Apprentice To The Sorcerer

We stopped in a settlement off the coast of Nova Scotia to see what supplies could be had. Since I wasn’t up to fighting standard, Jack ordered me to stay aboard ship. He, Blood, and numerous others from both ships went into the settlement together. I got a lesson in fishing from Mr. Cotton.

“Aawwwk! Back sail! Back sail!” The parrot shouted as I once again clumsily cast into the wind instead of with it. My line blew back and nearly hooked the miserable bird. I pulled it in and cast again. My line went out a decent length. No sooner had I hit water, the pole nearly leapt out of my hands.

Whatever had the line was strong, too strong.

Cotton and I steadied the pole, leaping to the task and holding it like two people in the grips of seizures. Two, then three, four long arms came up from the water, wrapping around my line and rapidly edging up to the pole itself. Cotton and I went rigid, staring at the miniature monstrosity trying to get aboard ship.

“Aaawwwk! Kraken! Kraken!” The parrot shouted.

And it wasn’t, of course, but it looked enough like it that I stood and gaped when I should have been doing something. The sight of a dripping sucker cup touching the top of the rail brought me out of the stupor, however. “Can you hold the line?” I shouted at Cotton. He nodded rapidly. The parrot flew onto the mast and fluttered there agitatedly.

I grabbed a gaff. Any squid I could kill, I would. They were an abomination.

The squid’s beak came into view. I steadied myself, raised the gaff, and plunged it between the snappers on the beast’s beak. The barb hit meat and stuck. “Drop the line and help me,” I yelled at Cotton. “Let’s get it on board!”

“Mad as a Milliner!” The parrot shouted.

Cotton took a second gaff and drove it into the beast’s body. Ink jetted everywhere, splashing onto us, the deck, and even the parrot. I held the creature steady as Cotton drove his gaff completely through it. As one, we hauled it onto the deck and stared down at the twitching, writhing mass. No, it paled in size comparison with the Kraken, but it seemed big enough. It could have easily killed either one of us.

The sounds of our harsh attempts for air were covered by clapping sounds. We turned to see our port crew and a few of Blood’s crew, putting their hands together. “Calamari tonight!” Miggs shouted.

I spat ink.

*************************************************************************************

After cook came to see what he could do, having his assistant and two others drag the floppy thing below deck, Cotton and I had to get ink off the Pearl. We were still at it when our landing parties returned. Sour with disgust, I kept my head down as the men filed by us.

Blood and Jack were discussing something so intently they didn’t even notice us.

We finished up with only a few minutes to spare before the evening meal. I changed shirts quickly, taking the risk of being seen with my bandages. Everyone knew I had a broken rib, which helped me camouflage the bandages around my breasts.

Cotton and I wearily dragged ourselves to the mess as the rest of the crew assembled. We were surprised when Jack joined us. For the last few days he and Blood had dined together in one captain’s cabin or the other. Now he appeared to be having a deep conversation with Ragetti, and so he didn’t notice when cook plopped down four large rings onto his place, along with a chunk of white cheese.

Still talking, Jack glanced down at his plate. He hadn’t noticed until this moment we’d all been silent, that he and Ragetti were the only ones talking. His eyes fell on the beer-battered, deep fried rings on his dish, their distinctive, round shape only accentuated by the squareness of his plate. For several seconds he stared while we held our breath.

Everyone knew of Jack’s stint in the belly of a squid.

Not looking at us, Jack picked up a ring and bit into it. Our collective sigh of relief stirred a lot of air in the chamber.

I had to admit it tasted good. I didn’t know if that was because I had a hand in its killing or because I actually liked the taste. The texture bothered me a bit. It gave between my teeth rather like shrimp, which I also wasn’t quite sure I liked. The mellow cheese balanced the meal quite well.

“Who do we have to thank for this?” Jack asked, washing his question down with a large swig of ale.

The entire room pointed to me and Cotton. “Cotton and Lei gaffed it on deck,” Miggs said. “Lad had it in his fishing line.” Snickers floated around the table.

Jack smiled askance at me. “Good lad,” he said loudly. “My new favorite food.”

We all laughed then.

As we ate I looked around at the people I sailed with. They were my mates now. I’d sailed with them long enough to be a part of their number, and proved myself to them many times. They accepted me in a way society never would. I thought that even if I should have to give up my way of life I would carry these people in my head and heart very clearly.

A pleasant sort of melancholy set in upon me about the same time as digestion. Feeling sleepy, I staggered over to my platform bed and eased down. Soon, Ragetti and a few others came by with various things to be read. Pintel wanted a letter read to him. He didn’t mind if everyone heard it. The thing looked about to disintegrate he’d carried it so long.

It was a love letter. Everyone sat respectfully as I read to Pintel of a woman’s regard for him. Tears filled my eyes as I related her feelings, but I didn’t feel the need to hide them. Quite a few men were wet at the lashes after I’d finished. Pintel sniffed. “Been forever since I’ve heard that,” he muttered. “Thankee Lei.”

Ragetti came up next, his tattered book of Shakespeare and his Bible out for me to take. I selected a sonnet at random.

SONNET 50
How heavy do I journey on the way,
When what I seek, my weary travel's end,
Doth teach that ease and that repose to say
'Thus far the miles are measured from thy friend!'
The beast that bears me, tired with my woe,
Plods dully on, to bear that weight in me,
As if by some instinct the wretch did know
His rider loved not speed, being made from thee:
The bloody spur cannot provoke him on
That sometimes anger thrusts into his hide;
Which heavily he answers with a groan,
More sharp to me than spurring to his side;
For that same groan doth put this in my mind;
My grief lies onward and my joy behind.

“Like goin’ to the noose, that is,” Gihr complained.

“Sad,” Landry agreed. “Let’s hear something happy.”

“Try this,” Jack said, appearing from nowhere as was his custom. He held out the book of poetry I’d seen him carrying for a week. I took it and looked at the page.

“John Wilmot,” I read aloud. “The Imperfect Enjoyment.” It seemed short enough to keep their attention.

“Naked she lay, clasped in my longing arms,
I filled with love, and she all over charms;
Both equally inspired with eager fire,
Melting through kindness, flaming in desire.
With arms, legs, lips close clinging to embrace,
She clips me to her breast, and sucks me to her face.
Her nimble tongue, Love's lesser lightening, played
Within my mouth, and to my thoughts conveyed
Swift orders that I should prepare to throw
The all-dissolving thunderbolt below.
My fluttering soul, sprung with the painted kiss,
Hangs hovering o'er her balmy brinks of bliss.
But whilst her busy hand would guide that part
Which should convey my soul up to her heart,
In liquid raptures I dissolve all o'er,
Melt into sperm and, and spend at every pore.
A touch from any part of her had done't:
Her hand, her foot, her very look's a cunt.”

Raucous laughter echoed around me. Fighting a blush, I forged on.

“Smiling, she chides in a kind murmuring noise,
And from her body wipes the clammy joys,
When, with a thousand kisses wandering o'er
My panting bosom, "Is there then no more?"
She cries. "All this to love and rapture's due;
Must we not pay a debt to pleasure too?"

But I, the most forlorn, lost man alive,
To show my wished obedience vainly strive:
I sigh, alas! and kiss, but cannot swive.
Eager desires confound my first intent,
Succeeding shame does more success prevent,
And rage at last confirms me impotent.
Ev'n her fair hand, which might bid heat return
To frozen age, and make cold hermits burn,
Applied to my dead cinder, warms no more
Than fire to ashes could past flames restore.
Trembling, confused, despairing, limber, dry,
A wishing, weak, unmoving lump I lie.
This dart of love, whose piercing point, oft tried,
With virgin blood ten thousand maids have dyed;
Which nature still directed with such art
That it through every cunt reached every heart -
Stiffly resolved, 'twould carelessly invade
Woman or man, nor aught its fury stayed:
Where'er it pierced, a cunt it found or made -
Now languid lies in this unhappy hour,
Shrunk up and sapless like a withered flower.”

The laughter, increasing the entire time I read, broke into outright guffaws. My blush couldn’t be hidden now. Much of the hooting had to do with my coloring.

“Thou treacherous, base deserter of my flame,
False to my passion, fatal to my fame,
Through what mistaken magic dost thou prove
So true to lewdness, so untrue to love?
What oyster-cinder-beggar-common whore
Didst thou e'er fail in all thy life before?
When vice, disease, and scandal lead the way,
With what officious haste dost thou obey!
Like a rude, roaring hector in the streets
Who scuffles, cuffs, and justles all he meets,
But if his king or country claim his aid,
The rakehell villain shrinks and hides his head;
Ev'n so thy brutal valour is displayed,
Breaks every stew, does each small whore invade,
But when great Love the onset does command,
Base recreant to thy prince, thou dar'st not stand.
Worst part of me, and henceforth hated most,
Through all the town a common fucking-post,
On whom each whore relieves her tingling cunt
As hogs do rub themselves on gates and grunt,
May'st thou to ravenous chancres be a prey,
Or in consuming weepings waste away;
May strangury and stone thy days attend;
May'st thou ne'er piss, who did refuse to spend
When all my joys did on false thee depend.
And may ten thousand abler pricks agree
To do the wronged Corinna right for thee.”


I finished and gave Jack back his book. He grinned broadly, fighting his own laughter at my heated face. “Methinks I’ve offended Lei’s delicate sensibilities,” Jack teased.

“We’ll get the boy laid in port,” Landry said, raising his flask.

“Aye,” Biggs said, “A woman’s just the thing for him.”

“Hopefully he won’t have as much trouble as that bloke,” Gibbs chimed in, earning an appreciative cuff from a compatriot.

“Anything else?” I enquired loudly, but grinning. I didn’t really mind they way they teased me. Their teasing meant I was part of the group.

“Read som’thin’ religious,” Ragetti said, tapping the bible on my bed.

“Allow me,” Jack said as I picked it up. He snatched the holy book from my hands and began searching. I noticed he knew the book fairly well, for he found what he sought with speed. “In honor of the wee beastie in our bellies,” he pronounced, holding the bible aloft.

“ Book of Job 41:1-34,” Jack said.

"Can you draw out a Leviathan with a hook or press down its tongue with a cord? Canst thou put a hook into his nose? or bore his jaw through with a bridle ring? Will he make many supplications to thee? Will he speak soft words to thee? Will he make a covenant with thee? To take him for thy servant forever? Will thou play with him as with a bird? Or wilt thou bind him for thy girls? Will the tradesmen heap up payment for him?... Lay thy hand upon him, thou will no more think of fighting. Behold the hope of him is in vain, shall not one be cast down even at the sight of him? None is so fierce that dare stir him up: who then is able to stand before me?...Who can open the doors of his face? His teeth are terrible round about. His scales are his pride, shut up together as with a close seal. One is near to the another, that no air can come between them. They are joined one to another, they stick together, that they cannot be sundered. By his [sneezing] a light doth shine, and his eyes are like the eyelids of morning. Out of his mouth go burning lamps, and sparks of fire leap out. Out of his nostrils goeth smoke, as out of a seething pot or caldron. His breath kindleth coals, and a flame goeth out of his mouth....His heart is as firm as a stone; yea, as hard as a piece of the nether millstone....He esteemeth iron as straw, and brass as rotten wood. The arrow cannot make him flee: slingstones are turned with him into stubble....He maketh the deep to boil like a pot....he is a king over all the children of pride."

Ragetti, Pintel, Cotton, Marty and I all shivered at Jack’s powerful recitation. His deep voice made the words resonate through the bowels of the ship. I could listen to him forever.

“Good night lads,” Jack said. “I won’t be darkening yer door anymore. Miss Bishop’s gone to Captain Blood. We still get the ransom of course, but she’s his responsibility now.”

“Glad ta hear it,” Gibbs grumbled. “Woman’s a jinx.”

“But Lei is good luck,” Mokulu countered. “It work out the same.”

We bade Jack good night. I watched him stroll out, took relish in his pronounced swagger. He made me think about having sexual relations. I felt relieved he would no longer sleep overtop me, and so close. My dreams were full of him when he slept close to me.

My dreams always made it difficult to wake up as a man. I couldn’t pleasure myself on a ship full of men. I hadn’t had the luxury of privacy or time for such a thing in nearly two years. The first two months had been the worst. I had just learned to explore my body about the time I went to sea.

Strangely, while Will had been the original reason I’d begun touching myself, he hadn’t been the reason I’d continued. Will’s furtive touches had cast a bright light on the differences between us. While he always felt guilty for attempting to touch me, I always felt frustrated because he would only go so far. My self-pleasuring had arisen from such dissatisfaction.

One evening after a hurried session of petting, I asked him point blank if he’d ever pleased himself while thinking of me. After a moment’s embarrassment, he’d answered yes, but he would discuss it no more. I insisted he needn’t be ashamed of it, even confessed I did the same while thinking of him, but it hadn’t helped. In fact, he’d avoided me for a few days. That had hurt.

A woman shouldn’t feel dirty for thinking of her man while giving herself orgasms.

I could imagine Jack wouldn’t find it a bit dirty or embarrassing. Before I’d betrayed him I might have been able to suggest such a thing and get more attention than I could handle. Easily I pictured him, staring into me with eyes the color of the dark rum he enjoyed so much. The heat of his gaze would be like the moment at the rail so many years ago. He’d almost kissed me then, had been primed for it, pursuing it, reaching out to me to caresses my cheek and hair with the back of his stained hand.

I’d said I was proud of him, but I’d been so disappointed. I’d wanted to know what that pirate tasted like. I’d found out later. For months I endured the phantom taste of him. He left the grit of gunpowder and tang of smoke on my tongue, the smooth bite of rum and the sharp caress of crystal ginger.

My body shook in memory. I didn’t want to think about this. Surely it did no good to think like this.

I took out my pipes, wondering if I dared to play when we did not need wind. I felt needful to change the subject in my mind and I didn’t feel like reading or studying. The card and dice games didn’t interest me either.

Cautiously, I began to play, not thinking of wind but of Jack. My mates raised their heads at hearing me. A few glanced at the hatch. When nothing immediately happened, they relaxed visibly. Conversation reduced to a murmur so it wouldn’t be hard to listen to me.

The temperature raised to a very comfortable level. All the cold drafts seemed blocked. Gibbs sighed as the heat relaxed his muscles. Gihr stopped shivering in his hammock. My warm thoughts of Jack made powerful notes.

I played another hour to allow the men to get sleepy while still relaxed. They fell asleep in balmy comfort, listening to me play. Not too long after, I ran out of wind and joined them.