“Uggggh. Light. Too much light. Why is there light? There isn’t supposed to be light.” I grumble. I flip over and cover my head with a pillow. I’m used to getting up at the crack of dawn, when only the first few rays of the sun peek out over the blue horizon. When I do that, I can gradually get used to the light. But I’m not saying I won’t leap at a chance to sleep in. “Sorry, Miss, but your father is coming.” The maid who pulled my curtains open says. My father. The thought rolls and bounces around my sleepy head. Who’s my father today? I wonder. Was I transferred yesterday or is it happening today? Ah, yes, it happened yesterday and it’s now Governor Weatherby Swann. He’s nice, unlike some fathers I’ve had. I’ve changed fathers so many times I can’t keep track of them all. This fanciness and wealth is new, though. There’s lots of maids, servants, fancy dresses, balls, lavish parties, feasts, just everything! I’m more used to a harder, much poorer life.
Father then enters with two more maids (So many of them!) who are carrying a box.
“Please, not another dress, especially one with a corset!” I beg him, knowing that that’s what the box contains.
“Why in heaven’s name not? It’s the current fashion in London.”
“Screw the fashion.” I say under my breath.
He gives me a stern glance. “Sorry.” I mumble. Father’s only known me for a few hours, but he knows I swear like a sailor. So I’ve got to watch my language more (or say it quieter). He doesn’t tolerate oaths and curses. He says I must learn to be civil, like Elizabeth. But he doesn’t seem to see her rebellious spirit that won’t be molded into a “proper” lady. She’d make a great pirate.
I pull out the dress and I am shocked at its beauty. It just seems to flaunt its cost.
“It’s a wonderful dress, but what’s the occasion?” I ask.
“You know James Norrington, do you not? Well, it’s his promotion ceremony today, and we’re going. He’s becoming Commodore Norrington now.” James is a fine man, and I know he has a very special place in his heart for Elizabeth Swann.
Elizabeth is a nice but slightly spoiled girl. She’s gone on a ship maybe once, on her crossing from England to here, Port Royal. I grew up mainly on a ship. She’s lived a life of total luxury, living right in its lap. She’s never gone without three several-course and hearty meals a day, while I have had to scrounge on the ships for something edible, or what I could beg from the crews. I would often go days with a rumbling belly and parched mouth. I wore threadbare, tattered rags; old, ripped, coarse canvas sails and whatever happened to fit me off of the bodies of the crew’s most recent victims. I don’t think that Elizabeth has ever gone without the finest silks and softest satins to clothe her.
But I don’t feel sorry for myself, nor do I envy her in any way. I mostly like the way I was brought up. If anyone tries to even lay a hand on me, the offending digit might be very suddenly parted from its owner. I always keep a razor-sharp knife with me (after a certain incident) and it’s never out of reach. I’m also quite handy with a sword, if I do say so myself, because I have fought and trained with some of the best. I have fought/trained with Blackbeard, Jack Sparrow, and Hector Barbossa, just to name a few. But I didn’t start out this way.
