Adult-FanFiction.org : Movies

Whispers of Redemption	By : GeorgieFain Category: Pirates of the Caribbean (All) > General Views: 2243 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the Pirates of the Caribbean movie series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 13
- 14
- 15
Year Twenty-three

The New Physiker

Five years and he had yet to regain his lady, the Black Pearl, or repay Hector Barbossa for the betrayal of their unspoken oaths, as matelots. Jack Sparrow felt no closer to peace, but there was something to be said for momentary contentment. A full belly, a full bottle, a hold full of swag. A fine, hale ship with her sails full of wind. A crew full of skilled and loyal pirates from India and China. A cabin boy who was, in turns, full of awe one moment and pissy vinegar the next.

Only a five-day ago, they'd taken a storm-crippled East Indiaman in the eastern Arabian Sea. He would never have dared to attempt such a prize---heavily-loaded and headed for London---if not for intuition's call---intuition had, upon spying the ship's erratic behavior and solitary nature, told him that the ship might be a good haul. He'd been right---with the help of Sao Feng and several of that pirate lord's ships, including the inestimable Empress, the East Indiaman had fallen to their clutches after a brief and brutal skirmish. He and Sao Feng had divided up the loot---he'd been generous to a fault, knowing that discretion was the better part of valor---and given the Chinese pirate more than half the swag.

Now, having seen the Chinese off to the horizon, he'd settled in to take stock and inventory from the temporary list of cargo he'd created and decide what needed to be done with the swag. He was of the opinion that the Cathay Rose should make a trip to an English port and sell the goods at a profit, after stripping away the East India Trading Company's identifying mark from all the crates and casks.

Among all the shine and merchandise, they'd gained a special prize---a skilled and educated man who'd willingly signed Articles after realizing that it was deadly to refuse. He'd given the gent a choice---sign his Articles and become part of the Cathay Rose's crew or be handed over to the Chinese pirates for whatever purposes they might have, for a prisoner. Currently, the man was in a part of the hold designated especially for his purposes as a physiker and chirurgion. He knew what was being done, behind the sail-cloth curtains there because Henry was bringing him reports of the activity every few hours.

Henry, his cabin boy, was quite taken with the affects that their newest crew member had brought along, in boarding. The wee 'lad' came to him thrilled at every new pronouncement from their resident Welshman, Doctor Meyrick. He found it quite endearing and annoying and amusing---the good Doctor was elderly and the cabin boy was naught but eight years of age and both were highly excitable. They made quite a pair, Doctor Meyrick and Henry De la Hoya. He had half a mind to take on another cabin boy just so that he could give the lad what seemed to be Henry's unexpressed desire---a chance at working with the physiker as the physiker's mate.

But, as they didn't have much of a need, at the moment, for a physiker and chirurgion, perhaps that would prove unnecessary. Henry could continue as his cabin boy and work to learn Doctor Meyrick's tricks, too.

It couldn't hurt---what with the high mortality rate among pirates, aye?

Doctor Meyrick had proven himself to the pirates aboard the Cathay Rose even before being asked to join the crew. When they'd taken the East Indiaman trade ship, the grizzled and fiery-tempered Welshman had shot eight Chinese pirates and two of Jack's own crew before being contained and held at cutlass-point by Joshamee Gibbs, who'd recently turned pirate himself---press-ganged from a British Navy ship. He'd gained Gibbs on his way to Nassau and the man was proving to be quite ferocious, surprisingly well-versed in all sea-lore, and a prodigious drunk. Having retained his sense of what could be valuable when confronted by a potential addition to the crew, Gibbs hadn't run the physiker through with his cutlass. Jack, however, had found it necessary to dispute ownership of the stocky Welsh doctor with Sao Feng---who wanted the man, as well. In the process of negotiations, he'd seduced two of the other pirate lord's female entourage and played a dangerous card game---the prize being Doctor Meyrick. In the end, he'd cheated with Henry's help. Sao Feng had let it go with the promise that he would find himself regretting the cheat---the terms of the bet had forestalled the punishment, Neptune bless his wee mad 'lad' of a cabin boy for a wicked thief and liar.

So, as he examined the inventory lists in his cabin, Henry was assisting Doctor Meyrick in the 'surgery' and Gibbs was piloting the Cathay Rose to a cozy berth at the coast of Mozambique, where they would re-stock foodstuffs and fresh water. As he drank port---a bottle taken from the East Indiaman---Jack mused on what horror stories Henry might tell the good Doctor about life among the Arawak of Pantano River. He imagined he'd hear about it, later, from the easily irritated Welshman---who would, coming from 'decent' stock, likely take offense at the idea of discovering that his new helpmeet and assistant was the fosterling of a seemingly immortal obeah woman.

He could imagine trying to explain to the man that Henry was not very like other lads of his age, having been raised to the stout and wise age of seven by a obeah woman in lieu of the pirate lass as what had dropped said 'lad' from the womb. Now, just less than a year since taking Henry from Jamaica's shore---had it really been less than a year?---Henry had adjusted unnaturally quick to life aboard a pirate ship and tended to be somewhat more piratical than some of the more experienced men. He had the suspicion that it was Gibbs' influence---he'd acquired Henry just before Gibbs---for the cabin boy liked the wild and unlikely stories that Joshamee Gibbs was partial to telling.

So, what had he done by taking a 'lad' raised in a world of magic and witchery and hard scrabbling for sustenance among the Arawak, only to throw said 'lad' into the bubbling stew of a pirate crew? The 'lad' in question would never be acceptable to 'gentile' society. Not now, not ever. He imagined that Anamaria must surely know, by now, that he'd hired Henriette on as his cabin boy. He could only hope the woman never decided to turn maternal---he was sure that his welcome back to Tia Dalma was going to be less than warm, he didn't need to add Anamaria's animosity to the pot.

Aye...he'd suggest it to the ship's new physiker. It would be a smart move to see Henry trained to work at the chirurgion's side. Never could tell when they might need to trade the man off or sew him up in his shroud. But, that could wait a bit. Now...it was time to look over his charts and decide on the best seaport in England for their particular 'merchandise'.

***

Year Thirty-two

At the moment, the cannons were all freshly sanded and repainted and the muskets were being attended to by Mullroy and---what's-his-name, the other new one. Pintel was directing another pair of fresh hands on the proper use of the bilge pump. Gibbs and Cotton were both resting, as Hector had insisted on taking the helm for a bit longer than was good for his watch. So, Lizzie sat at the rail behind Barbossa, on the quarterdeck, and fished off the stern.

As the Master Gunner had little that needed his particular attention, he'd press-ganged Ragetti to help Henriette clean the new surgery. Barbossa had suggested Elizabeth Turner, but their Creole lass had nixed the choice just as quickly as it was said and with a great deal of spirit. A great many potsful of hot water were to be heated on the galley stove---an awful waste of precious wood and coal, said Hector---and then carried to the forecastle hold by two swabbies he did recall seeing before but could scarcely remember names for.

If the first conflict was to be over Ragetti's inclusion, the second had come on the knowledge of hot water, lye soap, vinegar, salt, and geneva. All these things, including the wood for heating the water, were difficult to come by when sailing at sea---and Hector hadn't wanted to give up his precious stash of geneva, in particular. But, he'd stood back with a smile of commiseration for his old matelot as Henriette had explained the theory of illness and filth and as how a dirty surgery could be deadlier than battle itself.

Hector had turned a peculiar, bilious shade of green after only a handful of stories from their new chirurgion. His co-captain had given in double-fast---mayhap a little overwhelmed at the wealth of knowledge crammed in their wee missy's mind, as it were. T'was certain that to look at Henriette didn't cause a swelling of confidence in her skills as a physiker. She didn't appear to have any particular genius---but, that was the genius of it all, to his mind. She was a decent rigger, a rare hand with weapons, a good but not perfect physiker, and, at the same time, just as good with pushing men to work---she had a poxy-foul mouth, most evident when she got wound up.

So, down the stairs and under the main berth and forecastle, Jack followed Henriette and Ragetti and their buckets of boiling hot water. In the interest of having something intriguing to do, he lowered himself to mere swabbie for the moment and generously carried the brushes, rags, geneva, salt, vinegar, and lye soap. As requested.

The forecastle hold was now outfitted with a sail-cloth curtain and a bit of shelves which hung from the grab rail around its perimeters. They had also brought the lone table and a bench from the galley, as no one ever ate their meals there. A makeshift bed had been constructed with wood blocks and a door and a pile of folded sail. It would, as Henriette said, be all she needed for accommodations in the job.

The surgery had been swept and was now being diligently scrubbed by the blonde, one-eyed gunner as Henriette washed down the wooden walls. The hot, soapy water sent puffs of steam up with each new slap of the brush and rag. As his usefulness ended with actually fetching the accoutrements of this job, Jack sat on the bench and watched. He understood the concept behind what was being done; he'd watched in bemusement and condoning disbelief while Doctor Meyrick had done this very same thing on the Cathay Rose---first, everything would be scrubbed down with soapy water and then rinsed with salted vinegar. After, it was to be rinsed again, with the geneva...which was generally believed to kill every little nasty thing that might make a body sick. Not that he was entirely sure he believed in that theory, about tiny bugs and filth being a cause for illness and death.

It never failed to be a genuine horror, watching as perfectly good spirits were wasted.

But, as they worked on scrubbing, Henriette explained her actions to Ragetti, who glanced up at the lass every few moments with his one good eye. The two were wearing naught but sail-cloth breeches and string shirts. "Can you imagine it? Think---you've been injured in battle and you're bleeding something fierce. You're brought to me surgery down here---most would die faster under a physiker's hand and with less mercy than if they be left to it ondeck. Why is that, you think? I'll tell you why, lad---if I was to take you on a filthy table with a filthy knife, you'd die within days, maybe a fortnight, from rot. A very painful and nasty way to go, that. This, what we're about in here, cleans away the bad things which get into the blood and cause the rot. With the right herbs and medikus in me hands and time to work out the recipes, I might even keep a man from going ill from bad food or spoiled water or too much rum."

Ragetti glanced up from the deck he scrubbed, black leather eyepatch almost slipping out of place on his face with the effort of wiping sweat from his hollowed cheek. The ragged gunner looked horrified, his one good eye going to Henriette�s back in sick fascination. "D'ye mean to say, miss, that the cleanin' banishes demons as what might harm me if'n I'm bleedin'?"

Henriette stopped in her tracks at the curved hull-wall she was scrubbing at and turned, wiping her brown-skinned hands on the soapy rag she held. She was homely and stern, studying her helper with a speculative stare. Then, she swung her questioning gaze around on him, where he sat on the bench, picking at his fingernails. With a tilt of her chin in Ragetti's direction, she demanded. "Uncle---is he a complete fool, you think?"

Jack shrugged, conciliatory. "Superstition and poppycock, love, but no less real for all that. You know better than most, aye?"

At that, she nodded as she bent to rinse her rag in the soapy hot water. It put her within only a half-meter of the long-limbed gunner, who stared up at her with an expression akin to awe. She gave Ragetti an evil smile, answering his question in a deliberately sibilant tone designed to suggest that she was mystical in nature. "Aye, then, lad---I'll be your obeah woman and me tricks'll keep you safe from demons and ghosts and the De'il Hisself."

Her words seemed to soothe and relieve Ragetti, who went back to scrubbing with a vengeance, humming a little tune as he did.

Henriette, on the other hand, rolled her eyes with a low, muttered snort.

***

On the coast of Mozambique, the Black Pearl put in at a village that was well-known for being willing to trade with passing ships. He had put to berth here before, while captaining the Cathay Rose. It was an advantage, as he and Gibbs and Henriette all knew how to talk with the natives. Fresh water was rowed out to his lady in hogsheads. Game was caught or bartered for, using colorful beads and silvered mirrors taken from the barrel they reserved for such. Beans and rice and grains were purchased with swaths of pretty, patterned cloth.

While the men hunted and relaxed, having a seven-day at berth, Jack and Hector amusedly watched as Henriette talked with the local witches---who were something to be feared---and traded for items she couldn't find in the bits of jungle near the shoreline. She often used Ragetti as her pack-mule and assistant, now, driving the man back and forth with the tip of her foul tongue. Ragetti, for his part, did as he was ordered by the new physicker with the air of one serving a royal personage with the power of life and death. He enlisted Pintel to the duty as often as he could. The two made a travesty of most duties and ended up receiving ear-scalding lectures from the lass on a daily basis.

Which only served to amuse him further.

Having visited the surgery just this morning, before leaving ship, Jack had observed that things were shaping up nicely within its sail-cloth curtains. There were bits of plant and animal-y things hanging from the roof beam, a large bottle of vinegar secured to the wall with leather straps, and all the physiking books and tools he'd managed to scrounge. The galley table looked so clean that he imagined God Hisself might be happy to eat from its gleaming surface.

The bed---not much of one, aye?---was all Henriette claimed for her own. Under the tatty, wool blanket was a mountain of folded sail-cloth...and a chest she had brought from the L'Sauvage's cabin. She'd told him of the fine cloth she had been saving, carefully wrapped against damage in the bottom of her brass-studded box. A white Indian silk fine enough for a bride or a queen. She said it was her insurance money against hard times---she need never be completely skinned, with naught even a coin to her name, as long as she could keep the silk to hand. There, in the chest, was also the papers she seemed to read every private chance she had. She'd saved the Captain's Log, several books, charts, and a small box of personal dribs and drabs, including her cigarillos and her spectacles.

But, all in all, the surgery was shaping up.

Its physiker and chirurgion was, however, just as prickly and difficult as ever.

Elizabeth Turner, for her part, walked the sandy shores and rocky beach, her brown eyes constantly on the sea. She had little to say to any of the men---and it was only at the fires they made on the shoreline, at night, that she bothered to join them at all. As rum was growing scarce among their stores, Gibbs was forced to ration the men until it was discovered that the natives had a drink that could nearly blind a man with its potency. Bartering for it, the men took to diluting it with juice from the fruits they found. He had to admit, t'wasn't a bad brew.

The men took to sleeping on the beach and shore happily. Only he and Hector stayed aboard the ship. Even Elizabeth had made herself a small tent and bed among the other pirates, choosing fresh air and star-speckled sky to the dark, tarry hold of the Captain's Stock. As of yet, there were only three of them remaining on board along with the watch, who consisted of eight men left on board at all times.

Three of them, as...Henriette did not sleep on the shore. She slept in her surgery.

The evening-watch---Ragetti among them---gave their nods and murmured hellos to him as he walked back and forth along the deck from prow to stern and back again. Most of their crew, Lizzie included, was ashore, Barbossa was sequestered in the cabin, and Henriette was nowhere to be found. She wasn't hiding in her surgery or the head---he'd checked both places. As of the moment, he was suffering from a bad case of ennui and could find nothing to occupy his mind other than the fact that---unless he wanted to sleep on deck or in the berth---he was going to be sharing the bed with Hector.

It had been the same, for days and days; most nights, he kept to himself, managing to stay to his edge of the bed. But, that resolution was difficult---in sleep, bodies tangled and curled and did what they would. He often found himself tucked up under the other captain's arm, when he awoke, his hip pressing against an unmistakable hardness that didn't care that they were meant to be at odds with one another. His own prick, every morning, echoed that sentiment, not sensible to the facts of lingering resentment.

He'd been drinking the native's noggy, cut with the juice of several fruit. His head buzzed and swirled as he sought a different answer to the question that continually pushed and pulled him in different directions. One part of him believed it would be a fine thing to seduce Hector, get the matter over with and done. Another part of him knew it was a dangerous thing, to play with a fire the likes of Barbossa. And...yet another part of him believed that he should go ashore and dine with the crew, perhaps find himself a woman among the native lasses who were friendly enough to consort with the men.

It was all Hector's fault, he suspected.

He couldn't rest because of the great, surly beastie.

Jack left the deck, going down the forecastle stairs to the holds and the berth. He pushed past the sail-cloth of the surgery to see that, still yet, no one was there. Except scrappy, scraggly Madame Sullivan of the broken tail, who eyed him from the bed with an evil glare as if demanding to know what the bloody hell did he think he was about, disturbing her. The wee black creature looked well-fed and that meant the Black Pearl's rat population was decreased by some small number.

The wee, ugly animal hissed, rising from her resting place as if to stalk him.

"Oh, leave off." Muttering, he dropped his hat over the creature, turning on his heel.

He'd just have to go find Hector and see if he could start an argument---nothing worth killing each other over, but words enough to stifle his impulses toward an attempt at bedding his old matelot. Along the holds, he swayed in time with the ship. At the stern, he climbed stairs back to the deck and then readied himself as he opened the cabin door.

Somehow, he was surprised to find their lass, the new physiker, at the large, round table, seated to dinner with Barbossa. A hot dinner, at that. A roast bird with several different tubers---like potatoes, but more like yams---lay in the middle of a platter. A bottle of wine had been opened, glasses poured out. Fresh bread still steamed on its board, to the side. The two of them, dining, looked up at his entrance with matching expressions of wary welcome---as if they had been talking of him before he entered, but were now willing to accept his presence.

"Jack---come eat wi' us." Barbossa, without coat or hat, waved him over with a long-tined fork on which a piece of roasted chicken flopped. "Th' lass was just tellin' me of sailin' wi' ye as captain. A more entertainin' dinner companion, I've not had th' pleasure o' in many a long year at sea."

Oh, so that was the way of it. Hector would think to cozzen the lass from under him, taking her affections and loyalties. Well, he could tell his old matelot something of the true nature of their physiker or he could sit and enjoy a nice dinner. As he closed the cabin door, he decided he might do both. Henriette was welcome to tell tales on him, but she would need bigger cannons than she could possibly possess in her arsenal. He, on the other hand, knew a great deal which would embarrass the brown-skinned Creole, her being so young and so determined to prove herself to be a nasty pirate and all.

Removing his coat and baldric, Jack set his bottle down on the table and pulled out the remaining chair. There, he sat and served himself to the pewter plate which remained empty, as if they'd been waiting for him. As he did, he commented to Henriette. "Have you told Captain Barbossa of the time when you declared me, in front of the men, to be a bad captain and attempted to lead my crew in a mutiny off the coast of France?"

"Nay, she's said not a word to me o' any such venture..." Hector quickly picked it up with a smug smile. He knew that the other man had no qualms on embarrassing the lass, if it meant he'd have stories from each about the weaknesses of the other. With a bite of bread, his old matelot nodded, pale green-blue eyes widened with mock incredulity. "Do tell a story, Jack, o' our missy. T'is been a long, long time, aye? Why in th' blazes would she want to mutiny on ye?"

Henriette's smug expression of enjoyment fled before a paling of her hollowed creamy-brown cheeks. Not wearing a scarf knotted over her short, neatly washed and combed brown hair, their lass shook her head at him; as good as a silent plea for silence on his part. She wore a clean shirt and breeches sewn from silk---a bright peacock blue---buttoned neatly at her knee---perhaps a prize taken from the swag aboard the L'Sauvage. A second glance at the shirt made him realize that it was of fine linen, not linsey-woolsey, and had a bit of lace at the cuffs and the collar. With her plain looks in the lantern light, she seemed a real lad. A gentleman�s son, perhaps. She was clean, from head to toe, for all that it mattered, and wearing the clothes of a gentleman with impunity.

Was she trying to impress Hector? Hmm. Why would she even care to?

Jack took a bite of crisp bread, himself, and settled back in his creaking chair, deciding he could sincerely enjoy bringing Henriette down a peg or two. Make her wary of telling tales and trusting Hector Barbossa.

"We was off the coast of France when I discovered one of my men had stolen a part of our swag and sold it himself while we were at port, without considering as to how it belonged to us all. He had more shine in his pocket than the rest of them and no way to account for it. I decided we'd put him ashore, but only after he was whipped before the other men as a warning and a just one, at that." Jack took a drink to wet his mouth, swirling the fruity brew around to clean away the remains of bread and meat.

"Right an' proper." Hector murmured, nodding his head. "An' yer right, as captain."

"I thought so." He gave Henriette a darkened smile, tilting his head in contemplation as he continued. "A certain wee cabin boy claimed it was immoral and wrong to have a man whipped, shamed before the men, as it were. Forgetting as what we were pirates, aye? Said cabin boy threw herself between the cat o' nine tails and this thieving dog." Jack deliberately flipped a hand at Hector, speaking of it with an indulgent laugh. "She wasn't but a wee little thing, mate---her first time, seven years in age and only a few months to sea. So new and so young, the men called her my babe in arms for a laugh. Wasn't a man among them took the cabin boy serious---" He asked Henriette, now. "What did happen to you, then, lass?"

Her pale green eyes were narrowed in animosity as she answered, her mouth set in a thin line. "I told the men we should vote on it, make the first mate our captain. But, the first mate was with you. You told the men I was the child of a mutineer as what you took to raise with an eye to my betterment. Because of that, the men believed me to be a thief, too, said I was but trying to save another thief as what would steal from God Hisself. The men wanted to maroon us both."

He nodded, agreeing with the story as it was told. When their new physiker stopped, slanted eyes trained on the plate before her in hostile silence, he pursed his lips and tipped his head around to gaze at Hector from a sideways angle. Barbossa was looking back at him with what could only be carefully masked curiosity. Jack nudged their lass with his finger to her shoulder. "And then what did happen? The story's not finished, aye?"

Jack watched as Barbossa's eyes moved over Henriette's face in what could only be called thoughtful consideration.

Henriette's voice went even softer and she never looked up. "You didn't maroon the thief. You had him killed and made me watch. Then, you...you gave me thirty pieces of his silver, me first drink of rum, and told me as how this was what it meant to be a pirate and as how I should be careful of who I played Judas to. That another captain wouldn't have let a lad live after a call to mutiny. Even from a sprog like me."
- 13
- 14
- 15
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

Whispers of Redemption