Pirates of the Caribbean: Fate Intervenes

A Gifted Buccaneer

Upon Edward Teague's departure, I swung back over to the Misty Lady alongside him and began my training.

Things were different. The hulls and deck of the Misty Lady were polished and consistently clean. The crew was quiet and stately, their clothes not necessarily clean but as close to matched and new as pirates could get.

I remember my first day, where I sat on the other side of Teague's desk, situated in the middle of a dark and immense Captain's Office. He looked over at me with deep, intimidating eyes and studied me for what felt like forever. I glanced around, finding decorations on the walls woven by natives or painted like warriors, swinging my legs impatiently. Finally, his voice creaked out of parted lips and it captivated my attention immediately.

"You've always been aboard that ship?"

"Aye, sir."

"Your Captain seems to think that the pirating way of life isn't in your best interests."

I sighed. "The way he figures it, I didn't choose to be left with pirates. I deserve a chance at a normal life."

"But is that what you want? Simply because you're a lady, would you want to read and marry and live in prissy dresses?"

"Honestly? I've never been ashore. I'm not sure I'd know what to do with myself, Cap'n."

"That's Commodore to you." He held up a finger, his eyes widening and lips stiffening with caution. I blushed and looked down, tucking my hands together and letting my hair fall over my cheeks to hide my face from him.

He cleared his throat. "I will teach you how to read because I see that as a valuable asset. Not to just a proper lady, but to anyone. I never understand how people captain ships for years and can't even read the words on the charts. But, you are a crew member. You are a pirate. I will teach you how to sword fight so as to make you a valuable asset to myself. The moment you cease to contribute to my success, you will be left at Shipwreck Cove to be raised."

A catch in my throat halted my breathing, my eyes feeling dry and bulged. "By whom?"

"Who knows? I might leave you with my mother and son. She'll teach you many things." His sick cackle caused my hands to grip the toy box I was holding tighter in my trembling hands.

"Rory!" He shouted out to one of the two men guarding the door, and the man strode over to the desk.

"Aye, sir." Rory stood above me, tall and built, a bald head and scars etching his nose and neck.

"Miss Stafford, this is Rory. He is the single best sword fighter I've met in my days sailing the Seven, save myself. He teaches every one of the crew members, and that'll include you. You'll wake up promptly, eat breakfast with the crew, take a literacy lesson from me, and spend the rest of your time learning to fight. Maybe I'll occasionally give you a chart lesson." He winked.

And so it was. I did everything the way I was ordered at the time I was ordered to do it, giving my all to every task put before me. I had no other choice; what I couldn't accomplish due to my size, I had to compensate with using my determination. There was no other way to prove myself.

Rory showed no sympathy for me. After teaching me strokes with long, wooden stocks, I graduated to a rusty, old sword with a cannonball fastened to the end.

"If you can learn to fight with that much weight on your tip, it'll be childs play with that little sword of yours."

I'd stare yearningly at the metal box across the deck, wanting desperately to practice with it but knowing he was right. I had to master the technique before I started with that weapon.

The part which gave me the most disadvantage was that when we practiced together, he always used the same sword... the one on his hip, waiting for enemies. He used no stick of bamboo or weighted hunk of iron. I, no matter what he had me fighting with that day, had to dodge the blows of a sharpened, beautifully-crafted pirate sword. The result of my first misstep in my footwork hurt the worst, my cheek being sliced both by metal and the shattering realization that I had to fight for my life now on a daily basis. After that, each scar marked a mistake I'd never make again, and a memory during the learning period I'd never forget.

By the end of the first three months, I could write any of the crewmembers names in beautiful calligraphy, I was five chapters into reading my first classic, and I'd managed to keep my face relatively unscathed, save two pinkish stripes and one round nick beside my nose. Though the admiral wouldn't admit it to me, I'd overheard him referring to me as "gifted".

These men weren't like the ones I'd grown up around; they all had seemed astonished when I'd given them each a small slip of paper with their name beautifully etched across it, just as a memento for them to keep and to finish my daily practice with the Commodore. Before, I'd make silly little things for all the crewmembers on the Wicked Wench, like hair beads made of painted driftwood, and they'd grown accustomed to it and pretend to fight over these coveted delicacies. However, on the Misty Lady, the entire mood felt more tense and stately, and through everything my journey here had taught me, I still believe I helped them some as well. I lightened the mood, giving the air a certain exciting ring to it that any little one would.

***

Jack held up a finger, breaking me from my wave of concentration.

"Er, Livvie, wouldn't it be much more interesting if you skipped to the part where I come in?"

I rolled my eye. "Aye, maybe so. But, if you don't mind, I'd like to talk about myself a little bit for once. Besides, you've never heard this either."

"I'm not sure anyone has and lived to tell the tale." He grumbled, pushing himself backward in his chair. As much as I hated to admit it, he was probably right. I wanted to talk about myself, but without him in my life, I wouldn't have the same story to tell.

So, on it went.