Apprentice To The Sorcerer

“You have three Captains in love wi’ you,” Mokulu said. “One is admiring love. One is father love. One is heart love.”

“I don’t think any of them love me,” I retorted, cursing as I dropped another stitch. “Jack wants to lift my skirts, Peter wants to pick my brain, and Barbossa…” I sighed. “He’s just…strange.”

“Hmph,” Mokulu said. He sat down beside me and looked at my work so far. “I never see a woman make a dress in two hours,” he commented.

“It isn’t a dress.” I threw the frock coat into his lap. “See that open seam? Sew it up.”

“What you wear on your legs if this be what you put over your body?” Mokulu picked up a needle and thread and began to work on my coat, his huge fingers incredibly apt with the needle. Well, he’d had some practice on skin by now, so that wasn’t all that amazing.

“These,” I answered, dropping the leggings on the platform. He glared at them. I saw him aching to say something about their semi-transparent nature, but he refrained.

“This be cut low in front,” Mokulu said with a scowl, turning the coat over.

I smiled at him finding fault somewhere else. I hadn’t designed my clothing to bother him, but it hadn’t made a difference. “No lower than society demands at present, I’ll wager,” I said. “If it bothers you I can wear a shirt under it.”

“You mean you would not have, had I not said?” Mokulu gave me a wide-eyed look. “Hodari-Lei, you brave and strong, but you not fend off more than a few men at a time.” His voice cracked a bit. “You are temptation in trousers and shirt, much less dis…” he shook my coat at me. “Much less dis t’ing!”

“Like anyone at dinner would touch me,” I snorted. “My only concern is Jack’s wandering hands.”

“I shudder to know where his hands have been,” Mokulu said, giving his head a shake.

We sewed in silence for a few minutes.

“Hodari,” Mokulu said suddenly, “I want to know something. Why you always trust me like you do?”

I looked at him. “What do you mean? You’re my brother.”

“But you always trust me,” Mokulu persisted. “You not know me, you speak maybe five times to me. Then, I offer family to you because I know you worth it, and you tell me your secret.” He looked back down at his sewing. “You take bad risk. I could have hurt you.”

“Just something in your eyes, Sabado,” I said softly. “And you offered me a great gift. I couldn’t taint it.”

“You are special gift,” Mokulu said. “When we build our homes, I want to be close to you.”

“You will be,” I promised. “Even if you weren’t you would never be out of my heart.” I put my hand over his. “I mean it. I could not be closer to you were you my birth brother.”

Mokulu blinked away a tear. Taking a deep breath, he began to sew with a vengeance. “You want to make Captain Jack crazy with little clothes, I help you,” he said. “I help you beat him off if it backfire. I help you bury de body if he die. I say de words at his grave.”

I kissed him on the cheek. “No one is going to die. Jack will behave.”

“Will you behave?”

“Probably not.”

“That my Hodari.”

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

Mokulu proved broad enough for me to change behind. He stood, arms folded, glowering at our mates as they sat doing their nightly activities. Even if they’d had business to attend to on deck, they missed it, for he didn’t let anyone stir from their spot while I put on my outfit. No one but me really considered I would be revealed in all my naked glory if he had to enforce his will on anyone, so I had no trouble.

But while the men would have gladly seen, none of them really tried. Mokulu’s glower and huge body aside, they respected me enough not to look.

These bloodthirsty pirates broke my heart sometimes. They were good men.

Good men that whistled and stomped when I came out from behind my brother.

“Gorgeous!” Ragetti shouted, startling me. “I’d pluck out me eye fer you, lass!” To demonstrate his veracity, he did pluck out his eye. On bended knee he presented it to me, one hand over his heart. His audience howled with laughter. I took his eye and frowned at him.

“What, you want me to wash it out again?” I asked. I plopped it back down in his hand. Of course, that put fuel to the fire. I fended off a dozen marriage proposals, shot down my mates as cruelly as possible, stirring their sadistic little libidos with relish. They made a game out of everything and I could play with the best of them. They loved every put-down, every sneer and every rebuff I handed out.

“You swabs enjoy your evening,” I said, mounting the stair. “I’m off to sup with the three Captains Gruff.”

Hilarity followed me up the staircase. Just as I worked the hatch, Mokulu appeared at my shoulder. He thrust a dagger in my hand, and a strap. “You put dis on or I not let you go,” he announced. “You big enough temptation to ruin de captain tonight.”

“Where am I going to put it?” I ran my hands over my waist, feeling that the fabric wouldn’t allow a bulge.

“Around your paja,” Mokulu said, kneeling beside me. He wound the strap around my thigh, up the inside of my leg, criss-crossed it twice and clamped it shut at my waist. Looking to make sure no one was behind him, he lifted my frock coat over the strap and effectively concealed most of it. I looked down and saw only the one crossing of leather, plus the dagger in its sheath. Mokulu smoothed my clothes back down, scathing words leaving his lips all the while. “You stab dem in de makende and you have no trouble,” he muttered.

For the second time in one evening, I kissed him on the cheek. “You worry too much,” I said. “Don’t wait up. I promised the captain I’d stay with him tonight.”

Mokulu turned white underneath his dark complexion. “You do what?” he whispered.

I bit my lip to keep from laughing. “Not like that. We have things to talk about.”

I left him before he could grab me and haul me back down the stairs.


I should have known the deck would be crawling with people.

Making my way as casually as possible toward Jack’s cabin, I nodded to my mates still on shift. A few grinned and a few looked dumbfounded, but all watched me. I spied the Three Captains Gruff standing together at the rail. I felt nervous now that I stood at the brink of being seen. Despite my protests to Mokulu, my clothes were a bit more risqué than the current fashion for women. For one thing, women didn’t ordinarily show so much leg. Or bare arm. And gowns were square cut at the bosom, not plunging down the neckline.

They all saw me at the same time. My eyes skimmed over Peter’s startled look, and Barbossa’s frank appreciation. I only cared about how much trouble I would be in with Jack. Perhaps my clothing would be considered gauche, even among pirates?

Jack’s burnt sienna stare sent ripples of heat through my body. He pushed himself off the rail, approached me with his hands behind his back. I stood my ground as he gained ground, keeping my head up and my eyes on his, though already I shook with something not quite as simple as fear. When he stopped before me I had to remind myself to breathe. His very gaze scorched my blood.

“If your intention was to reduce me to a mere mammal, congratulations,” Jack murmured.

“What makes you think I did this for you?” I breathed, barely containing my smile at his quick wit.

“I asked you to dinner,” Jack said, infuriatingly logical. “And I’m the only one you’re sleeping with tonight.” He raised the back of his hand to touch my temple gently, stroking down to my jaw.

“Can’t a girl just wear something nice?” I posed. His touch both comforted and frightened me. He thrilled me, this pirate. I wanted him and I wanted him badly.

“Certainly,” Jack said lowly. “A girl can just wear something nice. But you aren’t a girl, are you? You’re a woman. And you aren’t wearing something remotely nice.” He held out his arm to me, like a gentleman. “Brava, me luv.”

I allowed Jack to lead me toward Peter and Barbossa. The former smiled at me, not making the mistake of bending over my hand. I couldn’t afford to be treated like a real lady, not in front of my mates. Barbossa touched his hat and nodded to me, smiling faintly. “Missy,” he said.

“Captain Barbossa,” I greeted politely.

We entered Jack’s cabin. I took a place beside Jack. Barbossa began to sit beside me but stopped, looking down at my legs. “I hope ye won’t take it fer ill between us,” he drawled, “But I think it wise fer me ta sit elsewhere.”

“Why is that?” Jack looked at him suspiciously, a spark of masculine threat in his eyes.

“Nothin against yer lass,” Barbossa said, sitting on the other side of Peter. “She’s a pleasure to look at.”

“What then?” Peter asked, joining Jack in his implied pissing contest.

Barbossa feigned surprise at being asked the question. “I’d rather not say,” he said, almost taunting in tone.

Jack breathed through his nose. “Your privilege,” he muttered.

Wondering what on earth I could have done to offend Barbossa, I looked at him. He smirked, winked, and started going through Jack’s liquor bottles. Dismayed, I put my head down. It hadn’t been a flirtatious wink, exactly, but the planks under my feet weren’t stable anymore.

Cook brought us the first course himself.

I put a helping of roasted lamb on my plate with a slice of sharp cheese and a spoonful of rice. Jack poured a glass of red wine for me but not for himself. To my shock he served himself water. I thought at first he poured vodka, but no odor came from his glass. I risked a questioning look in his direction.

“Tooth,” he said shortly.

I’d forgotten. Feeling stupid, I nodded.

“Where be the captives now?” Barbossa asked.

“On the Advocatus Diaboli,” Peter answered. “My wife is tending to them.”

“And what will we be doin with them?” Barbossa countered.

“They’ve elected to stay.” Peter looked down at the table for a moment. “You saw they were mostly women?”

“Aye,” Barbossa said. “T’was me mostly unlocked them.”

“Figueroa took them from a pleasure outing.” Peter shook his head. “You’ll see what I mean, of course, but they’re all…liberated people.” He looked distinctly uncomfortable.

“Meanin?” Barbossa leaned in. “Ye have ta speak plain.”

“They’re…” Blood made a noise of frustration. “I don’t know what the label is. They’re part of a special society to promote sexual freedom.”

“Aahhh,” Barbossa said with a grin. “No wonder Figueroa didn’t want ta lose ‘em.”

“Well, but they aren’t yet experienced,” Blood replied, toying with his food. He really blushed now.

“Dear God,” Barbossa said, almost sounding disgusted. “And they want ta gain their experience with us?”

I shot a look at Jack. He smiled a secret smile. I knew what he was thinking. He wanted me to gain my experience with him.

“Well, damned if I can come to any other conclusion,” Peter admitted. “You’ll have to come see them to appreciate it. In fact, I’d be in your debt if you would.”

Barbossa tossed Peter a gauging look as he stabbed into a whole, roasted quail, bringing the entire thing to his plate. “What be yer meaning? What have I ta do with tremblin, eager virgins?” He straightened, blinking as his own words came back to him. “On second thought, be you needin me tonight?”

I snorted, choking on lamb. Jack slapped me on the back.

Peter cast Barbossa a look that neither condemned nor approved, as only an Irishman can do. “One of them is asking specifically to see you,” he informed him. “Told me to give her name, Magdelena Blanco.”

“Blanco,” Barbossa muttered. “I knew a Philomena Blanco.”

“Her mother,” Peter said.

Barbossa began to look interested. “Be she a comely lass?”

“Astounding,” Peter confirmed. He shrugged. “Not your daughter?”

Barbossa snorted loudly. “I never tossed Philomena’s skirts, so no, I don’t imagine I’m this Magdalena’s pa.”

“Probably make a good one though,” I said, unable to resist. “All of you would, I think.”

All the men stared at me as one, eyes boring into me as if I’d lost my mind and I would leap up any second to dance on the table. “Woman’s opinion,” I defended mildly, cutting into my dinner. “Take it or leave it; I don’t care.”

And I did hold to my claim. Jack would be a splendid father if he lived long enough. He had a great mix of strength, smarts, and fun that would make any child’s life rich. Peter had compassion and strength, which qualified him, and Barbossa possessed a no nonsense attitude that would make the most recalcitrant child tow the line.

“I didn’t say you’d make great husbands,” I said sourly, when it became clear by their silence I was expected to back up my opinion. “It’s a different mechanism, after all.”

“Same mechanism fer both jobs,” Barbossa argued, but he hadn’t much heat in his voice.

“Only initially,” I replied, laying down my fork. “Children require stern guidance and a sense of adventure, which all of you hold. If you could be pinned down to any sort of stability you would all be ideal, which is moot for Peter since he’s managed it already. This all depends of course on whether or not you’ve all contracted venereal diseases from the whores you seem to enjoy so much.” I reached for the salt dish, not looking up. “Most women look for men that won’t give them weeping boils on their conchas.”

I looked at Peter under my eyelashes. He looked as if he would burst. His teeth indented his bottom lip and his body jerked with the effort not to laugh.

Sprinkling a bit of salt on my lamb, I looked at Jack. “Will you pass the pepper please, Captain Sparrow?” I asked quietly.

He picked it up and held it out to me, eyes glinting with humor. “You’re spicy enough, don’t you think?” he asked.

“Gets right up a man’s nose, she does,” Barbossa interrupted. His disgruntled, mystified expression almost made me lose my aplomb. The great mutineer pirate captain didn’t know what to think of my little monologue.

“Noses don’t cause the problem,” I sighed. “It’s lack of education about communicable disease.”

Peter released a shuddering breath. “Elizabeth is very correct, unfortunately,” he said, coming to my defense. He lost his grip on his knife and it clattered to his plate loudly. “I found a reluctance in the general public for medical knowledge. When a man isn’t even allowed to dissect a body to learn about it, not many will allow frank discussions about pregnancy, disease or the prevention of either.” He picked up his knife and began to saw at his meal with grim determination, still not meeting my eyes. “Case in point, our reactions to her very truthful statements.”

Barbossa began tearing his bird apart. “I’ve never got nothin’ I couldn’t get rid of,” he muttered. “Most of my trouble seems ta be hangin’ onta what I do get.”

“Except for that brief, almost not-worth-mentioning episode of living death,” Jack said mildly. “You kept that for awhile. You had the Pearl longer than I would have liked, too.”

“They both be gone now, don’t they?” Barbossa viciously skewered his quail breast. “But back to the original point of yon lass’s lecture, what may a man do aside from roll the dice?”

“Take baths and wear a sheepskin,” I said.

“You have some sort of fascination with bathing,” Jack said thoughtfully.

“Men who bathe get more action between the sheets,” I answered coolly. “If you don’t believe me just ask any woman. Didn’t you get solicited for my favors while I had a bath at the Malagasy whorehouse?”

Peter choked.

We all looked at him in alarm, realizing at once he couldn’t breathe. Barbossa stood up calmly, dropped his unused napkin to the table, and pulled Peter up from his chair. He dropped Peter’s stomach over the back of the chair and shoved down on his shoulders. A piece of food shot out of his mouth and struck the lamp. Barbossa sat back down and went on eating. “Learned that in the Orient,” he told us.

Peter grabbed his glass of wine and downed it in one gulp. “You took her to a whorehouse?” he asked Jack, his vitriol slightly dampened by the effort to get his wind. He shot a glance at Barbossa. “Thanks for that. You’re going to have to explain it to me later; I was too busy dying to worry about what you were doing behind me.”

Barbossa nodded placidly.

Jack knocked back a glass of water. “I took Lei Trapezia to a whorehouse,” he corrected Peter.

“But Elizabeth is Lei,” Peter said, frowning.

“Not at the time,” Jack argued softly.

“Trapezia,” Barbossa muttered. “Where did that name come from? What’s this about the lass bein’ someone else?”

“Lizzie was pretending to be a lad when I picked her off Norwood’s boat,” Jack explained.

Barbossa’s eyes cut to me. He took Jack’s old letter to him out of his coat and reached behind him, snatching up Jack’s quill and inkpot. He scribbled a minute on the back of the draft. I couldn’t see what he wrote. His mouth lifted at one corner as he put the quill and ink away. “Pirate Eliza,” he said. “Clever lass.”

Jack blinked. “I never thought your name might be an anagram,” he said, sounding slightly upset.

“Neither did I.” Peter frowned at his plate.

I raised my glass to Barbossa, who, grinning, answered my salute.

Cook came in with the next course. I took a helping of okra and left it at that, thinking of dessert. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had something sweet.

A series of shouts out on deck brought us all to our feet. My hand fell to my dagger as the hatch behind me burst open. A man, Spanish by his complexion, charged into the room with an axe held over his shoulders. I stood, instantly going for my weapon. A gun went off at the same moment I plunged the dagger into his chest.

The whole incident took less than seven seconds.

I pulled out my dagger and wiped it on the dead man. Jack put his pistol away. Barbossa jerked his head toward me but looked at Jack, eyes shining with humor. “She has a habit of doin’ that,” Barbossa said. “It’s why I’ll never be sittin’ beside the lass.”

Jack looked to me, eyebrows raised as an invitation to explain.

“I stabbed Captain Barbossa,” I admitted. “With a table knife.”

“Oh.” Jack shrugged. “Not recently?”

“Well, no,” I said.

“Good, because he’s our friend now,” Jack replied. “As long as he behaves I suppose.”

“What about this dead man?” Peter said impatiently. “Did we miss one of Figueroa’s men?” He started searching the body.

“Look like it,” Barbossa said. “I vote we burn his infernal ship, make sure all the rats come out.”

“We searched the ship,” Peter said, sounding frustrated. “Three times.”

“Didn’t look in the bilge too close, did ya?” Barbossa said as Marty and Biggs dragged the stinking carcass away. “Don’t feel bad, no one ever does.”

“He had to be either ignorant or an idiot to come in here like that,” I said scornfully. “Three pirate captains sitting to supper!”

“Ahh,” Jack said dismissively. “He mightn’t ‘ave known. Don’t let it spoil your meal.” He strode to the hatch and stuck his head out. “Any more uninvited guests and you swabs eat once a day for a week!” he shouted, obviously a bit miffed. “Can’t have anybody over to dinner on the Pearl!” He slammed the hatch and stalked back to his seat.

I felt mightily tempted to throw a comment of my own out there. I could have threatened to let Jack’s mouth get septic again. No one wanted to deal with him like that. Instead, I picked up my chair, set it back, and sheathed my dagger. I had to draw the edge of my coat back slightly to do so. Both Jack and Barbossa watched me openly. Peter went back to eating, studiously looking at his plate. As I sat once more I wondered if the persnickety Arabella Bishop appreciated her husband’s rigid fidelity.

“So, we be needin’ smiths and clothiers here, what else?” Barbossa enquired.

“Everything,” Jack said. “I want a fully represented society here, don’t you?”

“Will you see patients again?” I asked Peter. The thought of not being the only doctor appealed to me. Mokulu still had to improve his reading skills to advance, though his practical knowledge seemed at least as good as mine. “I know you said you didn’t miss being a surgeon, but I think I’ll be overworked if Mokulu and I handle it all.”

“We can always just grab a few physicks,” Barbossa said.

“Not as good an idea as ye might think, Hector,” Jack said. “We don’t want angry doctors treating us.” He got up, abandoning his dinner to walk to his windows and peer out into the blackness. “And the women that stay here will want midwives.”

“Strange,” Peter murmured. “We’re going to populate an island with our own kind. It’s a very big thing. Cac, it’s just now sinking in.” He put his head in his hands briefly, then cast a look at me. “I’ll be glad to partner with you, Elizabeth, and your brother.”

“Be unusual to have three medics in one spot,” Barbossa said. He looked at Jack’s back. “Be you intendin’ invitin’ the clergy?”

Jack gave a bark of a laugh, swinging around to meet Barbossa’s red-rimmed gaze. “Squeamish?” he asked.

“Not fond of ‘em, no, but hardly averse,” Barbossa answered. “Somebody’s got ta do the marryin’ and buryin’ here. If I put to land permanent, I won’t be doin’ either, and ye can’t tell me I’ll be the only captain what wants to lose those duties.”

I thought of Ragetti as being a quick study, but kept quiet. He’d have to get a lot quicker with his reading and learn how to keep his mouth shut at awkward times to qualify as our resident holy man.

“Plenty o people in this world lookin’ for religious freedom” Jack murmured. “We’ll make do until they get here.”

“Why you be wantin’ ta do this, Jack?” Barbossa asked. “This could be yer own slice of land, yer own private island.”

“It’s been my island since I was born.” Jack went back to looking out the black windows. “This be an investment. I’ve given my life to the sea but I don’t want to be buried in her.”

“Aye,” Barbossa returned quietly. “Me neither. I want a grave fer people ta visit and spit on.”

His declaration lightened the mood.

Dessert came. I smiled at Barbossa’s delight in apple pie. I had a slice and so did Peter, but Jack abstained. He took up a bottle of vodka and swished a mouthful around noisily. Peter noticed. “Something wrong with dessert?” he asked.

“No, I’m just not eating sugar until Lizzie tells me I can.” Jack opened the hatch and called for the plates to be taken away.

“I pulled a tooth,” I explained. “And broke an abscess.”

“Packing?” Peter enquired.

“Linen,” I answered. “Vodka to keep it clean.”

“Mokulu told me your theory on boiling things and using heavy spirits to clean instruments,” Peter replied. “Very interesting. It would mean dirt and contagion cannot always be seen.”

“Sabado says his grandmother boiled everything,” I told him. “She said it killed bad things.”

“Boilin’ll kill damn near anything,” Barbossa said. “But am I to take it there’s little bugs we can’t see on everythin?”

“Good way to put it,” I said. “We ought to be boiling our drinking water.”

Barbossa shivered. “I’d rather drink live bugs than dead ones,” he vowed.

“How about no bugs? No bugs is good,” Jack said.

I shared a look with Peter. We smiled at each other.