Chapter XIII

The Fiddle

Bree was sitting on the railing, her arms folded over her chest and her face sullen. Her back didn't sting as much anymore. She had been flogged so many times that her skin had grown tough and leathery. She had managed to keep the blood off of her shirt, as she was tired of wearing a bloodstained garment all the time.

Bootstrap came to sit beside her, "Thanks, mate. It did me heart good to see William again."

This warmed Bree somewhat. She smiled, "He's a brave man, Bootstrap. Good man, good man. Like Jack."

Bootstrap chuckled, "Ah, ol' Sparrow. I couldn't force meself to believe that Jones had finally got 'im. But I hardly bared to doubt it."

Bree glanced over at the captain. "He seems awful distant. I wish…I wish I hadn't told 'im where the heart was, but 'e might've killed Jack an' the others!"

Bootstrap shrugged, "Well, 'e still doesn't know who has the heart. He's just guessing where to start lookin'."

Bree sighed, slumping against the railing. She looked over at Jones. He was scanning the horizon, looking through his glass. Bree whispered to Bootstrap, "He can't set foot on land for near of a decade. How does 'e expect to find the heart?"

Bootstrap shrugged, "Send in 'is crew."

Bree made a sound that sounded very much like a pouty dog, "Oh."

Bree stood at the railing again with Bootstrap. The two cursed pirates weren't chosen to go in with the shore party. They couldn't be trusted to stay with the others.

Maccus was leading the party, as always. He stood at the railing as Jones gave him whispered orders. Maccus nodded and leaped over the side to land in the water, where he promptly sank and began the underwater march to shore.

Bree could see the group through the clear water, even if they were a little distorted. Twins, Oldhaddy, Wheelback, Palifico, Koleniko, Quittance, Jimmylegs, Hadras, Clanker and Ratlin. The others had stayed on board to watch the Dutchman.

Bree stepped away from the rail, turning to be confronted by Jones' icy stare.

He growled at her, "Ye'd best have been tellin' the truth, Miss Bree."

Bree sniffed, slightly offended that he would think she would lie, "D'ye think I really care if ye find yer heart or not? I hope someone trips whilst carryin' it an' a thorn pierces it!" She said this with fierce sincerity.

But it wasn't sincere.

Nonetheless, Jones felt hurt by this remark, even though he didn't understand why. He knew she hated him. And he didn't care. At least, he didn't admit that he did.

Bree turned her back on him, looking back at the distant shore. She could see the small forms of the shore party emerging from the water, like so many wicked beasts of the sea. Which is what they were.

The young girl sighed, leaning her elbows on the railing and placing her chin in her hands, her eyes distant. Bootstrap stood beside her, looking out as well. He knew she was slightly distressed. He placed a hand on her shoulder and slowly began to stroke her back in a comforting way. It was an innocent, fatherly gesture.

But Jones didn't like it. He stifled something that was eating away at him. Was it anger? Annoyance? Envy?

Jones did feel a pang of envy. He almost coveted the closeness Bootstrap and Bree had. But why? Why should he want that relationship with Bree? She was a little bilge rat, a trouble maker and a slacker. No, not a slacker. She worked hard. She was an upstart, a rebel. And yet…why did Jones find that so…captivating? Her eyes, when they shone with defiance, were so clear, so bright, it took Jones' breath away. Even though it angered him when she rebelled, he admired it. The courage it took. He knew Bree was afraid of him. Everyone was afraid of him. But Bree was no coward. It took courage to stand up to someone she feared.

Jones stood watching as Bree looked up at Bootstrap, smiling. Her eyes showed affection for her shipmate. They were true friends, closer than Jones could really imagine.

Why was he jealous?

Bree sat at the railing, still watching for the other's return. She was nervous. If the heart hadn't been found, Jones would think she had lied, but if it had been found, that was bad news for Jack and the others. Bree rubbed at her brand, grimacing slightly.

Jones stood watch as well, except he had his glass. Bree didn't understand why he used it. He had looked straight into her eyes that one day.

Was it because he and the young girl were connected?

Bree shook off this thought. No, it was because he had very good eyesight. That was all. She pressed a hand to the pouch in her jerkin. Miraculously, it hadn't been found when Jones had tended her wound. A good omen, I hope, Bree had thought.

Jones concentrated on the shore, still straining for a glimpse of his crew. He was nervous. He bit his lip tensely, trying to hold his glass straight. He glanced over at Bree. She looked as nervous as him. Had she been lying?

No, Bree wouldn't lie to me.

Jones shook this thought from his head. It was comforting, but untrue. It almost sounded…affectionate. No! Even if the heart was here, Bree would get a good beating…and this time, Jones would hold the whip.

I have to remember that I hate her!

Bree leaned over to whisper something in Bootstrap's ear, "What if they find the heart, mate? What'll Jones do?"

Bootstrap shrugged, whispering back, "Don't know, mate. Can't be sure. I wouldn't think he'd want it back. It just brings back the pain."

Bree felt her mouth grow dry at this. Bring back the pain? The pain of love?

For some reason Bree felt angry whenever she thought of Jones' past. She didn't know why. But then, most of her emotions regarding Jones confused her. She wasn't even sure she hated him anymore! Yes! I do hate him! It still sounded hollow.

Bootstrap saw the distress in Bree's eyes. He felt concerned for her, taking her hand in his, "Bree…matey, what's wrong? Ye don't look at all well!"

Bree hadn't realized her emotions were showing. Or that they were that strong. She felt her forehead. It was burning and beading with sweat.

When Jones saw Bootstrap take Bree's hand it sent another flame of burning envy shooting up his chest. Why were he and the young girl so close? Did…did Bootstrap love Bree? No…no, that was ridiculous. He was too old for Bree.

But…Jones was over three centuries old, and he…

No! That was even more ridiculous! Bootstrap always had the look of a father when he was affectionate to Bree. Bree must feel the same way, going to Bootstrap like a daughter to a father.

Jones hoped that with all his emotional energy.

Jimmylegs splashed through the surf, kicking up spray angrily. He wasn't looking forward to the return to the Dutchman. The search had proved fruitless. No heart. They had searched the place as well as possible, killing all who got in their way. Of course they used stealth, unable to simply waltz in and ask for the heart like it was a piece of candy. As if they would do that even if they could!

Clanker wiped his slimy brow with a clumsy paw, "Well, what're we to do? Cap'n'll have a fit."

Jimmylegs cuffed Clanker hard with his axe haft as he snarled, "We don't do anythin'! Cap'n Jones'll think o' somethin'. He'll find 'is heart. I know 'e will. No one can stand against 'im."

Twins was chewing on a cracked mollusk with one mouth while the other voiced his opinion, "Well, what d'yer think Cap'n'll do with 'is heart? I allus thought 'e buried it to forget everythin'."

Jimmylegs sighed as Palifico took over, "He did. But d'yer think 'e'll sit around an' wait fer Sparrow to steal it an' kill 'im? Idjit."

Clanker spoke again, "I think it ain't too smart. 'E can feel more when 'e's got the heart. We might wanna throw Miss Bree overboard then!" He sniggered lewdly.

Jimmylegs looked at Clanker strangely, saying, "Cap'n hates that li'l bottom feeder."

Clanker didn't look convinced, and Koleniko stood to the side, contributing to the argument, "Don't know, mate. Ye seen how 'e looks when 'e…" He stopped. He pointed toward the Dutchman. "Best not speak of it no more, mates. Cap'n'll hear us."

The others nodded, knowing he was right. Jones could hear everything. And he wouldn't be happy about this conversation.

Bree leaned down and hauled Koleniko over the side, wincing as some of his prickles stuck into her shoulder. She and Ogilvey helped the rest of the crew into the ship and then stood back, waiting to hear what Jimmylegs had to say. Jones looked anxious, but Bree, who now seemed able to sense his feelings, could tell that he was already guessing the worst.

Jimmylegs stepped up, still nervous about how his captain would react. He shrugged slightly and said, "No luck, sir. An' I don't think it ever was there. Miss Bree…she ain't tellin' the truth."

Jones' shoulders slumped. His reaction was a bit delayed. Then he raised his head, his eyes going to Bree. Bree withered under his fierce stare. She opened her mouth as if to defend herself, but her voice deserted her.

Jones came striding across the deck to Bree. For some reason, it seemed to take him hours to simply reach her. The sound of his peg leg hitting the deck was like the sound of a hammer nailing in a crucifix spike, only the beginning of her misery and, most likely, death sentence.

Bree wasn't at all surprised when her neck was gripped in the vice-like claw. Jones angled the girl's head so she was forced to stare into his wild eyes. They looked like rain swept pebbles, hard and cold, or like chips of ice, even colder.

Jones' voice was strained with a mixture of anger and distress, "Ye lied to me, girl. Yon East India Trading Company doesn't have the heart!"

Bree couldn't breath, therefore she couldn't talk. She opened her mouth, making a pitiful attempt to speak. She began clawing at her throat, leaving white marks on Jones' claw, but he simply clenched tighter. Bree felt her throat closing, squeezed tight until she couldn't breath at all. Her face went purple, and she went limp, her limbs quivering as blood stopped flowing.

Jones then dropped Bree, only to haul her up by the collar of her jerkin. He went to Ratlin and ripped a chain from his back. Bree could only see in foggy shapes now, but she felt herself being tied to the gratings once again and her shirt was ripped from her back. Only now, it was Jones who was about to flog her. And not with a normal whip, either. But with a length of chain.

The first blow fell. Bree had never known such agony. Jones was immensely strong, and the chain bit so deep into her flesh that he had to pull hard to remove it from the muscle of her back. This was the first time Bree had ever cried out while being flogged. Tears spurted from her eyes as the blood seeped over her back. Bree tried to brace herself for the next blow, but when it came, she cried out again, going limp, her hand bonds the only thing keeping her up.

After three blows, Bree thought she was going to die. The pain was so intense that she was sure her heart would erupt. She wanted to die. Every time the chain dug into her flesh the pain scorched through her like a red hot brand, and every time it was pulled slowly from her muscles she was sure her spine had been severed.

Jones had tears in his eyes as he flogged Bree. Every time she cried out, it caused him mixed emotions. She was suffering. She was in unimaginable pain. Good! She had caused him trouble! Brought back painful memories! Challenged his authority! He hated her!

But it tore through him, each pitiful wail. He was hurting her. He steeled himself, bringing the chain down again.

Jones gritted his teeth after the fourth blow. Bree's back resembled raw, ground up meat. Jones growled out hoarsely, "It's a full dozen for ye, whelp!"

The chain came down the fifth time. Bree cried out again, but not as loud. She was slipping away.

Sixth time. She still cried out, sure she was going to die.

Seventh time. She simply sank down until her arms were the only thing holding her up, her vision exploding into colored stars and her body so afire with pain it hurt to breath.

Eighth time. That was all she remembered. She fainted, beaten into senselessness.

But Jones didn't stop. He finished the full dozen, even exceeding that number by four. He at last stopped, gripping the chain so tight that it had formed a wheal on his palm. He stood there, head bowed, shoulders shaking. The crew stood watching. They had never seen their captain this angry before. And never had they seen such cruel punishment. Bree was covered in blood, and no skin remained on her back. And barely any muscle remained.

Jones snarled, "Get her down below!"

Bootstrap was the first to hurry forward. He actually had blood running from his lip from biting it so hard. He untied Bree, kneeling down beside her. His eyes were misty as he tried to wake her. No one so young should ever have to go through something so horrible! He examined her back. Shards of metal were embedded in her skin. Being undead, Bree's back would heal quickly and the skin would grow back, but she would still have scars.

Jones watched as Bootstrap and another crewmember picked Bree up by her arms and legs, carrying her down to the hold. He steadied himself at the rail, shutting his eyes. Bree's scream still echoed through his mind. Why had he reacted like that? Why had he been so cruel? Because I hate 'er! he reminded himself.

And she lied to me. She had hurt him.

She lied to me…to save Jack Sparrow!

Bree woke, her back afire with pain. She lay on her stomach, and tried to make sense of what was happening. Suddenly, a sharp jarring stab of pain deepened in her back and she made a grunting noise. She heard Bootstrap say, "Hold fast, mate. I'm getting' out all these chain shards."

Bree bit down on her fist as he worked, flinching each time he pulled out the metal shards. She could hear Jones' organ, playing the same song as ever. The noise was magnified in her sore head, and each note pounded through her temples, causing her more pain. She tried to remember…pain…physical pain.

Emotional pain, too. Why had Jones been so…so cruel? It hurt her. C'mon, Bree, ye know he hates the very air ye breath! Why should it surprise ye?

Bootstrap finished taking out the chain links. He laid a seawater soaked rag over Bree's back, and though it stung, Bree could feel it cleansing and healing her wounds. Bootstrap stroked her shoulder and said, "Don't worry, mate. Ye'll heal faster than ye think."

Too tired to thank him, Bree fell back to sleep, Jones' song serving as a lullaby to her.

Bootstrap was right. When Bree woke, she angled her head around to look at her back. The long, jagged grooves had healed somewhat, only leaving long scars. They were ugly and crusted with blood, but Bree wasn't in as much pain. She could move without being truly stiff. I suppose that's one good thing about bein' undead. she thought.

Bree saw the crew all sitting together in a group. She swung down from her hammock, pulling on her shirt and jerkin. She went and took her place between Angler and Ratlin. Both crewmates looked at her, acknowledging her. They also looked impressed.

Clanker tipped his hat mockingly to Bree, "Well, little missy, ye woke at last!"

Bree didn't answer the jibe, able to read the respect in Clanker's eyes.

Bree tuned out as the others began another conversation. She only became interested when the discussion turned to music. Angler claimed that he had been a very good musician before he had been pressed into the crew. He stood, going to a satchel he kept in the corner.

Bree watched as Angler pulled out a small fiddle, looking at it a bit fondly, "Forgot how to play it, mates, but it sure did make pretty music!"

Bree, surprising all, stood, going to Angler and gently taking the instrument from him. Adjusting it to her chin and tuning up the wooden pegs, Bree set the bow to the strings. Then, the rod started moving up and down as she began playing a lively jig.

All the pirates looked at her, amazed. She had a wonderful skill with the fiddle! One or two of the grim characters actually started tapping their feet in time with the wild tune. Bree's eyes closed as she played, her style and form flawless as she continued with the tune.

Soon, the entire crew was clapping along to the tune, a few hoots and cheers coming from them as Bree played on. Bootstrap stood watching his young friend, pride shining from his eyes. Bree was truly a wild, untamable spirit! It was impossible to convert her to the ways of the Dutchman, and Jones would never break her!

Suddenly, the clapping and stomping stopped. Bree's fiddling dwindled.

Footsteps.

Jones entered the hold, his face unreadable, his tentacles moving almost lazily as he spoke in a calm voice, "What's this?" His eyes flicked over the crew.

Bree almost dropped the fiddle. The bow actually slid from her hands but her other hand gripped the neck of the fiddle so tight she thought she might break it. Her mouth was frozen open. Her back began to ache again.

Jones waited for someone to answer. But when no one volunteered, he looked to Bree. He focused on the fiddle, realizing that the skilled jig he had heard was her doing.

Striding up to Bree, he wrenched the fiddle from her hands, examining it. He then looked back at Bree, speaking in a low, dangerous voice, "I don't allow music or singin' on my ship."

Bree made a few sorry attempts to speak. But she at last gutted up her courage and said, "Don't ye…don't ye play an instrument yerself?"

Jones' tentacles turned purple, clenching and writhing. Bree stepped back, knowing she had said the wrong thing. She didn't want to be flogged by him again.

Jones growled, his teeth bared in a snarl. He thrust the fiddle back into Bree's hands, growling at the others, "'Tis no excuse for idlin', lads!"

When Jones had returned to the deck, probably to his cabin, Bree turned to her mates, shrugging. Jimmylegs, normally one to jeer at Bree, called out, "Play somethin' else, mate!"

Bree obliged, playing an old, well-known pirate chantey. Ratlin and Penrod started drumming on the floor, and Twins started singing a duet of the song. Clanker started singing along as well, and then Maccus joined in. Soon, the whole crew of the Flying Dutchman was singing along to Bree's fiddle. Bree grinned as she played. Jones couldn't do anything about it.

Jones could hear the fiddle's lively music as Bree played. Her skill was flawless. Being a gifted musician, Jones felt impressed. Of course, Bree had an array of talents and qualities and…no! He couldn't start thinking like that again!

Bree was strong. He had been impressed to find her standing. All the hatred that had burst out when he flogged her…he didn't know where it was now.

After a while, Jones couldn't stand it anymore. He had to go down and see what all was happening. He began walking towards the hold again. The music and singing was so loud that his footsteps were disguised. Bree always recognized his approach, but now it was dulled by the loud singing. He blended into the background, in a corner. He watched as Bree continued to play.

Bree suddenly stopped playing, but the singing went on as she held out the fiddle. Bootstrap stood up, taking the instrument from her. Bree leaned over and whispered something in his ear, and he smiled, nodding. Jones watched, fascinated, as Bootstrap began to play the fiddle. He was a gifted musician as well. Jones didn't know Bill Turner could play any instrument.

Bree went to the center of the group once more, and suddenly, to Jones' reluctant and surprised delight, she began to dance. Jones lost his breath. Her movements were so graceful, so nimble and quick! Her slim, lithe body moved with skill and agility. She twirled and swung her arms in the air, thoroughly losing herself in the moment. She was smiling, and the others were clapping and calling out encouragement, still singing along.

Jones pressed his tongue to the top of his mouth. It was dry. Bree looked so…so free, so wild, so…irresistible. No! No such thoughts. Hadn't he just shown everyone how he hated her? She wasn't his type!

But wasn't Bree a true pirate? A wild one, someone even Davy Jones couldn't control. Jones thought back to his love of long ago. She wasn't anything like Bree. She was cold, harsh and cruel, and she broke Davy's heart. But Bree…she might be rebellious and defiant towards him, but she was warm and inviting towards friends, had a hearty laugh and a beautiful smile. She was so different. She wasn't a lady. She was a female pirate. A warrior of the seas.

Bree was still cruel, even if she didn't mean to be. Did she know what she had done to Jones? Not even Jones knew what she had done to him. The hole in his chest where his heart should have been ached whenever he saw her.

The wheal from the chain was still on Jones' palm. He looked down at it, feeling wrath build in him. Self-loathing twisted a complicated knot in his chest. Why had he been so cruel? He had tried to make himself hate Bree. But he couldn't.

Davy Jones might have hated Bree when he first met her. But combined with the memories and the pain she brought back…she brought relief.

Feelings and memories are cruel. Even to the heartless.