Pirates of the Caribbean: Barbossa and the King's Messenger (Book 1)

Marooned

Chapter Seven -- Marooned

I staggered up the beach after Jack, dripping wet and calling out in frustration to his retreating back.

"Well, that was brilliant, wasn't it? Aren't we the favoured ones! Everything went along just splendidly after you gave him the bearings – only he's got all the splendour, along with everything else that wasn't nailed to the deck – no, I am in error! He's got the deck as well! And look at the state we're in now – no food, no water, and no rescue! And he's stolen my last possessions! Now I've got nothing but the clothes I stand in! Am I leaving anything out? Yes, by heaven! He also promised to kill me - after he could find time to return and use me for who-knows-what horrid acts! And he'll get the treasure, and he'll probably come straight back afterwards with his frightful men and hunt us down like animals, if we're not skeletons by then!"

By this time, Jack had disappeared into a stand of palm trees, and I sat down in the sand to catch my breath, head in my hands. "I told you it was bad luck to give the ship a new name," I lamented.

I heard the soft scuffle of Jack's returning feet, and he sat down beside me. "Y' know, some might say it was havin' a woman on board that brought the bad luck," he observed.

I began to protest, but he held up his hand for silence. Handing me a few small, odd berries, he offered a ray of hope. "Perhaps smugglers use this island," he suggested. "It might be easy as Bob's-yer-uncle to get away."

"It has certainly been visited," I agreed, looking at the berries resignedly. "These are from a sugar palm from the East Indies, yet a stand of them is growing just over there – the really tall ones. They must have grown where the seeds fell, left here by a passing landing party."

Fascinated, I turned the fruit over in my hand, recalling its description in one of my botany books. "Unripened, it may be eaten when boiled with sugar, but the mature fruit is used to poison rabid dogs." Behind me, I heard the sound of Jack spitting something into the sand.

"I shall climb up and see if I catch sight of any vessels," I said. I stood up and brushed the sand off me, and we made our way to the stand of sugar palms. With some difficulty, I went up the trunk of the tallest palm and batted the fronds away from my head, peering in all directions for several minutes. Nothing broke the surface of the brilliant blue waters. "Not so much as a flying fish," I said, scrambling back down.

I turned to find Jack extending a bottle towards me. "Where on earth did that come from?" I asked.

"It calls to me, darlin'," he explained. "There's a big pit dug just over there under the poison palms, if you must know. Have a swig, then have some more swigs, and we'll make ourselves comfortable while we work out our next move."

I drank from the bottle, and was rewarded with the taste and warming fire of the rum. But as we sat on the sand and continued to drink, a melancholic turn of mind stole over me.

"I suppose I may as well die here," I sighed at last. "James would never return to me, in any event. Never, never, ever, ever...."

"And a fine young gentleman he was," Jack interjected, already opening his second bottle. "But don't you think you should perhaps, move on a bit? Just – you know – to try someone new, and more . . . piratical? I have been wondering if this is the opportune moment, when we take things to the next level." He moved closer.

"Ah, but James was . . . perfect. And now . . ." I couldn't say what I thought, that he would only feel pity – or even revulsion. I recalled his noble face, his skill with sword and pistol, and the warm glow of pride I felt at balls and fests, when James would lead me gracefully through the most intricate dance figures. "I would have been Nina Norrington," I sighed. "Doesn't that sound lovely?"