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Betwixt Hammer & Frizzen	By : GeorgieFain Category: Pirates of the Caribbean (All) > General Views: 2032 -:- 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
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Author�s Note:

Citation: There is a line taken from an outside source in this chapter. �cut from shadow and sewn with sin� --from the junior novelization of the Curse of the Black Pearl by Irene Trimble. This is not my work; I pirated it, but with no harm intended---only a sense of good fun and the desire to honor those stories which came first in this fandom.

A note for readers: I do realize that this story seems a bit different than the others. It�s going to pick up with Jack and his adventures with Hector very soon---only, I did have readers who liked Henriette�s story and wanted to see a bit more of her from a new (oh, damn, did you really ask me for a tough-cookie romance for our missy? I�ll have to be much more careful of telling readers that I take suggestions and plotbunnies) angle---one which is going to happen very soon in a most unexpected manner. No, she is not going to fall for Ragetti, so stop suggesting it in emails. Lol. This story is actually told in three sections, if you haven�t figured that bit out. Jack might seem a little lackluster at this point in the tale, but believe me�it�s about to go very pear-shaped for our beloved scallywag captains, the both of them, to use Master Gibbs� own phrasing. I just have to get them to the right place at the right pace, within the story. For those who did email and ask me for a proper adventure with all the twists and turns and intrigues�hold on tight, the dice haven�t stopped rolling yet.

Fortune, The Blind Harlot

Day Five.

Henriette sat across the quarterdeck table from Barbossa's creepy little monkey, who was currently contemplating the chessboard. As they two did seem the most intelligent aboard, currently---barring Cotton's parrot and Madame Sullivan, naturally---it had come down to this. She had no one to have a proper conversation with and was reduced to talking with her papa's undead pet. T'was a bad day, she knew, when she did find a true rival at the board in the primal mind of a simian. What had her papa been teaching the wee beastie? It was Jack the monkey's move and he seemed prepared to start a real gambit against her any moment, now. As soon as he discovered that her queen was only one knight from taking either a rook or a bishop, either move would, of course, put his king in peril. If he saw what she was up to, with that, he could block her and the war must surely be over---for she'd put a lot on the line, with that queen.

Her arse was, figuratively speaking, hanging in the wind.

The men were busy; she had them broken up into three groups, working. One group was minding the watch, keeping the ship on course and under control as they sailed down around the rugged coast. Another group was below deck, in the berths, resting up for the evening and night watches. And the third group were using knives to re-pack oakum between the loosened deck boards and, when a section was finished, using a bit of pitch to seal. They were using knives for the moment because the hammers, even when wrapped in sail-cloth, did make a horrible racket and kept the men belowdecks from resting.

She did have another, much smaller group of only four repairing one of the black sails. It had torn right at a seam, the fore course sails and needed fixing. They had no more black, so they were cutting and stitching together pieces of graying white sail-cloth for to mend the torn bits. Currently, to keep the ship moving, the sail had been momentarily replaced with a white sail. Which wouldn�t do.

Marty was in the crows' nest on the foremast, watching the horizon and the coastline of Hispaniola for possible prey and enemies. They had come down the coast at a fair clip and taken two small Spanish merchant ships already. The Black Pearl had amassed a fortune in Spanish gold and silver, along with coffee and salted beeves and any number of other small things which would fetch a fair price in Tortuga. Upon taking the enemies' ships, she had offered the captured crews a chance to sign Articles---a number of each had signed on willingly. Those that had not---spitting at the idea of turning pirate and sailing under a woman's command---she'd had tossed overboard and left to die in the water as their ships burned to the waterline. Out of each of those two merchant crews, she had sent a long-boat and three men to freedom after a game of chance. A coin-toss had earned those men their lives and a chance to reach land. Tortuga or Hispaniola weren't so far away and could be reached easily enough.

She did, after all, want the word spread that the Black Pearl was back and up to snuff.

Now, they were sailing with nearly sixty men---a good number, for the constant repairs and fighting. She anticipated stepping down for Jack in pride after another twelve-day, able to point to the added crew, the shine, and the renewed reputation as proof of her worth as a captain and a pirate. After only three days of pillaging, she had set a new standard and she knew it would be a difficult standard to beat. That was as she liked things, aye?

The eastern coastline of Hispaniola was strange to look at, so close. Rocky and scrubby in some places, flat and like farmland in others. They had seen plantations, as well. Plantations for beeve and sugarcane and indigo. It was worth considering, to her mind, to find a ship loaded down with indigo. They could completely re-dye the sails and make them as black as tar---so black as to seem �cut from shadow and sewn with sin�, to pirate a phrase from the tales she had heard as a younger lass. Neither of the two ships they'd taken so far had possessed enough indigo to earn much coin with. Surely, soon...

Marty called down a warning---ship spotted, straight ahead.

They had turned a sharp cove's point and come upon a ship unawares, too close.

Henriette jumped up from the table and pulled the spyglass from the pocket of her long-coat. Extended and to her eye, it brought the target into view as she followed the line of her rigger's dwarfish arm from on-high. She frowned in thought at the sight of the ship. It was naught but a sloop---a corvette, to be exact. Designed for speed and maneuvering, it was lightly-armed and with only two masts. She could see the guns, now, even as only its port side was revealed to her gaze. With only one gun-deck, it seemed to have just eight guns, four to each side. They seemed to be, from estimation, six-pounders. The ship was perhaps eighteen meters long, from prow to stern. It was not a sloop-of-war and nothing to fear, power-wise. A corvette couldn't berth more than forty men.

Easy pickings. But, from the look of her, she wasn't carrying much. She was sitting light in the water, anchored near a dock at the end of a road that led up into a plantation's green realm.

She wasn't interested in taking livestock right now; it was too much hassle to care for living animals, when easier food could be had. She didn't much care for the plantation, either; but, the corvette was intriguing. What was it doing here, when there was no town to be seen? What business did a sloop without proper armament have with any planter on the island of Hispaniola?

It was flying the Union Jack. But, under the stars and bars was another flag.

That of a diplomatic envoy.

Henriette gave a little smile to herself, the concerns melting away.

A diplomatic envoy ship. Nothing more than a glorified packet boat, carrying messages and diplomats from one nation's official postings to another. With the English flag, it was an English ship, but...it sailed in waters that were decidedly unfriendly to the English. Yet, it would be fast and light and lovely to sail and, with that flag, didn't need heavy guns or a ton of sword-wielding soldiery or sailors.

Hmm.

"Do we hoist the flags?" It was Mullroy, fidgeting below the quarterdeck rail, looking up at her with all serious concern from under his battered tricorn. "Or do we keep them low? That plantation---"

"Won't be a problem if we cut the ship off from its allies." Henriette lowered her spyglass and whipped to the side to shout at her crew. "Men! Ready the one-pounders, load double on the powder---I want a fire! Wrap the shot in tarry rags---use that torn sail-cloth! Mister Cotton---bring us around to the starboard, bearing down on that dock! We'll burn the docks out first and then take the ship!" Then, she lifted her spyglass and howled. "Hoist the colors!"

The men who were below, resting, came up with thumping feet---and all went to work. The sails were set under the breeze, to carry them closer to the dock on the starboard side. All the starboard guns were loaded just as she had ordered. The winds carried them fast---and soon, they were within firing range. The weapons chests were opened in anticipation of boarding.

With her spyglass still to her eye as she stood on the starboard side, closest to the docks and the ship they had found, she shouted the order. "Fire!"

Aboard the English ship---the Pearl was close enough now that she could identify a name for it: Odysseus---she saw the activity and heard the shout of orders. Odysseus was pulling up anchor to slip away from the docks as they caught fire---and the sloop was preparing to fire, even as it started to flee. The docks went up fast, the fire crackling---the wood and ropes fell apart and into the waters of the tiny bay. Soon, those men left standing on the shore were cut off from the sloop, shouting and firing guns at the Pearl---too far away to be of any threat. She gave the order for a cease-fire.

"Aye, Captain---" Pintel was breathing hard as he came up from the gundeck, his portly body half naked as he wore only breeches. His yellowing eyes and teeth were bared and wide as he started to mount the quarterdeck stairs. "But, that ship---the guns, Captain---"

Henriette studied the sloop's lines and its crew---visible as they ran, obeying orders. No one was panicking. No one was screaming. Only one voice came over the water and over the cannonfire---the sloop was firing on them and with some success, she saw, as a cannonball shattered the starboard gunwale rail. That voice came from the corvette's much smaller quarterdeck. Clear, confident, strong, and oh-so-calm. As if it came from a man well-trained in warfare aboard a ship. Royal Navy officer, maybe? No, not like this. But...

"Still the guns, Mister Pintel---" She winced as three six-pounders struck the Pearl at the midship at the same moment, sending a reverberation throughout every piece of wood aboard her. Coming around, she looked down at the balding bo'sun. "Still the guns, but stay steady---we're not dead, aye?"

She shifted again, not watching him as he went back below to his matelot and their handful of crewmen and the guns. She shouted at the riggers and swabbies. "Gentlemen! Tack those sails---hard to starboard and now! Aim to ram the wee wicked bitch right at her bow! Don't let her get past us, you slackards! Step to and lively!"

The ship swung hard and went straight for the sideways fleeing Odysseus. Stomping to the rail once more, Henriette lifted the spyglass and sought a glimpse of the other ship's crew. They were still hard at it, trying to bring the sloop under the wind for a faster escape---and failing. But, not by much. Her estimation had it as being a close thing and soon enough. A glance at the small quarterdeck showed her, as they drew hard and fast at the sloop, a look at the corvette's captain.

Well...that was a surprise. He did look younger than she'd supposed he must be, for a diplomatic envoy ship. All she could really see of him was long, dark hair that whipped in the breeze, loosening from both black tricorn and ribbon and a very long pair of legs encased snugly in lime-white, a black frock-coat with silver frogging. A white jabot. Shiny boots. He seemed official enough, aye. And...then, she caught the winking light. He had a spyglass of his own and had raised it, turning in her direction.

Henriette had a sudden, irrational fear. The other captain could see her. And that was too close. A gun could pick her off the quarterdeck here---and she wasn't prepared to die for something so ridiculous as a bit of pillaging. She backed up a step and then pulled her pistol. Lowering the spyglass, she slid it into her coat pocket and lifted the flintlock. She aimed and waited until she could see the man's face---that would be close enough.

But, as the ships drew close enough to throw grappling irons, she saw the other captain pull a pistol of his own. He aimed right back at her. And then she could see his face. Anger and surprise warred in her brain. The face was familiar. Very familiar.

Without turning to look at her crew, she watched as the two ships drew up---port side to starboard side. The Pearl's sails were tacked away and then dropped and the massive bulk of the ship slowed to a stop on the prow and bow of the Odysseus. There was an awful grinding slam as the two ships bumped---the Pearl effectively stopping the corvette in its quick path. It nearly threw her from her feet; but, catching herself, she sighted along the pistol's barrel once more and found the captain who was doing just the same as she.

She shouted. �Pistols! Swords and grappling irons! Take prisoners---take the ship!"

Then, she tightened her finger. The hammer dropped on the frizzen.

She had only a moment to realize that the other captain, close enough to hail at a fair volume now, had also fired. Henriette felt her left arm crumple as if it suddenly had no bones. She dropped the flintlock and hit the deck on her arse, thrown back by the blast. Her skull thumped on the deck and the last thing she did know was that the sky seemed to darken fast for mid-day. Was there an unlooked-for storm on the way? Funny, she was right good at sensing storms and she hadn�t sensed anything at all.

Then, she knew no more.

***

"Look. A wee boat." He said to his skeleton self, who did seem interested in helping.

Jack lowered his spyglass and frowned, thinking about it. They were, according to the charts and his compass, much closer to the tip of Cuba. But, not so close as he would like. Another day's sail, it did seem. The sun was high in the white bowl of the sky above him. And the spyglass showed, on the easterly horizon, a long-boat. One without sail and naught but a single figure in it. Only shadows for the moment, against the endless water, but something more than he'd seen in the morning. With the spyglass tucked away, he made a fast decision to reach it---it wasn't so far from him, really. Just a few hours away, most likely.

The sails were still yet slack; the wind came and went sporadically, and brought little respite from the heat or the boredom. Right now, that did favor him. Fishing out his compass from under the pile of his frock-coat, he flicked it open and watched as the needle spun crazily and then settled on the direction of the unknown long-boat. Steady and without pause.

"Which does tell us nothing, mate." His skeleton self answered with a dry, bony laugh. "We only did find something. Makes a bit of sense, as how we would want to reach it---aye?"

"Shut it." He answered under his breath, clapping the compass closed.

With his mystical navigator stowed once more in the folds of his coat, he took a drink of rum. Lifting his oars, Jack went to work, pulling around to begin rowing in the direction of the other boat. Something unknown was better than days and days of nothing.

***

Elizabeth's Journal

When I reached home in Port Royal, I had been gone from the Black Pearl four days; to my best estimates, that meant the Black Pearl had been in Tortuga only a day longer. It has now been five days past my arrival in Port Royal; this brings the calendar up to nine days since I left ship. I find myself wondering if anyone else involved in this little conspiracy is keeping an eye to the days' passing. If Jack meant that it would be a month before I rejoined the ship, did his reckoning begin on the day I left the Black Pearl or shall it begin on the day I arrive in Tortuga? I worry and I wonder. I fear that even Jack cannot be sure, as he is not known for keeping a standard of time.

With the employ of a carriage, I have circled the cove and come to Kingston Bay, where the merchantry docks are located. I have brought with me only what items I feel I will need for the life of a sailor and the decorated chest which holds the beating heart of my husband. I feel a proper pirate now, as I am quite strong enough to lift and carry this without any assistance from a porter. I did startle the carriage driver and his man by wrangling the chest down before they had even stepped from their perches. As we did leave Port Royal and the house where I spent my childhood in the shadow of Fort Charles, I took the opportunity of solitude and drawn curtains to change my clothing from that of a young, proper lady of the gentry to that of a young, monied gentleman. I imagine this, too, gave both of these good men a start. With my chest and my sack, I went looking for the ship Jacob's Ladder and did find her, being outfitted at the docks. Upon inquiring, I discovered from the quartermaster that Captain Downey was to be located in Kingston's only reputable tavern. To High Street I walked and found the tavern without any difficulty.

Captain Downey is a massive, red-headed Scotsman with an accent which does make him a bit hard to understand at times, but he is pleasant and does not blink an eye at the sight of a young woman such as myself outfitted in the kit of a sailor. He ordered for us several drinks and I gave Captain Downey the letter which Jack has entrusted to me. The Captain did explain as how he owes Jack Sparrow a favor and that Jack has requested that he assist me in any way I might need in fulfillment of that debt. He has, of recent times, been forced to use his ship for small jumps between Tortuga and Havana to garner enough funds to pay his tariffs and taxes at the Kingston docks.

Then, as we spoke, Captain Downey asked me if I was Jack's lady. I did explain as how I was currently the quartermaster's mate on the Black Pearl, Jack Sparrow's ship. I also did tell the good captain that any other stories he might ask of me would better wait until we were out on the sea. Captain Downey seemed quite pleased, saying as how it had been a long while since he had heard any stories of the Black Pearl and her grand crew.

I did avow as how there might be a story or two which I could impart.

***

"OW!" She jerked herself out of Ragetti's clean-scrubbed, knobby hands. Reaching for him with her good arm, she slammed a fist against his half-bared chest. She protested, angrily. "Careful, you craven idiot! That bloody hurts!"

"A-course it does, Captain." He answered her, willing and able to be saucy now, even as he rubbed his sore shoulder and then nodded to his cohorts to grab her once more. His one good eye---palest brown---narrowed as he squinted at the exposed skin of her wounded shoulder. On the table at their side lay the tools and powders from her physiker's chest in the surgery. "I did hear as a man can die from a wound like this."

"Shut up." Henriette muttered, closing her eyes against the nausea.

She had lost a little blood, but that wasn't a bother. What bothered was the sensation of the ball moving under her skin, embedded in the muscles of her upper chest. Right over her heart, to be exact. If not for her ribcage, she would have died. Somehow, the ball hadn't penetrated hard enough. But, it was more than enough to cause her pain and humiliation.

She was sitting in her cabin with her left shoulder exposed---meaning that part of one breast was also exposed. Not as though she had much of a breast to show. Nor was it exactly what she wanted, where her crew was concerned. She had forbidden them all to enter until she had been taken care of---the only ones allowed to actually deal with her was Ragetti---who did have a bit of training now, at her side---and the two men he'd enlisted to hold her down in the chair.

"What's happened out there?" She addressed it to one of the men holding her firmly in the chair. "I want a full report, man, or I'll make you dead right now." With that, she moved her good arm to reach for the knife in her sash. It caused the muscles in her upper chest to pull and she hissed at it, cursing. "Bloody fucking hell, goddamn..."

One of the two pirates behind her chair---holding her down---gave a nervous chuckle at her foul language. But, the other one answered. "We're a good an' safe distance from th' shore, now. We're still grappled to her, Captain, an' th' men as what did give up are awaitin' yer pleasure. We've set sail to put a bit more sea betwixt us an' shore, aye? T'is slow, wi' th' ship draggin' dis sloop."

"What of their captain?" She grit her teeth as Ragetti started again, using the tip of a fire-sterilized knife to cut an X over the wound. Her words came breathy and rough. "Is he awaiting me, too?"

"He's still wounded, if'n that be what yer meanin'." The other one---who had chuckled with that worried tone at the sound of her curses---did speak up. "Aye, he's still awaitin' yer pleasure. He'll need a bit o' physikin', says I, afore he be any much good to ye, if ye don't mind me sayin' so, Captain."

"How's he wounded?" Her chiruigion's mind went to work, pushing away the pain of having her chest cut open. "Did I do him mortal-like?"

Now, she could feel the tiny tips of the bullet extractor entering the wound---the wound which was spread open under two fingers. Biting off a moan, she fought the urge to arch her back in the interests of escaping the agony of it. It did feel as if her body was being ripped apart. She'd had a patient describe bullet-removal in just such a way, once. Now, she knew exactly what he'd been trying to explain.

"Ah---nay." The same man answered. Apparently, he'd been out on deck recently enough. "Ye got him in verra near th' same spot as he did get ye, Captain. A rare thin', that is. Two captains fire an' do hit th' verra same mark an' neither a mortal wound."

She did think it was odd. But, could care less. For, just then, she felt the tips of the bullet extractor as they closed around the ball. Now, she couldn't stop the sob as Ragetti began to pull it out, squeezing and turning on the two thumbs of the device. She could hear the greased gear as it shifted, but the sound was almost drowned out by the noise of her ragged breathing---she couldn't quite catch herself.

At last, it did pop free and Ragetti made a small, pleased comment. "There we be---so much blood, Captain."

"Let it bleed free a bit, man." She forced herself to not struggle, keeping her eyes closed. "Put the ball in the bowl of water and leave that. Wash down the extractor with the whiskey, aye? Everything, clean. Tell me, what kind of condition are the ships in?"

"Both sound." One of Ragetti's cohorts answered---the one to her left, holding her wounded side. "No holes as we can see, Captain. She's a fat, sweet prize, dis one. Master Pintel done been into her holds, aye?"

"He has, eh?" She frowned at that. "Well, I suppose that's fine. I'll be talking with him about that, later." Now, she opened her eyes and glanced down at the front of her bloodied shirt and the bare, bloodied skin of the wound. It was bleeding freely, soaking more of the white shirt she wore. Then, she looked up into the one good eye of the blonde pirate who stood in front of her, washing his hands in the whiskey-filled bowl. "Take the bottle marked Willow and mix a spoonful of it into a spoonful of the vinegar, Isaiah." She called him by his given name, now, feeling woozy. "Have you soaked several good bandages in the whiskey?" At his nod, Henriette breathed in and braced herself. "Put the paste of the willow and vinegar in the wound. Pack it. Then, bandage."

For the next few moments, the only sound was the noise of four people breathing---hers coming rough a time or two---and the noise of tinkling glass and metal as the orders were followed. The odor of the vinegar, willow, and whiskey were enough to make her even more fuzzy and light-headed.

At last, they were finished, the excess blood was wiped away, and the wound was bandaged snugly. Her arm was heavy and she had Ragetti wrap a piece of worn leather around her wrist and strap the useless arm in a sling so as she couldn't ruin his good work. Done, she pushed her way up from the chair, reached for the bottle of whiskey and took a swig. Her world swam funnily for a strange moment when she thought she might faint. She almost missed the table when she went to set the bottle down once more.

But, then, it settled and she faced the three pirates who had worked on her. "Leave these things for a moment, but go out with me---we might be bringing men in to physik here. Turn your backs, gents. If I catch you looking at me undressed self, I'll cut your eyes out. All of them."

Henriette moved away, slowly, going to the sea chest which sat on the other side of the large, dim cabin. She pulled the ruined shirt off and dropped it to the rugs that lay on the cabin's deck. Searching, she found a clean shirt and slid into it with a great deal of difficulty and pain, only to find that she couldn't get the sleeve on over her strapped arm. With her good hand, she buttoned the linen over the bulk her wounded side did make, and then tucked the loose sleeve into her sash. She did the same with a clean long-coat, but did not tuck its sleeve. Fumbling through the pockets of her bloodied coat, she brought out the spyglass and other little accoutrements she carried. They were all slipped into various pockets of the clean coat, which eased her mind if not her blazingly painful wound.

All during this, the three men were good enough to keep their eyes on the door.

Clapping her hat to her scarfed head, Henriette swayed forward as she walked past the three skinny pirates who had served as physikers. As she went to the door of the cabin, she hit on a question that did seem to have no answer in her mind. "Gents, I don't recognize the taste of that whiskey---where did you come by it?"

It was Ragetti who did answer. "T'was in th' holds o' that ship---th' sloop. T'is what they were pickin' up from this plantation, Captain. Pintel said as how there's maybe a hundredweight o' bottles an' a good fifty casks."

That stopped Henriette in her tracks. She swung around and stared up at the blonde gunner, who nervously glanced down and away from her fierce gaze. She whispered it, delight blooming in her gunshot chest. "Do you mean to say that we've caught us a whiskey-runner? Someone carrying fine spirits for delivery?"

"Aye." Ragetti didn't meet her eyes but he nodded, licking his lips worriedly. "An' not th' first bit has a Royal seal on its corkin'. This be all untaxed, if'n Pintel's right 'bout what he did find."

"Smuggling under a diplomatic envoy flag. They'll be pirates!" She gave a short bark of laughter and swung around, nearly falling into the cabin's wall as she shoved at the doors, banging them open with her good hand, which didn't make her wounded chest feel any better at all. "I do believe, me boys, we have found Paradise."

With that, Henriette went out to meet the crew of the swift and wily Odysseus.
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Betwixt Hammer & Frizzen