Adrift

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Barbossa stood at the bow of Elizabeth’s boat, his belly a-mix with both nerves and elation. As he waited for word from the doctor, he watched the active little pirate community awaken around him and pondered the turn the voyage of his life had now taken.

‘Round about four decades past had Hector and the men of the Black Pearl made their home here on Wisteria, a little spit of Florida land far enough out to avoid trouble and close enough in that all their needs were easily met. Good a place as any but he had begun to feel restless once more. Putting down roots on shore had never felt right and he’d yet to find any place that felt as much like home as had the Pearl. Damn but he missed that ship!

For nearly a hundred years they’d wandered the islands through what had been known as the Spanish Main. They’d gathered swag as they could and lived like kings, making home in whate’er port struck their fancies. Their lives as pirates had run aground, though, when they’d lost the Pearl. Sunk to the depths, it had, lost in the Gulf of Mexico to a mine meant to stop the running of blockaded ports during the American Civil War.

A long string of lesser craft had they put to sea since that time and while he was glad to put off a meeting with Old Hob, he found the world afterward somehow lacking. From time to time Calypso would call them with a task to perform, but rare it was that the challenge was one that made him feel as alive as he had at the helm of that infamous ship.

Captain and crew had watched the world around them change and they’d carefully fashioned places for themselves within it. Always room for them on the fringes, there was; always a need for those who lived outside the rules that governed civilized folk. It wasn’t ‘til half way through the twentieth century that they’d found a role that seemed familiar, one that gave the men back a little somethin’ of what they’d once been.

“Cap’n! We’re gonna take the Spectre to the marina n’ get the bikes back to the warehouse!” shouted Angus Mullroy, striding towards him across the wharf to where they’d made berth with the Morgan LeFay the night prior.

Barbossa sauntered to the gunwale and leaned over, jabbing a finger in the crewman’s direction. “Ye best be takin’ care with me pan shovel, ya grimy rat, or ‘tis yer hide we’ll be usin’ to make new seat covers fer the crew!”

The warning prompted nothin’ but a wide grin from the portly former Royal Navy seaman. “Aye, sir. Always do.” He turned and ran down the dock towards the powerboat, pulling on his leather ‘Black Hearts Motorcycle Club’ vest as he went.

Hector grunted and shook his head. There was a time when those who served under him wouldn’t have dared such insolence, but the passing of the years had changed them all. The few dozen crewmen who still followed him had mellowed as battle grew to be naught but a distant memory and their coffers groaned from the weight of accumulated wealth. Those in polite society had a reproachful respect for the biker gang, that much was true, but it weren’t anything near the fear that had once been inspired by the sight of his colours on the mast, coming fast over the horizon.

He laced his fingers together, bending to lean on his forearms against the gunwale. The weight of his once-lost ring was heavy on his hand and Barbossa twisted it round, watching as the golden bear’s head glinted in the sunlight. What game was Calypso playing at, he wondered. The ring had been on a chain about Elizabeth’s neck, calling to him like a beacon across the waves as the goddess charged them with their new duties. The second time the girl had played that part in the tale, ‘though this time hers was the life that needed saving rather than his own.

Calypso didn’t provide explanations, she gave only commands. Appearing in his dreams, she’d warned of danger to Elizabeth and demanded that he do whatever was necessary to keep her safe. From what he’d seen of the young woman thus far, the new incarnation differed little from the last…no shrinking violet, she, and unlikely to acknowledge any need of protection. Knew her own mind and followed her own heart. A little older than when he’d last laid eyes upon her, true, but no less beguiling for that. And keeping her from harm’s way was going to be work, ‘though being around her again…

He sighed and cursed Calypso for her cruelty.

“Captain?” came the tentative voice from behind him, bringing him back to himself.

“Aye, Marilyn. How’s our patient?” he turned, answering her query with a small smile.

Marilyn Brock had been only 12 when they’d found her hungry and desperate on the docks near the Port of New Orleans in 1948. The crew, in an unusual turn of events, had taken her in and insisted on raising her despite Barbossa’s disinclination to allow an outsider into their group.

In time her presence grew on him and he’d educated the girl as best he could, giving to her stacks of books to fuel her unquenchable need to learn. She’d earned the nickname “Doc” for her enduring interest in medical texts and had served as physician, dentist and confidante fer them insofar as they ever needed such things. Marilyn alone knew truth of what they were, a secret they’d been unable to keep as she’d aged and they had remained as she’d first known them.

She stepped towards him, shyly brushing a long grey lock back from her face as she met his gaze. When Marilyn had blossomed into womanhood so long ago, her eye and heart had turned his way. Despite his resolute refusal to indulge her (she was like a daughter, for the love of all that be holy!), she’d pined over him for nigh on 50 years. He felt guilt at times that she’d wasted her life upon a bunch of selfish and uncouth men such as they, but she’d always rejected any suggestion that she leave and make a life for herself outside of the colony.

“The swelling around the stitches looks much better – head wounds always bleed a great deal but the skull is intact. There is, though, still the matter of the concussion, sir. There may even be hairline fractures; we can monitor her for a few days to see how she recovers and decide if she needs to be in a hospital. Fluid on the brain is what we need to watch for now. She’s asleep now but I did check her pupils and they are responding as they should.”

“Thankee, Marilyn. Don’t know as how we’d get along without ye,” he said, bowing to her graciously.

“It’s just my job, Captain.” Marilyn looked away bashfully and smiled, obviously pleased with his compliment. “I’ll come back in a few hours and check on her again.”

He nodded his acknowledgement and watched as she scurried off. Heaven bless Marilyn, but even in her prime she’d not held a candle to either the spirit or splendour of the girl now slumbering below deck. It wasn’t charitable to say so, especially given what Marilyn had sacrificed to stay with them, but that made it no less true.

For the time being, Elizabeth Turner…no, that wasn’t right, he recalled with a slightly satisfied smirk…Elizabeth Swann was safe in his care, least while he could keep her on Wisteria and away from the mainland. But there was someone out there with a mind to do her great injury, and he knew she’d not be content to hole up aboard her boat while they figured out the source of the threat and dealt with it.

Perhaps it would be best to pretend that nothing untoward had happened at all, let her continue as she’d been and lure the coward out that way. The real trick would be in convincing the lass that he and his men needed to stay close by. Sure he was that she could handle herself – had he not seen it himself time and again? But maybe the woman she was now lacked the skills that she’d had back in the day; Hector’d not gamble her life on a notion.

Time to be thinking upon a strategy that would see a profitable outcome for everyone involved.