Apprentice To The Sorcerer

The boat ride into Tia’s domain held to standard. We were watched from the moment we entered the swamp; I felt gazes upon us. I sat close to Gibbs, using him as a shield from silent, hidden eyes. Nevertheless, I stayed close to Jack as he ascended into Tia’s home. My imagination had to be to blame, but I felt Jack draw comfort from my presence.

“Jack Sparrow,” Tia greeted, smiling from ear to ear. “And Joshamee Gibbs,” she continued. Her eyes fell upon me. In an instant she summed me. “And Lei Trapezia,” she murmured. Beside her, Jack started. Surprise filled his dark eyes. He looked to me and back to Tia swiftly.

“I have just the t’ing you need, Lei Trapezia,” Tia went on. “Show me your money.”

I dug around in my vest, but Jack stopped me. Closing his fingers nearly twice around my wrist, he kept me from withdrawing my funds. “See it first,” he advised. “Don’t show the color of your money until you know what you’re buying.”

“Ah, Jack takes on de student,” Tia cackled. “Verra well. Come wit’ me boy, and see what I have for you.”

I followed her through a curtained doorway. She gestured me to a slimy looking chest. Kneeling, I worked the latch on it. Crammed inside were bottles and bags of herbs. A real surgeon’s bag nestled against one corner. A bolt of linen and miniature bale of cotton sat against it. I spied a sheaf of papers and pulled them out.

“Dey are notes to healing,” Tia said softly. “I not start as a seer. Nearly every woman start her journey wit’ taking dis knowledge for herself.”

Her notes were exhaustive, including diagrams and drawings of plants, organs of the body, and of distilling techniques.

“De white man know many t’ings, but he not put the spiritual wit’ de physical. You sail to see yellow men and you find dis out for yourself.”

“Do I have enough?” I poured my money into her hands.

“It be wort’ more ‘an this, but yes, you have enough.” Tia tucked my money away. “Now, tell me, why you be foolin’ aroun’ pretending to be a man? No one can hear us back here, don’ worry.”

“I wanted freedom,” I said, feeling close to tears. “Women aren’t free.”

“Dey must make demselves free,” Tia answered. “I see why you go and do dis masquerade, but not for Jack Sparrow.”

“He’d treat me different if he knew,” I said fiercely, certain it was so. “I’m content to sail.”

“For how long do you t’ink, you be content?” Tia fixed me with a hard but not unfriendly gaze. “You watch him. You always have watched him. Someday you want more dan lookin wit’ eyes.”

“I wouldn’t share him,” I explained. “Better to see him like he is, free.”

“Some men, dey wan dat captivity. Some men, dey don know what dey want.” Tia put the papers back in the chest and shut it. “Jack Sparrow, he knows what he want but he won’t admit it, same as you.”

“Don’t tell him,” I pleaded. “Please don’t tell him.”

Tia made a dismissive sound, blowing air between her lips. “I tell Jack nothing. It is not my business to force confidence. You get Gibbs to take dat chest to de boat and I will talk to Jack about what he wants.”

“I hope you can help him.”

“I always help Jack Sparrow,” Tia replied. “Even if him head as hard as a coconut.”

Tia must have been of some help to Jack. No sooner were we all back in the boat, he turned to look at us, grinning slyly. “On to Isle Sainte Marie,” he announced.

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

We took another Portuguese vessel not two days sail from Madagascar. The crew fought but we won easily. I admired Jack’s picking and choosing; we’d sailed by quite a few ships but he’d decided upon this one, and this one carried great treasure. Now we had in our hold enough loot to fund several months of luxuriant living.

I received the equivalent of a thousand pounds.

Jack hadn’t been injured in this little diversion, to my relief. He fought with the rest of the men, right in the thick of things, but emerged without a scratch. I thought about him while I sewed up men and set bones.

“We got a problem,” Gibbs said from behind me. “Come with me Lad.”

I followed Gibbs to the bilge. Inside the holding bars were two men. One was a friend of my father’s, Colonel Brighton. The other was my father. I stared at them in disbelief.

“Young man’s got something wrong with his leg,” Gibbs said. “And the other man is the governor of Port Royal. Portuguese captain must’ve had them held for ransom.”

“Governor Swann,” Jack greeted, coming through the hatch. “And his pirate hating friend, Lewis Brighton.”

“Jack Sparrow,” Brighton spat.

“Captain Jack Sparrow,” I corrected automatically.

“Yes lad, they know,” Jack said with a smile. “They just like to put a spin on me.” He gestured to the man standing guard. “Let them out,” he said. “Mokulu, Ragetti, and Pintel are to watch them at all times.”

“Colonel Brighton’s leg,” my father said, coming close to the bars. “He must be examined.”

“We have a doctor,” Jack said succinctly. “Get your friend out on deck where the light is good.”

I fell in beside Jack, at the back of the line. He glanced down at me. “It might have to come off,” he said softly, referring to Brighton’s leg. “Are you ready for that, Lei?”

“Can anyone be ready for that?” I said. My head reeled from seeing my father. What did Jack intend to do with them?

“Maybe not,” Jack relented. “Good luck to you, bucko.”

“Thank you Captain,” I murmured.

Colonel Brighton’s leg reeked of gangrene. When we all converged upon deck I could see it as well as smell it. I would indeed have to cut it off. Hopefully it would save his life.

His eyes sought mine out as I bent to examine him. He had fear, real fear for his situation. I reached into my pocket and handed him my flask. “It’ll have to come off,” I said softly. Brighton nodded once, a quick jerk of his head that told me he knew it already.

While my patient got good and drunk, I brought the medicine chest out. I had never even used the saw. It gleamed brightly.

I was going to cut a man’s leg off.

Resolved, I got a leather strap to restrict his blood flow and a thicker piece for his teeth. Instead of the normal rum to put on the injury, I chose spirits of Tia Dalma’s make. I told the cook to put an iron skillet in the fire and leave it there until I called for it. My hands weren’t even shaking, I felt so detached from what I meant to do.

Gibbs, Pintel, Ragetti, Cotton and Mokulu took stations around Brighton. I didn’t feel surprised that Gibbs opted to hold his head and talk to him. The man had decency in him to the bone. I smiled at him as I applied the leather strap to Brighton’s leg.

Following the writings of Tia, I used her spirits on the skin and then on the instruments. In the blackness that followed I can only be told I did well with Brighton. My eyes took in his spongy, rotten flesh, the pus and blackish blood while my ears filled with his pain, but I only knew each second at a time. Bones do not accept a saw like flesh will. Bones resist. My arm grew weary with the tremendous effort I exerted, for I did not want to draw this out any longer than needed.

I nearly gagged when I cut through the last bit of bone, for the remaining flesh sagged horribly. I took up the lower, infected leg and finished the job. Brighton fainted as I applied more spirits and I felt thankful, for I still had to cauterize the wound. The cook brought me the skillet and I pressed it down into the ragged flesh. The sizzle and smell of cooking human meat made several people choke. Marty vomited over the side. My father fainted.

While others recovered, I took the strap off of Brighton and removed the leather from between his teeth. He’d bitten it into two pieces. I tossed them over the side. Taking up my chest, I dragged it back into the captain’s cabin.

“Tell the crew we’re sailing back to Port Royal,” I heard Jack say from close by. “We’re dropping Miss Swann’s father and Colonel Brighton off.”

“We could take them to Madagascar with us,” Gibbs said. “Send them back on one of their own ships.”

“Will and Elizabeth would never forgive me if something happened to Weatherby Swann,” Jack countered. “String them slings in my cabin. I’ll have the lad stand watch while we sleep.”

“You can count on the lad to do something like this?” Gibbs asked softly. “I mean, the boy is determined, but-.”

“Lei is the perfect guard,” Jack interrupted, causing my pride to swell. “He’s young, alert, and as you say, determined.”

“Aye,” Gibbs relented, but I could hear the reluctance in his tone.

“Josh,” Jack murmured quietly. “This isn’t about me replacing you. No one could replace you.”

“You’re full of bilge water,” Gibbs muttered, but he sounded mollified. “But I suppose you just don’t want to tend to Brighton yourself if he makes trouble during the night?”

“I have no doubt Lei could handle anything I put him to,” Jack responded. “Now, since we’ve put off our sail to Madagascar, how about bringing me up a brick and a ball?”

“Aye,” Gibbs said.

Before Jack could address me, Ragetti and Pintel carried Brighton into the cabin. My father staggered along behind, obviously only just having been awoken by someone. He peered around in a disoriented way, first at Jack and then at me. “I appreciate your hospitality, Captain Sparrow,” he said, painfully formal. “I wonder if I might have a word with you in private?”

Jack motioned everyone out, stopping me as I neared the hatch. “Not you, lad,” he said. “You stay. Make sure the colonel is comfortable until we can get him in a hammock.”

“Yes sir,” I said, bending down to check on Brighton.

Jack offered my father his bottle of rum. To my surprise, my father not only took the bottle, he tipped it. The two men passed it back and forth a few times before my father’s eyes slightly relaxed. Jack kicked a chair out for him to sit in, then sat in another one backward himself, resting his arms over the back of it. “I don’t know,” he said simply. “But Elizabeth Swann is not on this ship.”

My father, pre-empted, sagged a little in his chair. “I had hoped you would know,” he said. “She thought a lot of you and I assumed she would cross your path.”

Jack smiled slightly. “She thought a lot of the legend, not the man,” he argued. “Once Lizzie got to know me, she knew me better than she should have known me, you know?”

My father shook his head as if to clear it. “I don’t understand,” he muttered. His face changed suddenly, from confusion to anger. “Did you know my daughter, like Will Turner claims?”

Three years gone and my father wanted to know if I’d lain under Jack Sparrow. Unbelievable.

Jack’s eyes widened as he took in my father’s meaning. “Not in the biblical sense, no, Weatherby. I solicited her for favors quite often but she never gave them out, not to anyone I saw.”

My father’s lips pressed together. “Just when I think I know a decent man I’m reminded you’re a bloody pirate,” he complained.

“And ‘ow did Elizabeth come into the world if not for indecent behavior?” Jack grinned. “I wouldn’t worry about her. I read her letter to the three of you. Young Will showed it to me not two weeks ago.”

“She had to have been mad to run off,” my father said. He didn’t appear to really be listening to Jack.

“She wanted to live for herself, is that so terrible?” Jack offered the rum bottle again. “Mate,” he intoned lowly, leaning over the table to look my father in the eyes. “If she’d been born a man you wouldn’t think about it like this, would you?”

“Of course not,” my father said tightly. “A man can take care of himself. A woman should be protected and cherished and given everything. I wouldn’t expect you to know that. You pirates never marry and raise families.”

“You think I was hatched?” Jack smirked at him. It wasn’t a nice smirk. Jack looked absolutely evil with his lips twisted up and his brown eyes as dark as pitch. “My parents were smugglers. I assure you they were married and raised me quite well.”

“I don’t mean any insult,” my father protested weakly. “But life at sea is no place for a woman, I cannot be convinced otherwise.”

“So you aren’t as worried about her as you are concerned she’s out of place in our world?” Jack reached into his pocket and pulled out the little shark’s tooth he’d etched for Will. He ran his thumb over the point of it, eyes thoughtful. “People like Lizzie will always be out of place, Whetherby. They taste life while others try to make it change to suit them. Your seed is truly sown, so why not let her sow a few seeds of her own?”

As poorly as Jack had phrased himself, my father seemed to understand. He bent over the bottle and stared at the table. Jack eased out, leaving him to ruminate by himself. Approaching me, he suddenly paused and threw wide the hatch. Pintel and Ragetti fell inside, tangled up in hammock netting. “Thanks, gents,” Jack said, shoving them back outside.

While he hung the slings, I readied Brighton for his trip off the planks. Jack lifted him in his arms and carried him over to his own bed. “Wouldn’t get me own bed under normal circumstances,” he informed the still unconscious colonel. “But I don’t want to hear your bellyaching come morning. A man with one leg can’t really figure out a hammock overnight, can he?” He took Brighton’s coat off and slung it casually to the side. It landed on my father. I took it off and hung it on a nail.

“You get the bottom one, Weatherby,” Jack called out. “Lei, keep your pistol on Brighton even when he’s asleep.”

“I don’t have a pistol, sir,” I said.

Jack pulled one from his coat and handed it to me. “You can shoot?”

“Yes.”

“Good. I doubt Mr. Swann will be any trouble, but the good colonel hates me, so…”

“I grasp it,” I assured him. “Anything funny and I go from doctor to executioner.” I felt horrible keeping a weapon trained on a half dead man and my own father.

“Exactly.” Jack walked back to the hammocks. Carefully, he stretched his arms over his head. His hands fell short of the main beam. Before I could marvel at what he might be doing, he’d used the beam to haul up and swing down into his hammock. I stood up, almost pointing the pistol at him. If he’d ripped his stitches…

“No worries,” Jack said, seeing my sudden, aggressive exit of my chair. “Fine, not torn,” he said, lifting his shirt to show me. “Right as rain, lad, I swear.”

I sat back down. My father gave a mighty sigh, got to his feet, and fell into his hammock.

About midway through the night I heard Brighton wake up. I raised the wick in the lamp. He turned his head, saw my pistol and froze.

“You’re in Captain Sparrow’s cabin,” I informed him gently. “Governor Swann is in the bottom hammock and the captain is in the top. I am to shoot you if you make a threatening move.”

“You’re the one that took off my leg,” Brighton sighed. “I need to relieve myself.”

“You can go in the pot under the bed,” I said. “Don’t move that stump if you can help it.”

I couldn’t help studying Brighton’s private parts. I’d seen lots of them by now and made a game of trying to match size with personality. Brighton’s penis looked average and rather fleshy. It suited him.

“How soon will you know if I’m going to make it?” Brighton asked, shoving the pot back under the bed. He eased down, fixing me with his bright grey eyes.

“You’ll make it,” I said with confidence. “I cut past the gangrene. You can be fitted for a peg-leg. I doubt it hinders you very much.”

“You call a peg-leg non-hindering?” Brighton hissed. “My career is over!”

“Get another vocation,” I suggested. “I went from merchant sailor to pirate.”

“You’re that scrawny boy Norwood lost, aren’t you?” Brighton gave a short, sharp laugh. “You ever show your face-.”

“Don’t bother with your rhetoric,” I snapped. “Shut up. I could make life painful for you right now. The fact I’m not is no guarantee of amnesty.”

“I’d have you flogged if you served under me,” Brighton muttered.

“What a lovely observation,” I countered. “And pointless.”

Brighton made as if to get up. I cocked the hammer back on Jack’s pistol. “I saved your life,” I said lowly. “But that was my job. Now it is my job to see that you don’t wander about the captain’s quarters. If I have to shoot you to accomplish that, I will.”

“You wouldn’t,” he argued, trying to stand. I advanced upon him. Just as he turned to see me, I brought the butt end of the pistol down on his forehead. He collapsed back in bed silently. Working quickly, I strapped him down with my belt and one of Jack’s.

Strolling back to the table quite pleased with myself, I raised the rum bottle toward Brighton. “Cheers, mate,” I toasted. “May you dream of shy, retiring, one-legged women.”

In the darkness overhead, Jack’s dry chuckle drifted.