Chapter IV
"The Flying Dutchman's crewgirl."

Bree stood at the helm, turning it gently as she viewed her surroundings. Strange to see land in the distance. How long had it been? Four months? Aye, four months.
Bree watched the stars, smiling slightly. Stars. Her only real link to the rest of life. The only things of beauty. She had mentioned this to Bootstrap. "Aye, 'tis like ye're transported to a whole new world. A world with no rules…no bonds…no cap'n."
Bree rotated the wheel softly, her face darkening along with the sky as the moon and stars were hidden in dark clouds.
The young girl wasn't at all surprised when the organ started up again. Jones must be in one of his moods again. He'd been like that lately. He would go all cloudy eyed and suddenly disappear into his cabin for hours at a time, sometimes silent and other times playing away at his instrument. Bree had grown to love his music, in spite of herself. It was a truly beautiful tune. There must be a story behind it. Surely Jones didn't write it!
Bree listened to the beloved tune and began humming along with it. Bree was a musician herself and appreciated good skill in music. She had even set her own words to Jones' tune to sing softly when she was alone and he played. She sang them now, her voice ringing out soft but clear:
"O'er restless seas, through storm an' gale,
Sail I, the wanderin' soul, fore'er.
Cursed to die, abandoned sailor,
My freedom turned to a cell.

I am this ship, I'm part of her,
Bound to serve, no rest in sight.
My heart, it aches for freedom's light.
My debt will ne'er be paid.

No mates have I, no friends to love,
No loyalty to give away.
Leashed an' chained, my soul's not free,
My cap'n cruel an' heartless.

Wind an' rain, fog an' gale,
None increase my misery.
Jones has deemed I serve his cause,
I have no choice or will.

Mortal, human, girl or lass,
My place among the living passed.
My soul belongs to Davy Jones,
Unwillin' an' unforgivin'.

Cursed to crew one hundred years,
Five score as nothin' more than sin.
Doomed to wear the brand I bear,
The Flying Dutchman's crewgirl."

Her song finished as the organ stopped. Everything went eerily quiet, and Bree could hear her heart beating in her ears. She suddenly heard a noise. The captain was coming on deck.
Jones swung his cabin door open, looking at the girl at the helm, his eyes hard and cold. He had heard her song. He could hear everything that went on in his ship. But her song reflected almost everything he felt in his own heart. Freedom. What was that again? She gave him a glimpse of it.
Bree looked straight back at her captain, trying to remain unfazed. She then broke her gaze, looking down at her hands which were clasped tightly around the wheel.
Jones growled and retreated back to his cabin, shutting the door behind him. He wouldn't come back out tonight.

Bree wiped cold, icy sweat from her forehead. Her heart was still beating wildly. Something she had said…her song? Surely he didn't hear it! But…that look he gave her.
Bootstrap came on deck, tapping Bree, "Go an' get some sleep, mate. I'm to relieve ye."
Bree nodded gratefully. She stifled a yawn, taking one last look at the stars. Then she descended down into the hold.
Bree climbed into her hammock, brushing away any barnacles or sea creatures. She pulled a sea urchin from the canvas and tossed it away, gathering her blanket and situating herself as comfortably as possible. She closed her eyes, trying to block out the sounds of her mates' snores. She quickly fell asleep.

Bree woke in the middle of the night, a searing pain coursing through her back. She had never felt anything like it before, and it wasn't anything like the sting of a whip, so she knew it couldn't be the bosun tormenting her again.
As Bree lifted herself up on her arms, she twisted her back, but cried out in agony. She twisted up her face, gutting up the pain and leaning her head back to see what had happened. What she saw horrified her. Long, jagged pike dorsal fins were growing from her back! She could see them tearing through her shirt. Blood was crusting around them as they stabbed their way upwards through her skin. And she could see them rising! Soon they would be fully grown!
Bree was in too much pain to rise. She had a good four hours till dawn, but she couldn't sleep. The pain was too intense. She lay on her stomach, biting her hammock to keep from crying out.
That morning, some of the crew stood around the hammock, laughing as they saw the fins sprouting from Bree's back. Some said, "Now ye're truly part o' this crew!" Others actually prodded her back, causing her even more pain.
When she had to rise or face the whip, Bree forced herself to arch her back and climb down from her hammock. She flexed her back, feeling the fins straighten and then flatten. Good, at least they would lie flat.
Of course, following their normal cruel behavior, one of the crewmembers had stolen Bree's jerkin, and she had to go without it, leaving her fins visible. She dreaded to think what the captain would say. He would gloat and jeer at her, she knew it.
Bree, after she had been given her vittles, went to a solitary corner, drinking her grog deeply, dehydrated from all the sweat that had come from the fins breaking through. She then ate her small portion, glad to have it.
The day began as usual, with lots of hard work laid out for Bree. But she was used to it now. She had done hard work on the Goresail, and now she had grown even stronger working on the Dutchman. She was busy hauling up some rigging and tackle when the captain appeared on deck. Bree swore as her hands slipped, but she gripped harder, praying that the captain wouldn't see her.
But Jones was always aware of her presence. His eyes swung to her, and he grinned in triumph when he saw the fins spreading as Bree's back flexed. He was breaking her!
Bree felt sweat dripping down into the open cracks in her back, stinging and causing her to bite her lips so hard that she drew blood. Her muscles strained as she hauled harder, ignoring the jibes thrown at her.
"Somethin' a bit fishy today, mate?"
"Maybe she's turnin' into one o' those mermaids' uglier cousins!"
"What, a Kelpie?"
"Don't matter what they're called, but she's turnin' to one!"
Bree bared her teeth, biting back the angry words she was about to issue.
Palifico went behind Bree and ripped a length of chain from Ratlin's back. He then threw it forward, and it clanked around Bree's shoulders, going across her chest. Unable to grab it fast enough, Bree found herself tugging uselessly at the chain. She couldn't pull it off! Part of it had fused into her shoulders.
Bree pushed back her hair, which had recently been getting very course, like seaweed. Another sea urchin moved out from the folds of her jerkin to stick into her skin. She winced, pulling it out and flinging it down. She saw Crash and grabbed his three-cornered hat, jamming it onto her head. At least it would hide the strange transformation her hair was undergoing.
Clanker stood at the railing, watching as Bree tried again to remove the chain from across her chest. Thinking he would join in the fun, he took one of his weapons, a ball and chain, and began swinging it, ready to hurl it at Bree. He stepped closer and then let go.
Bree was slammed to the side as the ball and chain wrapped around her legs, slamming into them. If she hadn't been undead, her leg would have been splintered. It still hurt, but she managed to wriggle up, anger in her face. She unleashed a roar and turned to Clanker, going down on all fours and pouncing. But Clanker was saved. Another chain was looped around Bree's neck from behind. She was yanked back, falling flat on the deck.
Maccus held the end of the chain, his axe out. Jones stood beside him, watching everything with great interest. He looked at the ball and chain still entangled around Bree's feet and the chain fused into her back, "Couldn't handle it, missy?" He laughed along with his crew, bending down and taking the hat from Bree's head and handing it back to Crash.
Bree snarled and flipped over, this time trying to attack her captain, but Maccus pulled her like a tiger on a leash. Bree had blood bubbling from the corners of her mouth, mixed with foam. She was panting, breath going in and out with a harsh, grating, almost snarling sound. She went limp as a foot was placed on her neck. She was then hauled up.
Maccus held his axe over his head. Bree braced herself as Oldhaddy grabbed her chain and pulled it taut. Maccus brought the axe slashing down.
Clang!
The sound of metal hitting metal made Bree's neck hairs rise. The chain around her neck was freed from the long length, but a small bit trailed down her back. She tried to remove the collar, but it too was partly fused into her. Bree gave a half sob half growl. The weight of both chains was too cruel!
Jones hauled Bree up by the loose length of chain, laughing and speaking loud enough for all to hear, "Well, seems the wild 'un has a leash at last!" Cruel, harsh laughs greeted this. Bree bared her teeth, her eyes wild. She tensed her muscles, ready to spring. But she saw Bootstrap standing a ways behind Jones. He looked at her, shaking his head. There was no point in fighting Davy Jones.
Bree backed off, growling like a beaten dog as she wrenched her chain away, managing to break one or two of the links to make it shorter and not as hindering.
Jones stepped back, watching the girl. A part of him was relishing the fact that she was in agony and that her emotions were most likely unstable. But another part of him was slightly disappointed. He had expected her to act somewhat submissive. But she was just as fiery and rebellious as ever. She was one to be admired.
Jones shook these thoughts from his head and turned to attend to his other duties.

Bree was inconsolable. Bootstrap had comforted her as best he could, but she couldn't stop weeping. She was no longer human, no longer among the living. Bootstrap let her cry, eventually putting his hand under her chin and lifting her face. He wiped her tears away and said, "It's all right, mate. We all go through this. But ye don't have to lose hope!"
Bree sniffed, biting on her hands to keep from crying more. She at last settled down, still hiccupping and giving occasional sniffles. She retreated to the hold that evening, hoping to get some peace and quiet.
When the crew all congregated in the hold, Bree was relieved to find that they weren't bothering her. They realized that she had had enough. She wouldn't take any more. And that night, Bree slept, uninterrupted.

Bree sat cross-legged, watching a group of her mates playing Liar's Dice. She took a swig of a bottle of rum she had been lucky enough to find. She was slowly becoming accustomed to life here. It had been almost half a year!
Bree took another deep swig of rum and then settled down to watch, licking her lips. The three crewmembers, Ogilvey, Wheelback and Angler shook up their cups and slammed them down on the table. Bree watched them tip their cups up and start wagering.
"Three sixes!" called Angler, looking at the others.
"Four twos," said Wheelback.
Bree scooted closer behind Ogilvey, looking at his dice. He had two fives, a six and two ones.
Bree lost interest in the game soon after. She still watched but didn't try to keep up. It was easy to know who lost. Normally a growl or snarl would announce the loser's identity. Bree had played the game before. She was really rather good at it. Of course this made no difference, but it gained a little of the crew's respect.
Bree looked up as Jimmylegs sat down beside her, a bottle in his claws. He grinned at her, holding out his bottle, "Cheers, eh?"
Bree sullenly clanked her drink against his, taking a long gulp. She swallowed, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. Jimmylegs looked at her strangely, and then gave out a hoarse laugh, "Lookit that, mate!"
Bree looked down. She gasped. Her hands were growing paw-like, with retractable claws! She still had fingers, but they looked unnatural! Bree hissed through her teeth, running her tongue across them. Then she stopped. Her teeth were growing into fangs!
Bree shot up, giving out a roar of horror. The game stopped and those watching looked up at her. Bree felt their hostile glares on her. She bared her new fangs at them and hissed, then turned and retreated to a corner, clutching her rum to herself protectively.
Jeers were hard to dodge, and at last Bree left the hold. Only one or two of the crew was on the deck, so she made her way up and sat down by the railing, looking out over the waters, still pulling at her drink.
Bree heard footsteps coming near her. She froze. The captain. She cursed inwardly. She would rather face the crew than Jones!
But there was no escape now. Jones had found her. He stood over her, assessing her. He knew she was going through the normal transition from human to monster. He grinned, his tentacles waving jeeringly at Bree.
Bree refused to look at her captain, her jaw set tight. When he didn't leave, she looked up, actually daring to bare her teeth at him and snarl, "Stop gloating! I've had a hard enough time as it is!"
Jones laughed softly, sitting down next to Bree. Bree scooted away, disgust on her features. She clenched her teeth together, her jaw tensing. She clutched the bottle of drink to herself, as if it would protect her.
"Ye're a part o' this crew now, Bree," Jones said, not looking at her, "Ye can't call yerself free anymore."
Bree's hackles rose. She glared at her captain, growling, "Liar! I ain't a true part o' this crew!"
"Ye've been on this ship for four months. Yer soul belongs to me."
Bree rose, her hand instinctively going for her sword hilt as she snarled, "My soul is me own! An' it don't belong to a squid-faced barnacle-coated ole pirate!"
Jones rose, striking Bree hard across the face with his claw, and Bree stumbled to the side, but didn't cry out. She looked at him again, hissing, "I ain't afraid o' ye, sir." She said this last bit with contempt.
Jones laughed again, spitting out scornfully, "Yer bravery is foolish, girl. Once ye've become one of the crew, there's no leavin' it."
Bree stood up straight, but as tall as she was, Jones was two heads taller than her. But she stared up into his eyes fearlessly, growling, "I ain't part o' this crew, yet, mate. I may be bound to it physically, but me soul an' me mind an' spirit are all free!"
Jones thingyed his head, saying, "Touchin' speech, missy. Ye'd best git below afore I have ye flogged. Or worse…" He fingered the hilt of his broadsword.
Bree knew it was foolish to provoke him. He knew she wasn't afraid of him. But she needed to be fit, and a fractured spine wouldn't do her any good.
Still snarling, Bree descended back down to the hold, ignoring the others. She sat down in her usual corner. Bootstrap came to sit beside her.
Bree looked up at her only friend, tears in her eyes, "I'm becomin' a monster, Bootstrap!"
Bootstrap patted her back comfortingly, saying, "We all become like this eventually. But ye can still be different from the others!"
Bree wiped her eyes, looking determined again, "Aye…an' I may be bound to the Dutchman, but I won't ever give Jones my soul!"