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No Heroes Amongst Thieves	By : Roux Category: Pirates of the Caribbean (All) > General Views: 742 -:- 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
- 1-No Heroes Amongst Thieves
- 1
But though
my wing is closely bound,

My Heart�s at liberty;
My prison walls cannot control
The flight, the freedom of the soul
--Jeanne Guyon, 1648-1717
�A Prisoner�s Song�, Castle of Vincennes, France, st. 4

~*~

No Heroes Amongst Thieves

A Novel

By: Patch
~*~

Chapter One:

Moonrise
in New Orleans

The sun slowly crept below the stretching horizon, such as a
child would nestle beneath a blanket, giving way to incomprehensible
night. The shining colors spread across
the blue palate of sky, painting it a multitude of yellows and oranges and
reds. Sunsets like this were a common
occurrence, yet each was beautiful and much changed from the scene day day
before. Today the fading light lit the
waters of the gulf with an almost holy glow, making it near impossible to
distinguish where the ocean ended and where the sky began. Not only was each sunset as new and
different as dew on a rose in morning, people�s responses differed as well. Whereas some saw the day�s death as an end,
as another life cut short in it�s beauteous prime, others saw it as a new
beginning, as a start to a life that was known only to those that walked the
streets after dusk and before dawn. A
life where money could buy anything that was desired: liquor, jewels,
pleasurable company. Freedom. Yes, in those times, freedom could be bought
and sold, traded for lives that seemed of no value except to the ones that
lived them. Many were prisoners. And more yet were masters.

Caroline watched the day�s end from her perch on the rooftops,
a strange ache throbbing in her heart.
It was lovely. To her it felt as
if Heaven had suddenly decided to take up residence right in the Crescent City. Liquid gold splashed over her cropped head
of coffee curls and down her cinnamon face, as if she could palm it and stuff
her pockets to the brim with the plentiful sun-treasure. The humming light was pleasant on her skin,
like soft flames licking her still form, warming the slow chill that had slowly
been seeping through her veins these last few years. For>For a time, though it was considerably short, Caro was content.
Caro�s hands found the pockets of her scarlet velveteen coat
and she leaned against the chimney. Her
brown eyes searched the horizon, but for what, she didn�t know. Caro felt as if she was always searching,
always searching, but never finding.
Finding�what? Ah, yes. The other unsolved mystery.

Well, she thought, if dat ain�t a perdic�ment, den
I don� know what is.

Her hand found the stone in her pocket, and she rubbed it
between her thumb and forefinger, creating warm friction upon its surface. It was a habit that she�d been drawn into
the last few years; an unconscious motion that Caro practiced when she felt
pensive and was sure nobody was looking.
A traiteur had explained the stone to her; it�s meaning, it�s
powers.

�It is a Moonstone,� she had said, a thoughtful tone
to her voice. � It is de traveler�s talisman, used for protection on one�s
journeys and against the perils found on de way. It also brings insight to de owner and can soothe de mind and
spirit. Dis stone will bring you good
fortune, chile, so keep it safe. Dere
may be a time when dis stone help you in your quests.�

Well, it hadn�t helped her, really. Not yet.
Caro kept it, though, just in case.
One could never be too sure�besides, it was one of the most beautiful
things she had ever seen: although it was not perfectly round, the stone�s face
was smooth and usually cool to the touch.
In it were a multitude of colors, creating the opalescent glow that
bounced off the seemingly white surface, a mystery in of itself. Sometimes Caro removed it from its special
place in her pocket, just to look at it.
The Moonstone was one of her most prized possessions, the others simply
being a collapsible staff she had bartered off the docks, and a small,
pocketsize book of Shakespeare�s sonnets.

Caro started as a loud commotion suddenly broke out in the
streets below. A loud, raucous voice
could be heard screaming obscenities in French, followed by a protesting drawl,
and accompanied by a loud metallic banging, as if the local blacksmith had
suddenly gone on the rampage. Caro
grinned. Suppertime in this particular
section of New Orleans was always quite the ordeal, and Caro had forever
thought of it as a bit of a spectator sport, rather like tennis, or perhaps
roulette. She carefully made her way
over to the edge of the roof and dangled her booted feet over the edge, hands
on knees, leaning forward with blatant interest.

A large, red-faced woman, dressed in the garb of a cook,
mobcap, apron and all, was brandishing a rather large ladle like a cutlass,
shaking it threateningly in the face of a teenaged boy, who fended off the
angry blows with a large cooking pan.
The boy sputtered incoherently, obviously more than flustered at the
furious onslaught, and attempted time and time again to rise to his feet, only
to be beaten back with the oversized kitchen tool. The cook raised the ladle up over her head, appearing perhaps
even more menacing than before, as if preparing herself for the exertion that
resulted from the sound beating she was about to give the ungrateful
whelp. Her blow fell, yet she was
caught off guard as the ladle was suddenly snatched from her meaty hand, and
her arm swung away with the powerful momentum that had built up, the result of
an un-ladylike temper. Her mouth
dropped open in astonishment, and her piggy eyes widened as much as was
possible.

Before her stood a girl, a fille who was grinning
from ear to ear, apparently amused by the entire situation. She was taller than the cook, but that
wasn�t saying much, for though the cook was overly rotund, and obviously well
fed, what she lacked in height she made up for in weight. The girl, on the other hand, was slim, but
not because she was a woman, which usually meant an appetite the size of a
bird�s. She was broad shouldered, and
rather big-boned, but that could not hide the gauntness in her face, the
remnants of starvation.

The girl wagged the ladle warningly, as if scolding a
mischievous child.

�Now, now, is dat really necessary?�

The cook spluttered, her mouth forming silent words, a
motion that provoked the girl even further, spurred on by the curious crowd
that had gathered.

�Iw, Iw, I know, my presence �as rendered you
speechless. My apologies, Mademoiselle,
I forgot myself. It is not often that
Caro appears in public, for de effect dat it �as on de locals, mais, though it
is flatterin�, it is not always pleasing to de law enforcers.� All this was interspersed by a few
well-placed, flamboyant bows, with much twirling of the hands and flashes of an
apologetic smile.

The cook didn�t move, befuddled beyond belief. Where had this girl come from? The street had been void of any life almost
moments before, but this girl, this Caro, had flown in from nowhere.

Flown?

The cook examined her adversary, who was still talking
animatedly, continuing the flittering and the fluttering of her hands,
obviously trying to make a point by the look of the obscenely large gestures
she was using. The scarlet coat she
wore appeared a bit ragged, signs that it had definitely seen better days, but
the way the girl moved caused the coat to resemble strange, red wings, like
some oversized cardinal on opium.

�So you see, Mademoiselle, it really is compulsory dat you
let me replace dis pauvre es�cuse of a soup-spoon, it is not fit for de likes
of your cooking, so I hear.�

Caro looked on as the cook blinked stupidly, having
obviously not listened to a solitary word she had said. She stole a glance at the boy, who had
scrambled to his feet and was trying to sneak away as inconspicuously as
possible, causing Caro to smirk inwardly.
He wasn�t being very inconspicuous at all; in fact, it was difficult not
to notice him. He was trying much too
hard.

�All right, den�Caro will just be going, neh?� She returned her attentions back to the
cook, saw her swing, and ducked, allowing the offending object to pass over her
head.
tab-stops:405.0pt'>Caro�s amusement had grown by the minute. She knew that servants in the local
households were overworked, but this was just ridiculous! Finally she became a bit fed up with the
cook�s rather obnoxious behavior and sidestepped the old sausage, leaving the
woman to overbalance and fall to the cobblestones in a daze.

�Ah! Now they fall
to their knees at my feet!
Mademoiselle, please, I am not deserving!� And with that, Caro sheathed the ladle in her belt and sped off
down the street, not pausing to look back, for her ears told her all she needed
to know.

Such language!

Caro laughed, unfolded her staff, and used it to vault up
onto a vacant balcony; she then collapsed it and scaled the wall with the
greatest of ease, reaching the rooftops in almost no time at all. Caro jumped from roof to roof, keeping an
eye on the streets below, searching each face, this time, knowing what she was
looking for. She located her quarry and
climbed back down, using windows as footholds.
Caro then jumped to the ground in one fluid movement, quietly enough so
that even the most skittish alley cat did not bat an eye.

Caro raced out into the street, blending with the crowd,
stalking her prey. She crept up behind
the unsuspecting figure and kicked at his heel, tripping him.

He tumbled to the ground with an oath, and landed in a messy
heap, having disturbed a trash bin. He
looked up through a tangle of wood shavings and charcoal hair and into the
grinning face of his assailant.

�Caro!�

She gestured as if to say �well, you deserved it�, and held
out a hand. He accepted it, and Caro
pulled him to his feet, only to abandon the limb so that she could swipe at the
aberrant dirt and sawdust that had gathered all too noticeably on his black
vest.

�Y�know, Carlos, de wooing of older femmes is not your
strongest point, non? Dey�re gonna kill
you, mon ami! Stick to da sweet vns
ns
and nuns, eh? Ya might have more luck!�

Carlos swiped at his friend with his free hand, the other
being safely nestled in his pocket.

�What do you know, amiga, about the wooing of mujeres?�

Caro scoffed.

�You forget, Bra, dat Caro, she be a femme as well. A�course she know how to woo! Dough she prefer les hommes!� She laughed and performed a little
hop-skip. Carlos rolled his eyes.

�Usted est� loco, muchacha!�

�Well, Carlos, it take one to know one, hein?� Caro threw a jovial arm around Carlos� shoulder and tweaked his
ear. �Mais, you love me anyway, podna!�

*~*~*

The two strolled down the street at a leisurely pace, lazily
stepping to the side to make way for passing carriages, tossing vivacious
insults at the overly dressed drivers.
Carlos informed Caro of his disastrous attempts to become a household
servant, ears coincidentally deaf to the snickering abuse that his friend
tossed at him.

They made their way to the docks, where everyday a new ship
seemed to arrive at port, hulls stuffed with all sorts of treasures from places
like Africa and the East Indies. Life at the waterfront was always plentiful
and usually colorful by nature. Monkeys
and birds with beautiful plumage were paraded; crates full of fruits such as
oranges and bananas were carted off the large merchant vessels, ready to sell
at market. And that which was most
interesting were the plentiful sailors that walked the streets during their
berth.

Despite the increasing darkness, both Caro and Carlos knew
the area well, having come to the busy harbor many a time. Caro ran over to a particularly busy stretch
of pier, on which loading and unloading cargo was happening faster than one
could say �petty theft�. Caro swiped a
papaya, and then another, and hid them in her �modified� pockets.

Carlos watched Caro work from his hiding place behind some
bulky freight, slight unease bubbling up in his stomach. He knew what Caro was, he�d always known,
but that didn�t mean he had to be completely comfortable with it. He�d even helped her with a few jobs; not
the big ones that Caro seemed to always take on, but little things. A purse here, a book there. Caro liked books. But she could not always afford them, so�

�Here ya go!� A
soft, round papaya unexpectedly appeared in his face, sweet and tangy scent
wafting into his nostrils. Suddenly he
didn�t care. Carlos reached up and
grabbed it; he took a bite, letting the saccharine juice dribble down his
chin. After a few more bites and some
drawn out chewing, he swallowed and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

Caro watched as he ate and chuckled.

�Boy, when was de last time you et? Easter?�

Carlos ignored her and continued eating.

Caro chuckled and took a bite from her own papaya. She cocked an ear and listened to snatches
of conversation; news from outside always came with travelers, and Caro always
used it as an opportunity to find out who had the most wealth stashed up. One never knew when the owner needed to
be�relieved of it. Nobody could own
that much treasure, be it gold or other such things, and actually be expected
to use it all. So, every once in
a while (that meaning often), Caro would go, and �borrow� some of it. True, she wouldn�t give it back, but it�s
not like they missed it, was it?

Caro watched as an older sailor trundled by, deep in
conversation with his companion. The
aging man looked as if he should have been sitting on the veranda of a house,
telling stories of the sea to his grandchildren, fashioning their
memories. The corners of Caro�s eyes
crinkled slightly; she had such memories. But it was so long ago�

The man�s companion, however, was one whose appearance
seemed to demand to be noticed: atop
his head sat an old, weather-beaten tricorn hat, covering a full mane of
shoulder-length hair, twisted and braided and decorated to messy perfection; a
brown jacket rather like Caro�s own trailed down to mid-thigh, half concealing
the man�s blue britches; and brown, knee-high boots clip-clopped against the
wooden dock. But the most interesting
element of the man was perhaps his swooping gait.

He walked as if he were in a leisurely hurry; each stride
was widely spaced apart, almost like a stork�s, but much heavier. His hips were entrancing; they swung from
side to side with each step, engaging his torso in the same, almost deliberate
movement, his hands dancing spiritedly through the air, as if to illustrate his
words.

Caro arched an eyebrow.

Where had he come from?

She looked at the remaining flesh on her papaya longingly,
and then back at the grandfather and his alluringly interesting comrade. Twice more she looked from papaya to
man. Finally, she made a decision,
hastily dropping the fruit and grabbing Carlos by the collar all in one
movement, causing him to drop his own meal in surprise.

�Wha�?�

�Shush, no questions, yeuhrm?�

tab-stops:405.0pt'>�Madre del dios, era eso realmente necesario?�

There was no reply.

Carlos looked up, only to find an empty space where Caro had stood. He jumped to his feet for the third time
that day and swirled around, searching for the curly-haired sprite that was his
friend.

A flash of red caught his eye.
Carlos followed it inland, dodging passerby at an almost alarming speed,
knocking, by accident, quite a few to the ground. He in turn shouted a polite apology over his shoulder and raced
on, striving to keep the red blur in his sight. Carlos ran so fast he almost flew.

He also nearly crashed into a wall.

Well, he thought, I suppose I overestimated that
one a bit.

A hand reached out and clamped itself over Carlos� mouth. He gave a muffled yell, and ggleggled as he
was pulled into the shadows.

*~*~*

Disclaimer: Je ne poss�der rien
important, �tant l'auteur que je suis, �conomiser pour les crayons, le papier,
un ordinateur, et une imagination fini-vive.....
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No Heroes Amongst Thieves

But thoughmy wing is closely bound,

~*~

No Heroes Amongst Thieves

A Novel

~*~

Chapter One:

Moonrisein New Orleans

But though
my wing is closely bound,

Moonrise
in New Orleans