Emma took a deep breath and once again tried to pull her arm away from the captain, with no more success than she'd had back on Jones's ship. She wondered if he'd noticed she was gone yet.
"I'm not going to run, you know," she said through gritted teeth, and he laughed.
"S'not runnin' I'd be worried about from you, my dear," he replied conspiratorially, glaring at one of his leering men. "In fact, my aim is to take care of you — clearly, Cap'n Jones is… slippin' in his treatment of the fairer sex, to leave you in such a state of undress."
She opened her mouth to protest that it was, in fact, her own decision to be dressed like this, because he had offered her alternative clothing, but then closed it again because she currently had no desire to defend the man.
"You mean to tell me you keep women's clothes in your cabin?" she deadpanned, and continued before her survival instinct could catch up to her tongue. "Huh. Learn something new everyday."
He laughed, but so loud that it sounded fake.
"I believe in bein' prepared for every possibility, Miss Anamaria," he said. "I may be an old sea dog, but every now and again I'll still entertain a woman, and sometimes she may… be wantin' a new outfit a'fore she leaves."
She knew what he was trying to imply, but there was something horribly ominous about the sentence anyway. "That's very… thoughtful of you," she replied hesitantly, stumbling as he ushered her to his cabin.
"Thank you," he said, with saccharine kindness. "You'll find several dresses of varyin' size in the wardrobe. I'd wager a few will fit you."
With that, he closed the door behind her, but at least he didn't lock it.
Part of her wanted to remain in the red dress, if only on stubborn principle, but it was starting to get cold and she was sick of feeling like a piece of meat around all these pirates, so she threw the doors of the wardrobe open and looked over the options.
Apparently, Blackbeard entertained far more women than he let on, or else he really did just like to dress up sometimes (a mental image that she indulged in for a moment, letting it ease her fear a bit) — fully half the wardrobe was dresses or skirts, in an array of colors between black and red and black, and in a range of styles between revealing and really revealing.
She rifled through the dresses, but none of them even kind of appealed to her and all of them exposed little less skin than her current outfit, so she inspected the rest of the clothing for anything that might fit.
Emma finally settled on the least-complicated skirt she could find, one of Blackbeard's shirts — or, at least, some man's shirt, but it did seem too small for the captain — and a leather vest which would serve the dual purpose of covering her chest and working as rudimentary armor. As an afterthought, she tied a long, bright-red scarf around her waist; it added color and, more importantly, she could use it as rope in a pinch.
She looked like a little kid playing at pirate: all the pirate elements in her outfit but none of the pirate weapons in her hand. She wrinkled her nose and began searching through his room for a spare knife or gun or letter opener or anything, but he… didn't keep them in his room.
Except where else would he keep them but in his room?
A creeping chill slithered up her spine.
.
Emma intended to make good and damn sure there weren't any weapons in the room before she stepped out of it; but in spite of the fact that Blackbeard's quarters were more homey than Jones's and he owned more trinkets and knick-knacks than Jones did, he had the exact same number of knives, guns, and anything she could use to defend herself.
Except maybe the scarf. It didn't really count as a 'hurt and/or kill this person attacking you' weapon, but scarves had a lot of potential uses, and it was (theoretically) possible that she could strangle someone with it.
She'd felt safer on Jones's ship, but maybe that had more to do with her emotions regarding the captain — after all, staying with him was courting death, and Blackbeard had gotten her away from him, and if she played her cards right, she could probably convince him to ransom her off to her parents.
Jones would come after her again, but she'd be prepared this time, and so would the entire standing army.
(Two could play at this 'callous' game.)
But it kept tickling at the back of her mind — why wouldn't Blackbeard have spare weapons in his room? If he'd intended to take prisoners, he certainly wouldn't have intended to keep them in his room, and he hadn't planned to take her in and keep her there, either. Unless he'd seen her on the bow, and had… nefarious purposes.
But then why leave her alone?
It didn't add up.
Unfortunately, there wasn't a damn thing she could do about it from here. Finally accepting that she was, once again, unarmed in hostile territory, Emma took a deep breath and opened the door, walking out onto the deck of the Queen Ann's Revenge.
Blackbeard's ship was darker than Jones's, both literally and metaphorically, which did nothing to quell the hysterical child in the back of her head constantly whispering that she was on a ghost ship. It didn't help that clouds were starting to gather in the sky, threatening rain; the bitter wind that had been driving them forward was showing off its dark side.
They were still going north.
.
Emma had never been one for beating around the bush.
"So, what are you really after?" she asked, arms crossed, looking up at Blackbeard (albeit from a reasonable distance, and close enough to the edge of the ship that she could leap overboard if the need arose). He blinked.
"Quite a bit o' gumption you have, dear," he replied ambiguously, "to be so disrespectful."
"It's not disrespect," she countered, even though it kind of had been, "but I'm not stupid. You didn't pick me up by accident."
"What would make you say such a thing, lass?"
She was reminded, forcibly, of the confrontation she'd had with Jones all the way back at the ball; she had been a lot safer then, but no less reckless. She just… wasn't going to get anywhere unless she took charge of something, especially since they were still going north — even if Blackbeard didn't have something up his sleeve with Regina, she needed to stay the hell away from her country regardless. Playing the ingenue or the spunky thief might have worked, but she didn't have time for any more games.
"Call it a hunch," she answered, trying to subtly take a deep breath to calm herself. "If you picked me up because you wanted me on your crew, why did you disarm me?"
"So you're thinkin' I've some… ulterior motive for allowin' you aboard, is that it?" he said slowly, in that vaguely mocking tone he'd used before. "What motive might that be, I wonder?"
Shit.
"I don't know," she replied, a bit too quickly, and something flickered in his eyes — he'd caught the lie. "Maybe you want to ransom me off to… Jones," she suggested, without really thinking about it.
"And maybe you're graspin' at straws, Anamaria, my dear," he said warmly, and condescendingly. "You've had a long day, no doubt you're tired. Best you rest a spell before dinner. Storm's comin' on anyhow, wouldn't want a green lass like yourself to get caught in it."
The dismissal could not have been clearer, and she was in too precarious a position to push any further. At least until she had figured out something more of his motives, and if it was actually safe to tell him the truth about her parentage — on the one hand, maybe he would agree to sell her to her parents, but on the other hand, maybe he would sell her to Regina.
And this far north…
She glanced to the south, but the encroaching weather obscured anything more than a dozen or so feet away.
.
She turned the coin over and over in her hand numbly; it was large, silver, and foreign — specifically, it was ten markka.
Markka.
Only one country used that coin.
Emma had gone searching in Blackbeard's cabin again after her 'confrontation' with him, looking for anything odd this time, rather than weapons, anything that might prove at least one of her suspicions right. She had found it, in a bag of coins he'd hidden under a loose floorboard.
She had almost just put the bag back because — well, obviously, the man was a pirate, so obviously, he would have money and, obviously, he would want to keep his own stash hidden from his crewmen, especially if it was money they didn't know about. But she'd looked inside anyway, and…
At least, she thought distantly, he'd been paid well.
She looked up when the door opened, letting in a howl of wind that she only blinked at, and Blackbeard walked in.
"My apologies, Anamaria," he said jovially, "but I'm afraid — "
"You know what I don't get?" she cut in, ignoring the fact that she had just interrupted Edward Teach, the vicious anger rising up through the numb fear shutting her rationality down hard. "Why you kept up the act after I was already on-board. What did you have to gain by doing that?"
"Excuse me?" he replied, voice low and cold and dangerous. She tilted her chin up, meeting his eyes, and threw the coin to him. He looked at it, raising an eyebrow. "So you dug through me quarters," he said through clenched teeth, "but you're still makin' no sense, lass. Captain keepin' a bit of shine to himself's hardly a thing for you to get worked up over."
"Please don't insult me, Captain," she said, matching his cold tone.
His eyes narrowed, and for a long moment they just stared at each other, until she started to wonder if maybe she'd been horribly wrong, but then he relaxed, shrugging, and took a seat. "Fair enough," he sighed finally, "I suppose I can grant you that dignity, milady."
She wasn't even sure why it made her so mad — this was a good thing! This could be her ticket home! But the fact that… she just…
Emma felt like a goddamn piece of eight, with all these people fighting over who got to kill her first. And maybe Blackbeard had scared her, and maybe she hadn't really trusted him, and maybe she'd known he was mocking her from the start, but at least he had tried to convince her that he wanted her on his crew because she had some measure of skill. At least she had, however briefly, been worth something for reasons other than her blood.
It was like she wasn't even human to all these pirates.
She took a deep breath. "Can you grant me the dignity of negotiation?" she asked quietly, forcing her voice to remain even. He raised an eyebrow but gave her a tiny nod. "Regina has already paid you to kidnap me from Jones, or at least paid you part of what you're promised. However much she's giving you, my parents can match it, or even give you more. And they will, they'll do whatever it takes to get me back. Hand me over to them, and I'll see to it that you get paid — and better than Regina is paying you — and you go free. No prison, nothing confiscated, you get off scot-free. Just take me home."
He laughed.
Laughed.
The bastard.
"Not a bad deal you're proposin' there, missy," he replied, crossing his arms and leaning further back in his chair. "But you're neglectin' a few details."
"Such as?"
"For one," he started, ticking it off on his finger, "your parents. Now, I'm not sayin' they won't pay me like you say, 'better than Regina,' but I am sayin' they'll not let me keep said gold."
"Yes, they will!" she countered loudly, anger threatening to burst out of her control. "My parents are honest people — "
"That they are," he interrupted, voice even louder. "And I don't trust honest people."
"What?" she snapped incredulously, and he heaved a sigh, like explaining this to her was such a burden. Her hackles rose further.
"Dishonest men, you can us trust to be… untrustworthy," he explained, "but an honest man? You can never know when he'll suddenly decide that betrayin' you is the right thing to do. Man like me trusts an honest man like your da, he's takin' a mighty risk. I can just see him decidin' to blow me right outta the water moment you're back safe in his arms."
She tried to refute him, but came up short. The truth was, she wasn't entirely sure Blackbeard was wrong. She knew her parents to be honorable and good, but she also knew her parents wouldn't be very forgiving toward her kidnappers.
Maybe they wouldn't kill him, but there was no way they wouldn't imprison him.
"I won't let him," she replied weakly, but he was already moving on.
"Furthermore, if I hand you back over to your honest pappy, once he's locked me up or killed me outright, ol' Cap'n Jones will be swoopin' right back in to take you right back to Regina like he promised her, which just negates the whole point of my takin' you in the first place."
"You mean you — " she started, but cut herself off before she said anything stupid. Of course he had cut a deal with Regina to get revenge on Jones, keep him from getting whatever Regina had agreed to give him.
It was, she had to admit, a great set-up from the queen's point of view: whatever she had promised Jones was something valuable and presumably powerful, and by enlisting him to do the dirty work of getting Emma away from her parents and enlisting Blackbeard to take her off Jones's hands, she would be able to still get her revenge on Snow, renege on her side of the deal with Jones, and set Jones up to hang for kidnapping Emma in the first place. Both she and Blackbeard would make out like bandits on the deal, while Emma and Jones would pay the price.
Also, it meant that she definitely couldn't convince Blackbeard to give her to her parents… but maybe she could use the information to convince Jones to double-cross Regina himself.
Presuming Jones caught up with them and re-took her.
"Right," she muttered darkly, crossing her arms and deciding to drop the subject; it wouldn't be getting her anywhere. "So how much longer till we reach land?"
"Two days, give or take, dependin' on the weather," he replied, getting back up and stretching with a grunt as he walked over to the wardrobe and pulled out a thick, oiled-leather raincoat.
"And will Regina meet us at port?" she whispered, praying internally that the answer was no.
"Can't rightly say," he answered, shrugging on his coat and making for the door. "We've made excellent time, so I'd guess not, but… well, Regina's a bit like me, isn't she?" he said cheerfully, opening the door and letting in another gust of wind, this time with mist involved — the clouds were about to burst. "The only thing you can expect her to be is unpredictable."
"That's not true," Emma replied, but either he didn't hear her or he didn't care.
"Now, seein' as how you've got me all figured out," he went on, "I see no reason 't'all to play extra-friendly." For a moment, she was confused, but then he walked out and shut the door behind him, and locked it this time.
Her hands clenched into fists.
She was so damn sick of being locked in people's rooms like a child in time-out.