Chapter XVII
Davy's Lady
Bree looked down at the bag of coins that Jack had handed her. She looked back up at him, her cheeks flushed, "No, I won't take yer money! I don't need it!"
Jack silenced her with a raised hand and then knelt to hug her. He then drew away, speaking, "Now, missy, how d'ye expect to make money here? Just to hold ye over. I doubt ye'll be here long, will ye?"
Bree smiled slightly. He was right. She wouldn't be on Tortuga for long. When a next pirate crew was taking on members, she would leave this rock of an island.
Bree walked with Jack as far as the pier, and then waved as he boarded the Pearl.
Bree stood watching the black sailed ship heading back out to sea, out to look for the heart of Davy Jones. Bree had refused to go with them. She knew that Will was in favor of killing Jones, and Jack might be. Bree didn't want any part in that.
Bree at last lost sight of the ship as darkness rolled in around Tortuga. She turned, going back toward the sound of the normal Tortuga chaos.
Making her way to the door of the Faithful Bride Tavern, Bree then made her way through the brawl to buy a pint of grog. Then she purchased a small room and made her way up to it, trying hard to not spill her drink, even though she lost a few drops, much to her dismay.
Once she was safely up the small flight of stairs and in the small, dimly lit room, Bree locked the door. The noise was somewhat dulled, but every once in a while a splinter of wood would come dislodged as someone let fly a stray bottle or bullet in the tavern down below.
Bree sat down on the small, bare cot, taking a small strip of paper from her pouch. Before the crew of the Pearl had left, Bree had gone to Gibbs and requested him to write something for her. Being a kind, fatherly figure, Gibbs agreed and wrote in large letters.
Bree looked down at the medallion hanging about her neck. Then she took a small shard of flint. She went to the table, scooting a candle near to make the lighting better.
Bree laid the parchment out, studying it. Gibbs had good handwriting. She couldn't read the words, but she knew he had written what she asked. Gibbs was an honest pirate.
Bree took her medallion from around her neck, laying it down flat on the table. Then, tool in hand, Bree began to scratch the letters into the flat side of the medallion. She couldn't write, but she followed the markings on the parchment exactly.
Bree worked for hours, etching away. Her back hurt as well as her eyes from the low light, but when she finished, she stretched, brushing off the medallion. It was perfect! The carving was beautiful, the words perfect. Bree smiled.
Pulling on her cloak, Bree pulled the hood over her head and went down the stairs of the inn. She disappeared through the back way, unseen by all.
Bree found a few horses tied up outside the stables. Untying one, she swung on bareback, nudging it with her knees. She might have been a pirate but she knew how to ride. The horse ran at a swift canter along to the cliffs, high above the town of Tortuga and far away from it.
When they reached the highest point, Bree slid off, patting the horse's neck. The sky was as dark as the sea, and the horizon was undistinguishable. Bree went to the edge of the cliff, removing her hood. Her hair swayed gently in the sea breeze. Waves crashed against the rocks below.
Bree took out the medallion. She held it close, closing her eyes and simply standing there, letting memories flood back.
She was on the bowsprits of the Flying Dutchman.
Bree opened her eyes. Back on the sea cliff above Tortuga. The girl blinked back a tear. She clenched the chain tighter in her hands. She held it out, the little medallion swinging back and forth. Then, Bree drew back her arm and threw it out.
The necklace flew through the air, and then plummeted down. Bree was too high up to see if it hit, but she knew it did. She could feel it. She stood looking down for a while longer, and then let her gaze travel up to the horizon again.
A lone ship was sailing through the night, only visible from the highest point of the island. Bree smiled softly. The Dutchman.
Jones slammed his claw down on the keys of his organ, resulting in a loud boom. Frustration was making him violent. He could hear the crew, bickering again. He rose slowly, blinking back the film from his eyes. Then he made his way on deck.
Oldhaddy and Clanker was both pulling at something, yelling out oaths and curses at each other. Jones separated the two and growled out, "What's this?"
Clanker reluctantly held something out. Jones snatched it from him, looking from Oldhaddy to Clanker. Then he looked down at the object. The breath caught in his throat.
Bree's medallion!
"Where did ye find this?" Jones asked in a low voice.
"'Twas tossed up by a wave, sir," Clanker answered, looking to Oldhaddy.
Jones choked back something, and then said in a thick voice, "As ye were."
The crew all looked at their captain's retreating form. He'd been spending a lot of time in his cabin. He was always brooding.
Jones closed his door, locking it for the first time. He looked down at the medallion. He tenderly stroked it. He caressed it, marveling at how warm it was. Even after floating in the icy water, Bree's warmth had clung to it.
Jones turned the medallion over, his eyes misting over. Three words had been painstakingly carved in.
For my captain.
Jones clenched the medallion in his hand, pressing his fist to his forehead. Why did I have to lose my heart all over again?
Jones looped the chain around his neck, hiding it beneath his shirt and his beard of tentacles. He would wear it always. But he would never show it to anyone. It would remain as secret as his feelings.
Jones left his cabin then, vowing silently, I will never speak her name again. Unless the storm of the sea breaks loose.
Jones was right. Bree was like a sea storm. He was the sea, she was the storm. She was wild. And she stirred him, infuriated him, unsettled him, but at the same time calmed him. She had breached the wall of memories, and built her own.
She had made him love her.
Bree yawned, lifting her head from the mattress of her cot and stretching out her arms, flexing her muscles and sighing contentedly. Her headache from the night before had worn off. She made a groggy mental note to never drink that much rum all at once. Though she did get a good fight out of it. She had left three men unconscious and another with a broken leg. Bree smiled, remembering. Jones would be proud, she decided. He seemed to admire her feisty nature, even though he never tried to show it or tell her. He couldn't. But now Bree could sense his feelings for her. Even if they were apart.
Rising from the cot, Bree stretched again, arching her back and moaning in pleasure. She then reached for her jerkin, going to the small shard of mirror in the corner. She twisted around and looked at her back. Bree had expected those fins to go away. It had been almost a month. But nothing about Bree's transformed state had changed back to the way it had been.
Maybe her heart was still with the Dutchman.
No…it's with the captain.
Bree sighed, slipping on the jerkin and buckling her belt and tying her sash around her waist. Then she shook out her hair, combing through it with her fingers. Then she quickly braided it and strapped on her sword. Then, unlocking the door, she left, descending the stairs and going out into the hectic air of Tortuga.
Bree had earned a reputation in Tortuga. At least among the regulars. She was identified by her strange fangs and the broadsword she carried slung over her back. They all knew her as a fierce fighter and a tough, formidable pirate. Most were surprised she hadn't joined a crew yet. But no one had approached her. Most were a bit uneasy at the thought of having her on board.
Bree wasn't discouraged. She was somehow certain that something would come her way. Little did she know…
Jimmylegs stood at the railing of the Dutchman. Clanker climbed up the side, saluting as Jones came on deck, looking anxious.
Clanker threw back his hood, shaking slime from the hem as he spoke, "She's there, sir. Stayin' at that little inn."
Jones nodded, not looking at anyone as he digested the information. Without thinking, he spoke in a gruff voice, "How's she look?"
Clanker, not prepared for this question, answered hesitantly, "She…looks…like a bored whelp too stuck up to take a job as a wench…which is the only thing she's good for!" At this a few chuckles broke out.
Jones felt anger boiling inside him. He had a sudden urge to tear the hide from Clanker's back! Tortuga wench indeed…the very idea made Jones' blood grow hot. Bree was too honest a girl to do something like that. She was a pirate, not a wench!
Bored, eh?
Jones felt an idea strike him. Why not bring a little adventure Bree's way? He knew that would make her happy. Why not drive some ships to Tortuga? Some proper pirate ships?
Jones felt a smile threaten to show as he inwardly said, She's cursed in her own way. She doesn't want to leave the sea.
Bree sat on a crate, banging her heels against the wood, drumming out a beat and humming her beloved captain's tune. She gazed lazily out at the busy harbor. Nothing today. No one approached her, and she was glad. Nothing but rag tag crews and fishing boats.
Sighing, Bree slammed her left heel against the crate extra hard. Would she be stuck here forever? She had been so used to never even seeing land on the Dutchman.
I would take another floggin' if it meant feelin' the spray on my face.
Bree opened her eyes, feeling a soft breeze blow in from the sea to caress her face. The smell of the salty air brought a pang of homesickness to Bree. The sea was her home. Now she was stranded on Tortuga. Everyone was too frightened to let her join their crew.
Bree sighed heavily. Was it just her, or did a long, deep sigh answer her back?
It was like any other night in Tortuga; loud, hectic and dangerous. Bree sat in the tavern, her second tankard of rum sitting at her elbow, half empty. It was late, but Bree wasn't tired. And even if she had been, she wouldn't have gone to bed. Somehow she had a feeling that something would happen.
Several brawls had broken out, but Bree had stayed out of them, a surprising accomplishment. Somehow, Bree felt she should stay sober and intact this evening. Something was going to happen.
And happen it did, far into the night.
Bree leaned her elbow on the table, looking about lazily. She drummed her fingers on the tabletop as she observed a man enter the tavern. He was a pirate captain, she could tell. He commanded authority and looked like a tough old sailor. And by the way he was scanning the room, she could tell he was looking for a crew. Her heart began beating about one hundred times faster, her excitement growing.
The pirate's gaze landed on Bree. She lowered her eyes, sensing his approach. She didn't speak until spoken to, her throat pulsing so hard she couldn't swallow.
Bree heard the clink of coins as a small purse was dumped on the table near her. She looked up. The man was grinning at her. He pulled out a chair and sat down. Bree looked at the purse and then, sick with disappointment, scooted it across back to him, saying roughly, "Ye're lookin' in the wrong place, mate."
The man chuckled, speaking in a coarse voice, "I ain't lookin' for that sort o' thing, missy, though ye are very pretty. I've heard of ye. Bad Luck Bree. Crewed the Flying Dutchman. Recognize ye from the broadsword."
Bree looked up again. Word traveled fast. She glanced back down, fingering the hilt of her dagger so as not to seem so eager, "Well, what of it?"
The purse was pushed back to her side of the table, "Me ship was driven here in a storm. Lost several men. I'm lookin' for a new crewmember. I could always use a good fighter like ye. True pirate is what ye are, marm. Though ye're a bit young to be a marm, aren't ye?" He grinned.
Bree made a growling noise but picked up the purse, jangling it experimentally. "This all I get out of it?" She would have taken it anyway, but still…
The man laughed again, "Piratin' is its own reward, Miss Bree. My ship is called the Bloodmast. Ye must be bored here. I don't think of ye as one to sit about drinkin' all hours. The rascals that come here wouldn't leave ye alone if they didn't know who ye were."
Bree was beginning to act interested. She pricked up her ears, "Where are ye headed?"
The man smiled, "Nowhere in particular, missy. Just wherever I please."
Bree grinned, "Just where I need to go."
The old pirate grinned back, rising, "Then ye'll join me crew?"
Bree rose as well, gripping his extended hand and shaking it, "Aye, sir. An' what might I call ye?"
The man smiled broadly, saying, "Ye'll refer to me as Cap'n Barbossa."
This left Bree in no doubt. Her adventures weren't even close to over.
The Bloodmast was a good vessel, and Bree grew as attached to her as she had to the Goresail. She worked her way up to be Barbossa's first mate, one of the fiercest pirates in the Caribbean.
Barbossa was impressed by Bree and very fond of her. But he had no idea that she was a lucky charm for him.
Bree was keeping off the Flying Dutchman.
Jones made a point of purposefully crossing paths with the Bloodmast. However, the Dutchman kept hidden. Jones' eyesight was good. He would simply stand and watch his young pirate maid at work, fingering the medallion around his neck.
Jones had vowed never to attack the Bloodmast. Not while Bree was one of its crew. Many times he was tempted to stop the ship and board her, just to see Bree. But he couldn't be selfish. Bree couldn't have him in her life. He had to stay away from her. Watching her from a distance would have to do.
Bree's crewmates thought the young girl odd. She was a true pirate, and all loved her, but she was somewhat strange. Of course, they all knew her story. She was commonly known as the Flying Dutchman's crewgirl. But they didn't know all of the story. No one knew all of it. Only Bree and Davy Jones.
Bree never slept below if the night was calm and clear. She would sleep on deck, under the stars, facing the open sea. And she would rise early in the morning and sit near the bow, singing softly. All of her mates had asked her to sing the song to them. And she had, telling of her life's story.
This morning was no different. Bree sat by the bow, singing gently, her song the same as ever. But she had changed one verse. The lines My soul belongs to Davy Jones, unwillin' and unforgivin' were changed to the words My heart belongs to Davy Jones, it has no other master.
Bree closed her eyes as she sang, letting a single tear trickle from her eye. She finished singing, giving a shuddering sigh as she gazed out across the waves. Somewhere…somewhere out there…she was somewhere out there. The Dutchman. And her captain, too. The Dutchman's captain.
And Bree's captain.
Jones stood at the railing of the Dutchman, looking out over the waves. He looked as if he was concentrating on something. If one of the crewmembers made any loud noises he would hold up his claw and snarl for silence.
The crew all looked at one another, unsure of what to think. It was like this every morning. He would stand there for a long time in the mornings, just gazing out over the water and ordering silence.
He was listening.
Jones could hear Bree singing. She had such a beautiful voice. It was almost too low for a girl's but too melodious for a boy's. And her song…
When the song was finished, Jones felt his shoulders slump slightly. He wished she would keep singing. He remembered first hearing her sing the song, when she was at the wheel of the Dutchman. Why had he never realized how beautiful she was then? Why had he never understood what he had felt all along in his very soul? Why hadn't he…why hadn't he told her sooner?
Because he was afraid. Afraid she would reject him. Afraid she would laugh. Afraid she would cry out in horror and repulsion. Afraid she was shudder at his touch. But he was wrong. She had shown him in more ways than one.
She loved him.