Apprentice To The Sorcerer

I learned more from Dr. Blood in a month than I ever thought possible. Carstairs grew angry with guarding me while I learned and abandoned his post after the first day. I said nothing, preferring to take my chances with being overpowered as to not take this opportunity.

Peter Blood never made a threatening move toward me. I recognized in his soul the same sort of reluctant engagement my father had, the manner of a man not comfortable with people harming one another. But the man had an iron core of determination that led me to believe he would not stay a prisoner of the crown once on shore.

Stebbins died despite what Blood and I could do for him.

I bought medical books from a private citizen in Port Royal, a man I knew to have studied medicine. He didn’t recognize the daughter of his friend, Governor Swann. At sea once more, I settled back into the routine of caring for the ship, taking my duties and meals, and reading the books.

Norwood found the sight of me reading extremely amusing. He passed no opportunity to snort in my direction. No doubt he believed I would not stick with this new pursuit. I did not rise to his subtle antagonism. His treatment of Blood and the others when we finally got them off our hands proved to me he hadn’t a decent bone in his body. I dared not risk the man’s wrath. Once someone bared my back for the lash I would be found out.

Over-heavy with gain, the Queen’s Envoy began a slow journey back to England. I heard mutterings among the crew about the foolhardiness of our weight. Captain Norwood had insisted on taking a large collection of china and jewelry for his own private gain, burdening the ship when it already groaned under the load of spices and fabrics. We carried rum, wine, jerky, produce and even goats. Still, the crew was not allowed to eat as if we sailed with plenty. We received the same rations we always did.

I dropped into my hammock. I had the lowest one to the ground nearest the left bulkhead, and I took advantage of it. If one felt confident of one’s companions, one could stow a chest. I’d spent my money on a small, locking chest. Inside it was my collection of books, my few medical instruments, bandages, a sewing kit, and a change of clothes. I even had a bar of soap and a comb, though I had no cause to use them often. Dirt helped to hide the femininity of my features. I kept my hair braided.

The worst part of living in disguise when female is the awkwardness of monthly issue. Finding time and privacy enough to wash bloody wads of cotton and linen seemed a challenge every thirty days. I could not have a mishap with blood while climbing over men’s heads, either. Eventually I designed a plug of fabric and used the walls of my womanly parts to hold it in place. I lived in fear of being thrown overboard. Blood called to sharks.

Sailors often urinate wherever and whenever they please. I had my answer to this problem a mere two weeks out on my first voyage. In the materials to be carried to England lay a collection of curious objects. I’d been amused to see the replica of a phallus among the objects. Upon touching it I discovered it to be made of some tough, springy material. I’d stolen it, bored it out, and affixed it to myself. After some near accidents and a little practice I discovered I could keep it on with a strap. Now I could relieve myself whenever I wished. All I had to do was hold the phallus tightly to my opening. Since men seemed to all think that they had to use both hands to hold their enormous organs aloft, my tight grip wasn’t seen as unusual.

The creak of the ship, the lapping of waves, and the snoring of my fellows brought sleep. I decided not to read this evening. If I missed the last meal I could catch up on the rest I’d missed.

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At dawn I came out onto the deck to well ordered chaos. Behind us, too far away to see properly, a ship followed. Captain Norwood stood like the Colossus of Rhodes, feet apart and arms aloft, his spyglass raised. We all waited in various states of worry while he examined our pursuer.

“Pirates,” Norwood said calmly, stowing his glass. “Coming up on us with a bone in her teeth. Must have sailed toward us all night.”

We went to our positions silently. We all knew we were doomed. Despite Captain Norwood’s calm, the fact of the matter was simple. We were slow, heavy, and likely out-gunned. The best we could hope for was for the pirates to take mercy on us.

I watched the quartermaster speak to the captain. Each man used a low voice so their conversation did not carry. My eyes slid astern to watch the enemy ship. It had black sails.

Jack.

My lips wanted to stretch into a smile, but I couldn’t allow that of course. If we were being pursued by the Black Pearl under Captain Jack Sparrow, we likely wouldn’t be slaughtered outright. I hadn’t the experience with him to know exactly how he would get the riches on this ship though, which worried me.

The boom of the canons heralded a mere warning shot, but Norwood ignored it. The crew bent to their orders with grim eyes and mouths like slashes. The merchant man had little experience with pirates and it didn’t look as if he would gain any.

The assault upon the Queen’s Envoy came swiftly. When the Black Pearl began to hammer at our waterline, Norwood began to understand the folly of his decisions. He surrendered. I ran up the white flag myself, my eyes searching the other ship for a sign of the gaudy Captain Jack. I didn’t have to look for very long.

He hadn’t changed a bit. He still wore the flamboyant clothes I remembered, but his coat was now black with gold piping. The trinkets and beads in his hair caught the rising sun.

Jack sauntered across the gangplank. He stopped a fair distance from Norwood, assessing the man with his kohl-lined eyes. “Woody,” he said, slightly slurring. His eyes danced with smug pleasure. “The lads and I have watched you sail back and forth for three months now.” He accented his sentence with a casual flip of his long-fingered, be-ringed hands. “But now that ye lay so low in the water we’ve come to lend a hand.”

“I’m sailing for the queen, Sparrow,” Norwood growled. “Anything you take from this ship you take from her.”

“Sounds fair to me,” Jack said, grinning. I caught the glint of gold in his smile. “Are you going to stand quiet or do we let the sea into your belly?”

“Captain!”

Both captains turned at the shout, of course. I watched as Jack’s quartermaster, Gibbs, hauled a sailor from our line. The man fell at Jack’s feet. Jack looked at him, the humor draining from his dark eyes. “I see you’ve found Mr. Hobson,” he said in a light, airy tone. “Take him to the Pearl.”

I didn’t know the man. He’d only sailed with us for the last six months.

“You can’t just-.”

“Pirate,” Jack said to Norwood, interrupting him quietly. “I can do what I like. Didn’t I tell you not to sail this way anymore?”

“But the queen requested-.”

“I’m sure she did,” Jack broke in again, raising his hand. “Ready your longboats, Woody.”

I froze in a moment of indecision. Jack might let me onto the Pearl if I asked to join him, providing he didn’t know who I was. I’d fooled a lot of people into thinking I was a man and I didn’t see any reason I couldn’t fool Jack. However, I didn’t know if I felt ready to become a pirate. But I languished of boredom and I certainly wasn’t getting rich on a sailor’s wages.

“Captain Sparrow,” I said, pacing forward a single step. “May I join your crew?”

Jack turned to look at me directly, ignoring the men rushing by him to secure captives to longboats. His eyes scraped me. He took in my frame, my stance, my arms and my shoulders. At no point did he linger upon my face, merely seemed to note my lack of facial hair and went on. “How old are you, boy,” he asked not unkindly. “Don’t lie to me.”

“I’m twenty two,” I said quickly. “I’ve had three years on this boat.”

Jack tilted his head. “So what makes you think you’re ready for an actual ship?” He met my eyes finally. “As opposed to a boat, I sail with pirates.”

“An obvious point,” I dared, but softly. “My heart just isn’t in this way of sailing.”

A rough hand tugged at my arm, tried to pull me toward the longboats. I bent toward the force and yanked free.

“Leave the lad,” Jack said to my captor. “He’s going on the account.”

I heaved a sigh of relief. Jack agreed to let me sail with him. “Captain, may I retrieve my belongings?” I said, trying not to sound too hopeful.

“Be quick,” Jack advised, turning to go. “We’re going to sink her.”

I fled to my hammock, passing men laden with goods. My chest sat undisturbed. I hefted it awkwardly and made my way topside again. Someone had taken the plank from between the two ships. I stared at the slowly widening gap. Men were swinging across with arms full of loot, but I hadn’t the arm strength to accomplish such a feat.

I looked for Jack and found him watching me.

This had to be a test.

I tucked the chest between my legs, grabbed a line, and swung across. I almost lost the chest halfway over, but I tightened my grip, managed to secure it quickly. We spilled onto the deck hard. As I stood up I heard approving laughter coming from the crew. A big hand clapped me between the shoulder blades. “Welcome aboard, bucko,” a man said in passing. “Yer lucky the captain likes brains as well as muscles.”

Not knowing what else to do, I picked up my case and approached the now solitary captain. Mr. Gibbs intercepted me. “You’ll stow with the crew, mate,” he said, guiding me away. “Ye won’t get a share of today’s swag, seein’ as how it was your ship we took it from, but ye’ll eat just the same.”

“I understand,” I said, nodding. “Do I have a place to put this?”

“Open it.” Jack turned, halting our progress away from him.

I took the key from around my neck and did as he commanded without a murmur. He would naturally be curious as to what I would risk my neck over, and as captain he had to know what he carried on his ship.

Jack squatted beside the chest and peered inside. He took in my medical accoutrement, my books, and my clothes silently. When he looked up at me his eyes were as serious as I’d ever seen them. “You studyin’ medicine, lad?” he asked quietly.

“As I can,” I answered swiftly. “I had a few week’s tutorage from a physician and I’m reading about it. I’ve patched up the crew of the Envoy quite a bit.”

“How about stitches?” Jack asked.

“Three times, nothing very bad,” I admitted.

Slowly, Jack rose up on his feet. “Take your gear into my cabin,” he said. “I have need of it.”

My heart beating madly, I did as he said. He walked right behind me, and behind him, Gibbs paced along.

No sooner did we gain entrance, Jack turned and dismissed Gibbs. I thought for certain I’d been discovered. I deposited the chest on Jack’s table, keeping my back to him, my heart hammering.

“I’m sure the lad’ll do a fine job,” Jack said in response to a mutter from his quartermaster. “He hasta be better than Cotton.”

“Cotton’s parrot is better than Cotton,” Gibbs replied. “The bloody bird doesn’t care if he sticks you.”

I heard Gibbs walk away. The door closed. Jack walked past me, shedding his coat. “I need stitched,” he explained, dropping the coat on his bunk. He threw his hat down on the table. I looked at that tricorn mass of beaten leather, seeing it as I had so many years ago. Symbolic of his luck, I had seen it first when we sailed to world’s end looking for him.

“You with me, boy?”

I jumped slightly. “Yes, sir,” I answered quickly. Our eyes met.

Jack had the absolute darkest, warmest eyes I’d ever seen. The black paint he wore on his lids and underneath only accentuated the vibrant brown inside.

“The wounds aren’t closing up,” Jack went on, stepping back slightly to tug at the laces on his shirt. I watched him reveal his skin, my hands clenched to the tabletop.

What he lacked in tattoos he made up for with scars. His taut flesh rippled with marks and ink. Dry-mouthed, I stared for almost too long before seeing the bandages. A large patch of linen covered his left side, a dark bloodstain seeping through. Another bandage covered his left bicep. It too had blood in it.

I motioned for him to sit on the edge of his bunk. “Do you have fresh water?” I asked.

“In the cask,” he said, pointing to it.

I popped the bunghole and sniffed. The wood of the cask hadn’t rotted and the water gave no scent. I put it aside and found a chipped bowl full of lemons. Dumping the fruit on the bed beside Jack, I placed the bowl on his leg. “How old are the wounds?” I asked, reaching out to unknot the strip of linen that held his largest bandage to his skin.

“Yesterday,” Jack grunted. His right arm quested underneath the piled-up blankets on his bed and discovered a bottle. Rum, no doubt, I thought, smiling to myself. My smile soured upon seeing the gaping gash underneath the cloth. Stitches, indeed. Many stitches. This would take quite awhile. Thankfully it didn’t look too angry yet. It bled too freely to be very inflamed.

The skin around his injury looked filthy. Dr. Blood had claimed dirt could make a cut fester. I believed him. I took the bowl back and washed my hands before continuing. Jack watched my every movement.

“Some reason yer getting me wet?” he asked as I rinsed his wound.

“The man who gave me a few days training said that dirt makes cuts dangerous.” I took the bottle of rum from his hand. He knew what I was about to do. I didn’t have to fight him when the rum trickled into his slash. He sat perfectly still. The only movement he made was a quick snatch for his bottle when I had finished.

“Better inside than outside, rum,” he grumbled.

Marveling at his tolerance for pain, I threaded the needle. “Do you want something to bite?” I inquired.

“No, lad, just do it,” Jack sighed.

I took my time. A badly placed stitch could tear out the entire row when stressed. I made the passes through his flesh as neatly as possible, and as gently. My concern for his closeness seemed to fall away as I worked. Jack’s table clock chimed just as I finished closing up his side.

He drank short pulls from his bottle, seemingly unconcerned with my moving on to his arm. The fumes from his breath and the bottle joined up my nose and hung there in a rancid vapor. I wrinkled my nose and squinted my eyes as I cleaned the second cut. He relinquished the rum again, and again I poured it. He took it back, grinning, as I started stitching again. Despite his breath I could see his teeth were fairly clean. This close I managed to count five gold teeth.

“Don’t talk a lot, do you, boy?” Jack said. “I reckon Woody ran a silent ship.”

“Norwood ran a boat,” I reminded him.

“Oh yes, of course,” Jack agreed, his grin growing. He started to slump a little bit.

I held onto his arm tightly, feeling the strength contained under his skin. Jack wasn’t a large man but he made full use of what he had. I could barely hold onto him for lack of slack. “Be still,” I said. “I need you to hold steady.”

“Sorry, sorry,” Jack murmured. He straightened up.

I finished quickly out of concern he would surrender to his rum so much I wouldn’t be able to deal with him. “I’d still wear the bandages,” I advised as I put the needle away. “You need padding around the wounds for protection.” As I spoke I unwound the extra roll of linen I used in binding my breasts.

Jack obediently raised his arms. I knelt close to him and began to wind the cloth strip around and around his waist. My balance faltered as I took in the smell of him on his own bed. He’d been in the sea recently. The salt and sweat mingled with the scent of his leather boots. His hair smelled of molasses and patchouli. The copper of his blood and the lemons on his bed combined uniquely. On him, my soap smelled dark.

I managed not to fall against him.

“I’ll check this bandage in about twelve hours,” I murmured, tying off the cloth. “I’d like to put one on your arm too.”

Halfway through the job, I accidentally looked down and met his eyes again. Quavering inside, I did not think to pretend any bravado. He saw my naked fear of him.

“What is it, lad?” Jack asked gently.

I gave a short, breathy laugh, hoping it didn’t sound too feminine. “I’m patching up Captain Jack Sparrow,” I said.

Jack smiled. “Too right you are,” he replied, raising his bottle.