"Jade Marion Reid."
Elizabeth turns a curious eye on the woman next to her. Jade is standing at the rail, arms crossed and shoulders hunched as she stares out into the misty wall that creates a thin veil between the place where the dead go to find peace and the rest of World's End.
"My name." The auburn haired woman elaborates. "Jade Marion Reid. Marion was meant to be it. But green eyes weren't common on either my mother's side or my father's, and I was born with them. So Jade I am."
"It should have been Turner, too." Elizabeth replies softly.
Jade glances at her. "Jade Marion Reid-Turner." She tests it out, and shakes her head. "I wished for it. I asked him. I wanted it for my son, tried to convince Will it would be only fair to Joshy, but…"
"He never denied the boy. Did he?"
"No. But he may as well have, refusing to make me his wife."
Elizabeth nods in understanding. "Perhaps it was for the best." She turns to stare out on the greyish expanse of water before them. "Pirates make for lousy husbands, I'm afraid."
"Pirates, I've found, aren't awful good for anything other than being the drunken scoundrels that they are." Jade snaps back, bitter. A pause, and she heaves a heavy, tired sigh. "But then, I wasn't much better at times. It's no wonder the children ended up as they did."
"Where you're going… it's not where the bad ones go." Elizabeth continues to stare ahead and keeps her voice level even as the hissing monster still pacing within her bristles. "Whether you'll face judgment for what sins you have committed, I cannot say, but you're intentions must have been pure enough. The gods have decided to grant you peace in the end. They don't do that for everyone." As of this moment, they wouldn't think of doing it for Elizabeth.
Jade looks over and seems to study her a moment. Then she just nods.
Elizabeth sends her off in a row boat, watching in silence as the other woman becomes shrouded in the wall of mist and disappears. Glancing down at the waters below her, wondering if her goddess has any pull here in this world between worlds, she speaks softly. "Well, there's one small mess cleaned up. It'll be a thousand more before I redeem myself, I imagine."
'A thousand more, a thousand years to work with.' Calypso replies in whispers that seem to surround Elizabeth.
"Hmm. How comforting."
'A thousand years, but never alone, my Lizzie.' The whispers seem to caress her now, like the feather light touch of her goddess.
Elizabeth lets out a breath. "No." She closes her eyes as she can almost feel her goddess pressing a kiss to her temple, and the monster within her calms once more. "Never alone again."
Freedom. He almost can't believe how close he is to it. He can see the beach from here, the harbor with all its ships silhouetted in the light of the sun, which has just sunk beneath the horizon. He wants that freedom so badly he actually fidgets where he's seated in the middle of the long boat between the older lady pirate and another of Turner's crew, a large, brutish African with an assortment of strange tattoos adorning his skin. The trouble is, even once he sets foot on land, he still won't be very free at all. He'd underestimated Turner, and it had lost him his ship and quite possibly all but one of his crew. Except, really, he'd lost even Connelly; with the way Turner had been working him, it's likely the boy's as much a pirate as she and the rest of her crew by now.
Timothy Andrews left with a simple mission: deliver the letter's to Turner, be as diplomatic as possible in doing so. He's returning with less than nothing to show for it. This doesn't bode well for him. He supposes he'll just go ahead and resign his commission, before the Admiral suggests it for him. Perhaps he'll be allowed to keep what very little dignity he may still have left.
Trying to allow his mind to stray from such unpleasant thoughts, he takes to studying the woman before him. She's not much to look at in comparison to her captain, is shorter and sturdier and wears men's clothing, just oversized enough to hide feminine curves. She must have been quite a beauty once, he thinks, with those full black curls and pretty hazel eyes. That's not to say some of this beauty isn't still very evident, but her features have been weathered by a few years at sea, at the least. He suspects she was no English lily to begin with, however. Though her accent hints at London, her complexion and an attitude feisty enough to rival Turner's hints at something else.
"Is it your mother or your father?" He asks, his thoughts swimming their way out past his lips without his permission. The question is entirely impertinent, but with it in mind that he's no longer fit to hold rank in his Majesty's Navy, he can't bring himself to care so much.
The woman's brows furrow, a confused scowl contorting her features. "Excuse me?"
"You're complexion hints at Latin blood, particularly combined with those raven curls. I am curious, is it your mother or your father who contributed these features?"
She eyes him with hardened hazel eyes, perhaps trying to figure him out. After a moment, she shrugs, careless. "My mother was from Spain."
He nods. "She must have been a beautiful woman – forgive me. I should have better control of my tongue."
She raises a brow at him. "Perhaps, but I'm hardly complaining if you meant to imply that I take after her."
"That was the idea." He replies, a little softer. "Anyway, I only ask because I knew a woman not long ago, another raven haired Latin beauty. She was almost my wife. You remind me of her, a little."
"Almost your wife?" Vague curiosity colors the tone of the woman across from him now.
He's not sure why he just told her that. But then, this is the closest he's come to friendly contact with anyone else in a number of days, so any kind of conversation is welcome. "Almost." He says, softer. "She was – taken from me." By pirates, in fact, but he's too weary now to conjure any venom to put behind his words.
"'Taken from you'. You're not talking like she's passed on." A pause, he doesn't answer, though a bit of a scowl makes its way onto his face. The lady pirate nods. "She left, then."
He straightens up, clearing his throat. "I might well be better off, if I'm terribly honest. She didn't much like who she had to thank for how well I kept her."
"Enough that she chose to run off instead of put up with you? Smart girl."
"Hm. She was. That's what made her running off so much a surprise."
The lady pirate shakes her head before peering around Andrews to the man behind him. "This is far enough." She takes out a knife and reaches forward to cut the ropes binding Andrew's wrists.
Freedom. He's so, so, so very close… "You're accent. It's smoother than that any pirate I've met before, I'd be quite willing to bet you didn't start out as one. What are you doing out here, taking orders from the likes of Turner?"
She hesitates, a look that is halfway between a scowl and a grimace contorting her features. The boat beneath them begins rocking on waters that are choppier than they were not long ago, and she glances skyward. "Winds are changing." She finally replies, gruffer than before. "Storms brewing, I'll wager. You'd best get moving if you want to make it to shore."
She's not wrong, but he wants an answer. "What's your name?" He asks, a little more tentative.
"Jo Gibbs." She replies, wary, but she obviously doesn't believe she has anything to lose by giving him this.
He studies her. "Short for Josephine, I would imagine. Beautiful name, that, and not the most common." She hesitates, nods once. "Tell me, Miss Gibbs. Does the name 'Nathaniel Archer' mean anything to you?" Ah, he's hit a nerve. All at once her hazel eyes harden, dangerous this time, and before he knows it there's a pistol leveled at his head. "Is that a yes?" He asks, brazen.
"That was my husband's name, but you'll know all about that I expect."
"He was a friend."
"He was a cruel, abusive bastard, as were most of the men he called 'friends', and since I now know they were all working for the Admiral…"
"He spoke of you often. If what he said was true, you won't shoot me." He goes rigid when she cocks the pistol.
"The woman he knew wouldn't have. I'm telling you to get moving before I decide to paint this here boat a lovely shade of red."
He glances over her shoulder, eyeing up the shore in the distance behind her. Sweet, sweet freedom is just too close. "Very well, then. I look forward to seeing you again, Missus Archer." It's a promise, and with it, he leaves her…just in time, too. The lady pirate wasn't kidding it seems; he hears the pistol fire just before he hits the water.
Night has fallen, the stars blinking into existence one by one. A sea salt breeze sweeps across the room, growing stronger, and lamps mounted on stone walls begin to flicker dangerously. At the far end of the room, the warm, humid air sweeps across a large desk, stirring papers and putting out a lone candle. The room's sole occupant sets down the paper in his hand and pushes away from the desk, getting to his feet and glaring at the window which someone had thought to leave open for him. It is hurricane season here, and the storms that brew are sudden and frequent, if not all disastrous. It's enough to leave one quite homesick for England. Striding across the room, having it in mind to shut the offending window, he pauses as he looks out upon the vast, dark expanse of blue giving way to a starry horizon. As sharp green eyes search the increasingly choppy waters, he thinks he can just make out the silhouette of a ship making its way back out to open sea…
Footsteps echo through the corridor leading to the study, entering the room in urgency. "Admiral, sir." A younger voice addresses the man at the window.
The Admiral turns, hands clasped behind his back. "Lieutenant."
"You've a visitor, sir." The young man pauses.
"At this hour?" The Admiral shakes his head, strolling back over to his desk. "It can wait until morning, I am sure."
"…an especially eager visitor, sir." The lieutenant goes on, somewhat hesitant. "He was found at the beach, washed ashore, exhausted but he insisted upon seeing you immediately when he learned you were here. He says you will want to see him, sir."
Intrigued at the very least, the Admiral nods. "Very well, then. Send him in."
The lieutenant disappears, and for a moment the Admiral is again left in silence. He takes the moment to straighten his desk back out and relight the candle, and then waits somewhat impatiently. He had, in fact, been intending to retire for the night quite soon, and hopes this 'eager visitor' will be worth his trouble.
He's not disappointed.
Heavier footfalls sound down the corridor, and a tall, broad shouldered man appears, hovering in the doorway. He looks every bit the tattered castaway; is wearing the stained and worn remnants of a Navy uniform, sans his hat and wig, and is bearded with hair grown longer than he tends to keep it. He looks exhausted, but there's an edge of determination there as well, and the Admiral waves him forward emphatically.
"Captain Timothy Andrews, as I live and breathe! Please, do come in. Dear Lord, I had thought you quite lost to the sea after hearing of your ships ill fate!"
"Not much a Captain any longer, I'm afraid, sir." Timothy Andrews replies tightly, coming to stand before the Admiral with hands clasped neatly behind his back, which goes ramrod straight. "I intend to hand in my resignation as soon as I can write it up, but sir, first I've much to tell you about just where I have been."
"Resignation?" The Admiral is, quite genuinely, shocked. "Best not to be too hasty now, Mister Andrews. Tell me what you must first, and then we will discuss what's to be done with you. Lieutenant!" He calls for the young man who had played messenger earlier.
He appears promptly. "Sir?"
"Down to the kitchens with you, wake whoever's in charge down there. I should think the Captain here could do with a cup of tea at the least."
"Aye, sir." The Lieutenant disappears again.
Crossing the room to close the door, the Admiral turns back to the man who had been his most trusted friend. "Sit. You look a fright."
Andrews relaxes a fraction, glancing down at himself as though only just realizing what a state he is in. Apparently too tired to argue, he collapses into the chair before the desk and just next to him. "Forgive me. These past months have been – long and trying."
"Indeed, it would appear so. Where have you been, then, that you have so much to explain?"
"Why, sir, can you not guess? My ship was sunk by none other than Captain Peg Leg Turner. I have been a prisoner on her ship all the long weeks since."
"Prisoner. On the Sea's Queen?" The Admiral cannot help the urgency that seeps into his tone. "In such a case, I would be only too pleased to hear what it is you've found out, but," a pause as he comes to sit next to Andrews, "tell me first, for this I must know now. Has she, to your knowledge, come to discover any new gifts granted her by this goddess she worships so faithfully?"
Andrews looks perplexed a moment, but realization dawns all too soon. "Indeed I believe she has, if I am not mistaken as to what you are referring, sir. From what I have heard and what little I've seen, she is becoming quite the force to be reckoned with. Though, it does not seem she is well in control of these gifts."
"No, no, I don't imagine she will be for some time yet, but that is of little consequence. I had begun to worry she would not…" A pause, the Admiral gets to his feet, circles around to stand behind his desk, leans forward and slams his hands down upon it. "Yes! Oh, yes."
"Sir?" Andrews questions, hesitant.
There's a knock at the door. The Lieutenant peers into the room, and with a wave from the Admiral a short, plump older woman makes her way in, carrying a silver tray laden with cups and a pot of tea, along with milk and sugar and biscuits. "Here you are, sir. Had a feeling about tonight, I did. Tea was already brewing." She sets the tray down on the desk just before Andrews, whom she glances at with eyes that turn wide and fretful. The Admiral waves her off before she can begin fixing the tea for them, and she scurries back out all too eagerly.
Andrews seems unperturbed by the maid's reaction to him. In fact, he begins fixing himself a cup of tea with haste, snatching the biscuits up to be eaten unceremoniously, easily forgetting himself, but the Admiral doesn't begrudge him this. He allows the other man a moment to enjoy the small luxuries.
"Andrews, my good man." He says, regaining his own composure after the earlier outburst he'd allowed himself. "Do you realize what this means?"
Andrews sets his teacup aside, empty already, unabashed. "No, sir, I'm afraid I don't."
"It means everything will go just as I planned! We may have to be patient still for a while yet. Power such as that which she has just discovered is not easily controlled, and we cannot have her while she is so volatile as she must be now, but I promise you, we will have her."
"We?" Andrews shakes his head. "Sir, I tell you, once you hear my full account –"
"Nonsense." The Admiral cuts him off firmly. "I've no doubt you acted as well as any man could have under the circumstances, and no one now knows Turner so well as you do, I am sure. I'll not here another word of you resigning."
Straightening some, Andrews nods stiffly. "Aye, sir. What comes next, then?"
Andrews crosses the room, back to the window, staring out to where the ship had been earlier. The Sea's Queen, he suspects it was now. It should frustrate him, how close she was, but he remains unbothered. As things stand now, it's possible the Captain will be of little use to him. "For now, I'm afraid, we shall have to continue on as we have been. She'll be far too volatile, as I said, and she'll be on her guard. I'll need her more comfortable, less ready for me, if my plan is to work."
"How much longer can this plan of yours wait, Admiral?"
The Admiral's eyes harden as he continues to stare out to sea and thinks of the driving force behind all his actions. "As long as it takes."
Because patience is key, as you taught me James, my dear brother, and I shall only grow stronger in the meanwhile. We will have her.
And then we will have all their heads, once and for all.
"What's our heading now, then, Cap'n?" Jo, stationed at the helm and staring ahead into the brewing storm.
Emily glances down at the compass in her hands. For a moment she just fiddles with it, trying to tell herself what she wants is whatever will put a few coins back in her pocket. She flips it open – and grimaces. It seems to be pointing her in the same direction. It's always pointing her in the same direction. She knows because she maps it out every now and then with some of the charts in her cabin. There are many things she wants. Some of them are things she could obtain with relative ease. But the one thing she wants most is now so far out of her reach…
"Cap'n?" Jo questions, glancing down at the compass.
Emily shuts it again and heaves a sigh. Maybe it's not pointing her to him, maybe she's managed to change her own mind, but she doubts it enough not to trust the stupid thing. "Through this storm." She answers finally, shooing Jo away to take the helm herself. "And then to Shipwreck. Got some questions I think Ana might be able to answer."
"That'll mean explaining to ole Captain Teague…"
"That Alex met some other little strumpet and not only conjured up but executed a plan to run off, a plan which had nothing whatsoever to do with little ole me?" Peg replies, smooth as ever. "Because just look at me, why would it have? Everyone knows by now; Alex Sparrow could get his hands on the prettiest, richest girl in the world and still not be satisfied for long, no different than Uncle."
Jo shakes her head, rolling her eyes with fond exasperation. "Aye then, Shipwreck it is." And with this she stalks off.
Peg grips the helm tighter as the waters beneath them grown choppy, the wind picking up. Lightning flashes, and she smiles defiantly, deciding it's all Alex's loss, really. The rains start pouring down, and she hums the familiar tune. "…a pirate's life for me."
~-~-~-~
Weeks Later, Port Royal
~-~-~-~
"Mister Teague!"
Alex closes his eyes and just manages to hold back a grimace as the all too familiar voice of the old crone he's been working for screeches his name. He's lost count of how many times she's called for him since he came in early this morning, whether it be for some manner of heavy lifting, or to dart about helping customers in the front of the shop as the old woman kept busy in the large kitchens. He could swear he's never met a woman so bossy – well. Not counting her, because she is a different matter entirely and one he's not going to think about just at the moment because… "Aye, ma'am!" He calls out, respectful, cutting short his own thoughts as he slips into the next room to face his employer.
"I'm short several measures of both flour and sugar, and I've still got at least three dozen of those pastries to fix for the ball up at the new mansion." She goes on, sounding harried as she continues mixing up whatever's in the bowl held firm in her one arm. "I'm not half flattered the lady liked them so much," she goes on, muttering, "but she could've given me a bit more warning, you know."
He's already crossed back into the stores front room and is slipping on the plain coat and hat he'd acquired, hasty and cheap, when the old woman had agreed to hire him. "Can't have any boy of mine looking like a ragamuffin. This is Port Royal, and we've got the Admiral himself to impress these days."
"Another sack of flour and sugar each, I'm on it, ma'am." He calls back.
"Make it two each, I can afford it for what their paying me up at that mansion and it always best to be prepared."
That'll make for quite a trek back through town on Alex's part, but then, that's how he'd got the job. His lean, tough frame had provided the old woman with just the muscle she'd been lacking since her son 'ran off to marry'. "Aye, ma'am." He scolds himself, he's not on a ship anymore, it should probably be 'yes, ma'am', but the old woman doesn't seem to mind.
"And Alex!" She calls again, this time peering into the stores front room, stopping him just as his he's opened the door. "Make it back within half an hour and you can have the rest of the evening off. Make it back in half that time, I'll send you off with a few extra shillings for good measure." She winks.
He smiles back, genuine. She's bossy, but not above making sure he gets what he's earned in return. "Aye, ma'am." And he hurries out the door.
.
Fifteen minutes may have been optimistic. It seems especially hot today somehow, even with the sun beginning its daily decent down through the sparsely clouded blue sky. With all four sacks resting on his shoulder, weaving his way back through town is proving a bit of a challenge. He can't be sure of how much time has passed, but it sure feels like forever, and those extra shillings would be enough to buy him a far more decent meal than what he's been scrounging up as of late.
He's carried rum barrels far heavier than all the small sacks on his shoulder, he ought to be able… he picks up the pace to a light jog, darting through the towns crowded shopping district. Why is it so crowded this evening? Shouldn't all these rich folks be getting ready for that high toned and fancy to-do at the…
Well, no, best not to tempt fate by thinking of that either. Alex has been lucky – he'd cleaned himself up as best he could, and with the addition of clothes more befitting a proper landlubber than a pirate's son, no one had glanced twice at him. But he can't forget that it's the Admiral himself currently residing in that pretty, newly-refurbished mansion atop the hill.
Then again, it's entirely possible that Alex is just – nobody. Not a threat unless in the company of Peg Leg Turner, in all her increasingly-infamous glory.
Blast and bugger it! He's not going to think about her!
A woman's soft scream pulls him back to reality, just before he topples to the ground and the sacks along with him. More than a little dazed, the wind thoroughly knocked out of him, it takes him a very long moment to process what's just happened. There's a crowd quickly gathering, some thinking to ask if he's quite alright, most hovering over the cream colored figure across from him…
Oh. "Oh, bugger!" He mutters aloud this time, the word slipping past his lips without him intending them to. Thankfully, no one's paying attention to him. He shoots to his feet with all haste and reaches out a hand to the slight, long haired figure they are fussing over. "I'm so sorry, miss, please forgive me, miss, I wasn't – I didn't – are ye alright?" A small, delicate hand takes the one he's offering her and she stands, looking up at him with an expression that hints at anger and indignation – but then she freezes, as does he. Sky blue eyes gaze up into chocolate brown ones, and he finds he can't look away.
Someone nearby clears their throat; Alex tears his eyes away to find it's the old woman, hands planted on her hips, one eyebrow raised at him. Somehow, he had made it all the way back to the bakery, but at the moment those extra shillings are the last thing on his mind.
The girl makes a noise, a soft mew, and he turns back to her only to find that her flawless, porcelain cheeks have flushed a most becoming shade of red. His first instinct is to drop her hand, as he's hardly worthy to even be within ten feet of so exquisite a creature as the one stood before him…but he's not a boy, or a bumbling whelp. He keeps her hand, and bows a bit in respect, waiting for her to take it back. "Miss. My sincerest apologies." He offers again, more collected this time.
She takes her hand back and holds her chin high as she responds. "I'm sure you had reason for rushing so, but might I suggest you watch where you are going on a street so busy?"
"And miss the chance at takin the 'and o' so lovely an English lily?" He replies softly, just the hint of that Sparrow smirk tugging at the corner of his lips, because old habits die very, very, bloody obnoxiously hard.
To his relief, there's a smile lighting up her eyes now. "If you've always a remark like that on the tip of your tongue, I'd suppose you could have many a woman lining up for your attentions, and that way would prove much more pleasant for all involved, I am sure."
"True enough." The smirk grows a bit, but he tempers it as an older lady comes up beside the girl before him.
"Imogene? You've soiled your dress, what on earth have you been up to?"
The girl, Imogene, eyes Alex up discreetly, leaving him to sweat a moment perhaps? "Oh, it's alright mother. I've to go home and change for this evening, anyway."
Alex lets out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.
The older woman is eyeing Alex up now even as she answers her daughter. "Indeed. We really must be going, actually." She moves on, giving Alex a wide birth as she goes around him.
Imogene hesitates, though. "May I have a name, sir?"
"Alex – Alexander Teague." He replies, remembering to use the name he'd given the old woman, because the name 'Sparrow' is still a little too well known for him to keep using it. Particularly in these parts.
"Alexander Teague." She tests the name out, as though to commit it to memory. She graces him with a smile, and gives him a small curtsy. "Imogene Ellsworth. Perhaps I shall see you again."
"One might even 'ope under circumstances a might more pleasant." He replies, seamless.
"Come, now, Imogene!" Her mother's voice calls out, scolding.
"Good day, Mister Teague." Imogene leaves him with, softly, slipping past him to follow her mother.
The sacks laying at his feet now entirely forgotten, he turns to stare after her with an expression so awestruck, Emily would have given him a slap were she here. "Good day." He murmurs in return. And with that turns a whole new chapter in the life of Alex Sparrow.
I'm not sure I've really made this clear in-story so far, although I tried to make the age differences obvious. So I'll go ahead and point some things out. Emily we know is now 19, and Alex has a good year on her. Then I have Adrienne, who we're going to see some more of in the coming chapters; she's about 25. Then there's Jo, who's just over 30.
I have the Admiral as having been the second youngest of that family's siblings, keeping in mind there are nine of them, and I'm sure I don't need to spell it out by now who his brother was. James would've been the eldest.
With that said, thanks for reading. :)