Where I came from all the boys wouldn't leave me alone. An' I was too wild to be a lady."
Jones thingyed his head, "Boys wouldn't leave ye alone? Ye wouldn't want to become a wife to some fine young man?"
Bree looked up, fire in her eyes, "No! Would you want to be a husband, anchored down in one place to some girl? Anyone who does is a fool!"
Bree stepped back. A spasm of pain shook Jones, and his mouth opened as if he was short of breath. His eyes clouded. But he shook himself, saying in a rough voice, "No…no, I wouldn't! I'll agree that love is for fools." Bree could still see that his eyes had grown very dark and misty.
Bree was a very perceptive young girl. A slow, cruel smile spread across her lips as she spoke in an almost satisfied tone, "I see it now…it hurts to talk about it!"
Jones' head snapped around, his tentacles bristling and turning purple with rage. He bared his teeth at Bree and snarled, "I don't know what ye're talkin' about! Now stop talkin' out of place, rat!"
But Bree was too fired by the exhilaration that she had found Jones' weakness. She jeered, "I suppose ye don't like girls for one reason, aye?"
Jones gave a vicious roar and grabbed Bree around the throat, squeezing so hard that Bree actually passed out from lack of air.
Jones dropped Bree to the floor, stepping back, his eyes on fire. Anger mixed with agony filled him as regret battled with fury. How could she be so…so wild? She was a constant threat, a constant source of frustration, a constant reminder. Her spirit. She was wild. Untamable.
She was like…her.
Jones hated Bree. He hated her! He vowed he would make her service on this ship as miserable as possible. She would suffer for what she didn't do. She would be the scapegoat for his hatred of all females. She would be what he vented his fury and agony on.
Jones lifted Bree and slung her over his shoulder like a rag doll. He carried her out to the deck, dropping her roughly and calling to Koleniko, "Keep this rat on no rations for three days." Koleniko grinned, nodding, "Aye, captain."

Bree woke about an hour later. Bootstrap was rubbing a dirty, seawater drenched rag over her brow. Bree moaned, her head throbbing. She counted about three new bruises, but the total amount she had was higher than she could count. She settled back down in her hammock, asking in a weary voice, "How long 'ave I been out?"
"Only an hour," Bootstrap answered, wringing out the cloth. He stood, holding out his hand, "Time ye were up, mate. I heard Cap'n say that if'n ye weren't up within the next hour 'e'd come down hisself an' drag ye out on deck."
Bree allowed Bootstrap to haul her out of her hammock, shaking herself to wake up fully. She wiped her eyes, trying to get the sleep from them and to open them fully. She then looked around, asking, "What's that noise?"
Bootstrap grinned, "Cap'n must've 'it ye hard. Ain't ye recognizin' it by now? Cap'n's playin' 'is fancy instrument agin."
Bree grimaced as the noise was magnified in her aching brain, her temples throbbing. She groaned, "Why does 'e play that thing?"
Bootstrap shrugged, "Maybe 'e likes it."
"But 'e plays the same ol' song!"
Bootstrap didn't say anything after that, so Bree didn't press it. She pulled on her jerkin, making her way up to the deck again. She touched the hilt of her sword for comfort. Jones had surprisingly not taken it from her after they had attacked the Seabuck.
Looking out over the horizon, Bree could see the usual; endless expanses of water. She didn't remember the last time she had seen land.
Bree saw the captain and Jimmylegs standing near the railing, both of them talking in low voices. Suddenly, Jimmylegs turned, catching sight of Bree. He said something and pointed. Jones turned, glanced at Bree, and then turned again.
Bree knew they were discussing her. She moved towards the stern, only to run into Wheelback at the helm as she passed. Wheelback, always looking for opportunities to entertain his sadistic sense of humor at her expense, stuck out his foot, tripping Bree. Bree luckily caught herself, but her hands and wrists were jarred from the fall.
Angry, Bree picked herself up and turned to Wheelback, snarling, "What was that for?"
Wheelback shrugged, answering smugly, "Dunno, missy. Besides, what are ye goin' to do about it?"
Bree moved quickly. She dodged behind him, grabbing one handle on the wheel fused to his back and yanking hard. Wheelback howled in agony as the fusion seams were stretched. Bree moved back, answering his jibe with a wonderful retort, "I'm goin' to change course."
Bree now did the sensible thing; disappear. She knew that Wheelback's yelp would have alerted Jimmylegs, if not Jones himself. She crept down to the bow, maneuvering around the others. She often did this if she needed a short rest from the day's troubles.
Climbing down the sides and onto the bowsprits, Bree ducked her head, edging out farther. She then relaxed, hiding in the jaws of the Flying Dutchman. She would stay here for a few minutes, and then go back to work. Leaning back, she swung her foot out over the water, spray occasionally reaching high enough to dampen her. She closed her eyes, pretending she wasn't on the Dutchman anymore. It was the Goresail.
However, this fantasy had to end, as she forced herself to climb back up and slip over the sides when no one was looking her way. At least she had avoided the captain and the bosun. They must have ignored Wheelback's little fit.
Bree looked out over the waves again, suddenly focusing on a small shape to the right. A sail!
Bree instinctively gave the call, "Sail ho!"
The captain was instantly on deck, "Where away?"
"Off the starboard beam!" was Bree's answer.
Jones had his glass out and peered through, examining the approaching ship. Bree waited anxiously, chewing on her lip. Every ship presented two opportunities for her; escape or a good fight.
Quittance came to stand beside Bree, looking out over the water to where Bree pointed. He turned, "Aye, Cap'n, she's a naval frigate!"
Bree's spine tingled when she heard that. A frigate! There would be a real fight now!
Making sure her sword was secured onto her back, Bree grinned eagerly, looking over her right shoulder. Clanker stood behind her, and Bree said almost cheerily, "We gonna fight 'er?"
Clanker shrugged, "Don't know. Can't ever tell wi' th' naval ships, mate."
Bree was confused. She looked over at Jones, who was still looking through his glass at the ship. Why would he back off from a naval ship?
"No battle here, lads," called Jones, and despite all the disappointed groans, the crew didn't challenge his decision. Bree had learned by now to keep her tongue.
Maccus joined Jones, "We goin' down, Cap'n?"
The captain nodded, "Aye. Give the order."
Maccus turned and boomed out, "Down!"
Bree almost fell over as the ship lurched crazily, tilting down towards the bow. The bowsprits were submerged and water quickly rushed up to meet Bree. Horror filled her. The ship was going down! Down to the depths!
Bree grabbed onto the mast as the water hit her like a…well, a wave. She held on tight, her hair streaming out behind her and bubbles coming up in a string from her mouth. She then let go, realizing that now she could escape! She pushed off, but found herself falling back to the deck. It was like she wasn't even underwater! She could walk about as easily here as she could on land! She couldn't swim up either! And she found that she wasn't short of breath or…or even needing to breath!
Horrified and frightened by this, Bree touched the hilt of her sword to comfort herself, looking around at the others. Orders were still being given out, and even if the sound was a little garbled, speech was possible underwater.
Several, actually most, of the crew watched Bree's reaction, including Jones. They all elbowed eachother and smirked, seeing her wide eyes.
At last, the Dutchman leveled off underwater, near the seabed. Bree looked up, seeing the light break down through the surface, a beautiful spectacle. But she was soon snapped back to reality, as there was work to do. Bree went about her chores, still not able to understand how it was possible to crew a submerged ship!

Bree was exhausted. She may have found a new ability to move about freely underwater, but there was still resistance and pressure of the water crushing down on her. Her shoulders and arms aches as well as her thighs. She had simply collapsed on deck, curling up in a corner and falling asleep. The others didn't bother to move her.
Jones had seen Bree curled up on a coil of rope. He bent down to observe her, curiosity coming over him. How long had it been since he'd ever seen a girl? Centuries, at least. He didn't exactly want to see one. Bree was a pretty girl, but she wasn't a lady at all. She was too wild. She was…and wasn't…like his lady.
Jones brushed these memories away, reasoning with himself, She's a rotten li'l bilge rat. I should give 'er nothin' but the whip. But he was impressed with her. She was tough and capable. And she wasn't afraid of him. She had shown amazing adaptation to her life here, and she could handle the crew. They were slowly beginning to let her go her own way.
Jones hardened, reminding himself that she was a threat. He had a dilemma on his hands. If he killed her, it would be like taking the easy way out. If he let her shout her threats and weave distrust and rebellion, he'd lose face before his crew. Best break her spirit now.
Jones rose, turning to go back to his cabin. Another thing troubled him. When Bootstrap's son, Will Turner, had been on his ship, he had brought back memories of a younger, lovestruck Davy Jones. Now this girl was bringing back memories of…her.
Jones clenched his claw, entering his cabin. He looked toward his large organ. He was a fine musician. He was self taught, but only knew one song. He sighed. Making music was his only escape.
Jones' tune spread throughout the ship, and it drifted into Bree's dreams. The captain stood over her, looking down at her with piercing blue eyes. He was saying something, but Bree couldn't make it out. Then she saw a small heart-shaped object. She was strangely drawn to it. In her dream she moved forward, her hands reaching for the object, but she was jerked to the side, and then fell into endless darkness. As she fell, she could hear Jones' taunting voice booming out.
"You aren't your own."