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The Pirate - Part Two
by
JAS
“Will ye be
joinin’ our crew, lad, or will we be havin’ to kill
ye, eh?” Surprisingly, it was no man but
instead a woman. For a moment he said nothing;
women were supposed to be bad luck on ships, it was
shocking that they had let one join their crew.
He tried to speak, to say something, but he
couldn’t get the words to come out, they were stuck
in his
throat. The dagger came dangerously close to his throat; he could feel the cold metal upon his
flesh.
“Aye, I’ll join,” he said in barely a whisper, but
the pyrate heard him.
“Turn around,” she ordered. “Ye try anything and ye’ll go to Davy Jones’s locker, savvy?” He
nodded, his throat too dry to speak. There had been
many times a ship had tried to take theirs, but
this
was the first time they’d ever succeeded in
boarding it. The pyrate hastily but tightly bound
his hands
together, so tightly in fact that the rope cut into
his skin. She pushed him toward another pyrate who
shoved him toward the edge of the ship. He was then
forced to get aboard their pyrate ship.
Angrily, he struggled against the pyrate trying to
force him down. Kicking and biting at him.
Finally, the man slammed something down on his
head. He could just faintly feel the pain.
Everything
became black; he was falling into emptiness and he
couldn’t stop himself.
“Ye be stupid, lad,” a voice muttered, a woman’s
voice, the same woman that had captured him
before. “Keep still!” John stopped trying to sit
up. The bed he was in was hardly comfortable. In
fact, it
wasn’t a bed, just a few measly blankets and a
pillow on the floor.
“Ye should’ve just been stayin’
still,
then ye wouldn’t be havin’ that,” she jabbed at his
head and he let out a short gasp of pain.
John closed his eyes, his head was aching deeply.
Feeling his forehead he came upon a large
bump. It must’ve been from whatever that pyrate had slammed on his head. Once he opened his eyes
once more, the pyrate girl had gone.
“Ye all right,
lad?” asked another pyrate. “That’s quite a lump
there
on yer head, eh?”
“Why’s a girl on yer pyrate ship?” he inquired.
“She’s our first mate, lad,” he answered. “Ye better
be treatin’ her with respect, eh?” John nodded,
puzzled. A girl for first mate? It was unheard of, simply not done! The pyrate got up to leave and
John was
left alone.
He struggled to stand, but it was hardly possible
with his pounding head. As he finally succeeded
in standing, he found that he was so dizzy he could barely take a step. There would be no escaping for
him today. But even if he were feeling fine, where
would he go? His old crew had most likely either
died or
joined this one. Besides that, this crew seemed
fine enough.
“Lie down and rest why don’t ye?” came a very
familiar voice. John was stunned to hear it. “John,
ye all right?” Looking around, John noticed that in fact he wasn’t the only one in the room. At least
five
other wounded pyrates were there, lying on either
the ground or on hammocks. Martin was one of them.
“Blimey, Martin, are ye all right?” John asked,
seeing his friend’s deep wounds. Martin nodded,
but John wasn’t so sure. He had been badly wounded
on his stomach and head. The red bloodstains had
leaked through his bandages and the color had
almost completely drained from his usually red face.
“Lie down, ye scurvy dog!” a voice yelled to him in
anger. Looking up, John could see a blurry
figure. After his eyes focused more, he saw that it
was a pyrate glaring at him.
“Nay,” said a softer voice. “If he can stand and
walk, he can work.” The girl pyrate had come out.
She looked at him in wonder. “Ye shall swab the
decks, boy.” Swab the decks! John thought in anger.
“Come here.”
John followed her, not bothering to hide his look of
fury. He didn’t like being called ‘boy’ by a girl
no older then himself and he didn’t like being
ordered around by her either. “Why’re ye first
mate?” he
demanded. She stopped walking and turned to him.
“And why not?” she demanded. Her odd amber eyes
were bright with anger and her fiery orange hair
only strengthened the effect. She waited impatiently for an answer.
“Well,” he began. “For one thing ye be a girl, and ye
be a bit young.”
“Ah, I see,” she said nodding. “Girls are not bad
luck on a ship, ye...” She stopped and held her
breath, trying to calm herself.
“Why’re ye first mate if ye be so young?” John
asked again.
“Why not?” she snapped “Grab that 'ere bucket.” He
leaned down to take it. Four rats were inside;
startled, he nearly dropped it. “Dump those in the ocean, ye scurvy dog.” I disliked being called a
scurvy
dog even more then ‘boy’.
“And while ye be at it,
fill it with salt water.” Salt water so the floor wouldn’t be
slippery when he cleaned it.
“Ye should be hurryin’ up, boy, ye took a long
enough caulk fer the both of us.”
“How long?” he asked in surprise.
“Nearly a day,” was her response. He sure didn’t
feel as though he’d slept that long, he was still
exhausted. Stumbling over his own feet, John closed
his eyes. His vision had gotten little better. The
pyrate grabbed onto his arm to help him keep his
balance. “Ugh,” she said in annoyance. “Ye should be
gettin’ more sleep.”
“Nay, I’m fine,” John answered, reopening his eyes.
He looked over at the girl; he could feel her
breath upon him. He’d not noticed before, but she
was rather pretty. “What be yer name?” Quickly and
with a scowl on her face, she released his arm and
began to walk once more, her pace quickened.
“Ye don’t need t’know,” she snapped and then added,
“But it’s Amber. Handsomely now, mate, if
ye be fine as ye says.” He tried to go quicker, but
it only made him slower as he began to trip more
often.
“Ye be weak, little lad,” Amber informed him. “All ye
got is a wee bump and scratch.” John tried his
best to ignore her. “And ye be trippin’ and fallin’
cause of that?”
“He hit me hard and I lost lots a blood from that
‘scratch,’” he objected. “And I ain’t a ‘little
lad’
and me bump ain’t ‘wee’.” Determined to show her
that he was not weak, he tried to walk without
tripping
so much.
“I’ve got me work t’ do, so go on up that way.” And
without another word, she strode off in the
opposite direction.
Once John had finally made it above deck, he
realized he’d dropped his mop on the way up.
With a sigh he looked to the first pyrate he saw.
“Sir,” he began. The pyrate walked on by without
even
glancing at him. John cleared his throat as another pyrate came toward him “Sir.” This pyrate at least
stopped. “Would ye mind gettin’ me the mop back
there?”
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