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The Pirate - Part Two



“Will ye be joinin’ our crew, lad, or will we be havin’ to kill ye, eh?” Surprisingly, it was no man but instead a woman. For a moment he said nothing; women were supposed to be bad luck on ships, it was shocking that they had let one join their crew.

He tried to speak, to say something, but he couldn’t get the words to come out, they were stuck in his throat. The dagger came dangerously close to his throat; he could feel the cold metal upon his flesh. “Aye, I’ll join,” he said in barely a whisper, but the pyrate heard him.

“Turn around,” she ordered. “Ye try anything and ye’ll go to Davy Jones’s locker, savvy?” He nodded, his throat too dry to speak. There had been many times a ship had tried to take theirs, but this was the first time they’d ever succeeded in boarding it. The pyrate hastily but tightly bound his hands together, so tightly in fact that the rope cut into his skin. She pushed him toward another pyrate who shoved him toward the edge of the ship. He was then forced to get aboard their pyrate ship.

Angrily, he struggled against the pyrate trying to force him down. Kicking and biting at him. Finally, the man slammed something down on his head. He could just faintly feel the pain. Everything became black; he was falling into emptiness and he couldn’t stop himself.

“Ye be stupid, lad,” a voice muttered, a woman’s voice, the same woman that had captured him before. “Keep still!” John stopped trying to sit up. The bed he was in was hardly comfortable. In fact, it wasn’t a bed, just a few measly blankets and a pillow on the floor.

“Ye should’ve just been stayin’ still, then ye wouldn’t be havin’ that,” she jabbed at his head and he let out a short gasp of pain.

John closed his eyes, his head was aching deeply. Feeling his forehead he came upon a large bump. It must’ve been from whatever that pyrate had slammed on his head. Once he opened his eyes once more, the pyrate girl had gone.

“Ye all right, lad?” asked another pyrate. “That’s quite a lump there on yer head, eh?”

“Why’s a girl on yer pyrate ship?” he inquired.

“She’s our first mate, lad,” he answered. “Ye better be treatin’ her with respect, eh?” John nodded, puzzled. A girl for first mate? It was unheard of, simply not done! The pyrate got up to leave and John was left alone.

He struggled to stand, but it was hardly possible with his pounding head. As he finally succeeded in standing, he found that he was so dizzy he could barely take a step. There would be no escaping for him today. But even if he were feeling fine, where would he go? His old crew had most likely either died or joined this one. Besides that, this crew seemed fine enough.

“Lie down and rest why don’t ye?” came a very familiar voice. John was stunned to hear it. “John, ye all right?” Looking around, John noticed that in fact he wasn’t the only one in the room. At least five other wounded pyrates were there, lying on either the ground or on hammocks. Martin was one of them.

“Blimey, Martin, are ye all right?” John asked, seeing his friend’s deep wounds. Martin nodded, but John wasn’t so sure. He had been badly wounded on his stomach and head. The red bloodstains had leaked through his bandages and the color had almost completely drained from his usually red face.

“Lie down, ye scurvy dog!” a voice yelled to him in anger. Looking up, John could see a blurry figure. After his eyes focused more, he saw that it was a pyrate glaring at him.

“Nay,” said a softer voice. “If he can stand and walk, he can work.” The girl pyrate had come out. She looked at him in wonder. “Ye shall swab the decks, boy.” Swab the decks! John thought in anger. “Come here.”

John followed her, not bothering to hide his look of fury. He didn’t like being called ‘boy’ by a girl no older then himself and he didn’t like being ordered around by her either. “Why’re ye first mate?” he demanded. She stopped walking and turned to him.

“And why not?” she demanded. Her odd amber eyes were bright with anger and her fiery orange hair only strengthened the effect. She waited impatiently for an answer.

“Well,” he began. “For one thing ye be a girl, and ye be a bit young.”

“Ah, I see,” she said nodding. “Girls are not bad luck on a ship, ye...” She stopped and held her breath, trying to calm herself.

“Why’re ye first mate if ye be so young?” John asked again.

“Why not?” she snapped “Grab that 'ere bucket.” He leaned down to take it. Four rats were inside; startled, he nearly dropped it. “Dump those in the ocean, ye scurvy dog.” I disliked being called a scurvy dog even more then ‘boy’.

“And while ye be at it, fill it with salt water.” Salt water so the floor wouldn’t be slippery when he cleaned it.

“Ye should be hurryin’ up, boy, ye took a long enough caulk fer the both of us.”

“How long?” he asked in surprise.

“Nearly a day,” was her response. He sure didn’t feel as though he’d slept that long, he was still exhausted. Stumbling over his own feet, John closed his eyes. His vision had gotten little better. The pyrate grabbed onto his arm to help him keep his balance. “Ugh,” she said in annoyance. “Ye should be gettin’ more sleep.”

“Nay, I’m fine,” John answered, reopening his eyes. He looked over at the girl; he could feel her breath upon him. He’d not noticed before, but she was rather pretty. “What be yer name?” Quickly and with a scowl on her face, she released his arm and began to walk once more, her pace quickened.

“Ye don’t need t’know,” she snapped and then added, “But it’s Amber. Handsomely now, mate, if ye be fine as ye says.” He tried to go quicker, but it only made him slower as he began to trip more often.

“Ye be weak, little lad,” Amber informed him. “All ye got is a wee bump and scratch.” John tried his best to ignore her. “And ye be trippin’ and fallin’ cause of that?”

“He hit me hard and I lost lots a blood from that ‘scratch,’” he objected. “And I ain’t a ‘little lad’ and me bump ain’t ‘wee’.” Determined to show her that he was not weak, he tried to walk without tripping so much.

“I’ve got me work t’ do, so go on up that way.” And without another word, she strode off in the opposite direction.

Once John had finally made it above deck, he realized he’d dropped his mop on the way up. With a sigh he looked to the first pyrate he saw. “Sir,” he began. The pyrate walked on by without even glancing at him. John cleared his throat as another pyrate came toward him “Sir.” This pyrate at least stopped. “Would ye mind gettin’ me the mop back there?”

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