Teeth clattering violently, I allow the officers to escort me into the Great cabin towards the bed. One stands idly by, unsure of what to do with a shivering human with pale skin and blue lips. The other tries his best to help by ripping apart more of the bed curtains and holding them out towards me.
I accept them with a shaking hand and wrap them around my shoulders to generate some warmth. Although, I've been cold too long and the fact that my clothes and hair are soaked, doesn't help at all. I need to get rid of this dress and find something dry to wear.
At the thought of that, my eyes land on the dress on the table, the one they found from the pirate wreck. I can tell by a single look it's slightly different than the grand dresses Elizabeth taught me to wear. In the same breath, it also isn't as dull as the nurse uniform the Navy made me wear some days. But what it looks like doesn't matter. What matters is to get dry and avoid catching a possible fever.
"Th-thank you f-for your he-help," I tell the officers through shivers and clattering teeth, "May I p-please have so-some privacy?"
They nod once and like the ghostly beings they are, float downwards and disappear through the floorboards.
The moment they're gone, I grab at the dry dress and toss it on the bed. Then I reach up to start undoing the buttons on my current garment's bodice. If getting dressed is as hard as is it is, getting undressed with cold and numb fingers takes the prize. My fingers slip numerous times, my nail catches on some loose thread and nearly tear off, and one of the buttons breaks clean off when I tug on it too harshly.
At last, I am in my undergarments and corset - the blasted thing. Elizabeth gave it to me a few months ago. Apparently, it is the latest fashion in London. I nearly fainted when the maids pulled on the strings that day - did the women in London never learn to breathe? Fortunately, I learned how to wear mine slightly looser than what is expected of it.
The second the corset and undergarments hit the floor, I shiver in relief at the absence of the icy, wet material. It hardly bothers me that I'll be putting on the new dress without anything underneath. It's not as if I'll be leaving the cabin any time soon, not until I am fully warm, my clothes and fully dry, and I thought up a good enough story to explain to the crew why I'm not dead.
Using the ripped curtains, I dry off the rest of the saltwater on my legs and back before picking up the dry dress. But just as I roll up the material to slip it over my head, the door bursts open and in limps the Capitán.
My breath hitches in my throat and on instinct, I press the garment to my bare frame to defend my modesty.
He stops dead in his tracks when our eyes meet. His flickers downwards to my bare ankles for a split second before growing in realization and darting to the side, avoiding looking at me completely.
"Don't you knock?" I exclaim in a higher pitch than usual.
"How was I supposed to know you are getting dressed?" He defends himself while still looking everywhere except at me.
"Turn around!"
With two thumps of his rapier, his back is turned on me and I seize the opportunity to throw the dress over my head and shimmy it down my waist. The moment it covers my ankles, my hands go up to pull at the strings at the back, but since the dress is a size or two too big, it keeps slipping down my chest to reveal more cleavage than I wish to show.
"Dammit!" I curse when the strings slip through my fingers once more, thus sending the bodice slipping down a third time. Huffing in annoyance, I accept what I must do and clear my throat, "I can't believe I'm asking this but, could you help me, please?"
...
The Capitán tilts his head before looking over his shoulder to make sure she is decent this time. He blinks at the sight of her in that dress. It might be too big, but the color compliments her eyes splendidly - sapphire blue like the ocean at its deepest.
Then she turns around and breaks his trance, "Just pull the strings until they cannot go any further. When the entire bodice is tight, you tie it at the bottom. That's all there is to it."
"You would entrust a ghost with this task?" He questions in bafflement.
"It is either you or Lesaro and you, Capitán, happens to be here," she waves the strings around without looking at him, a silent order to start pulling her close.
Salazar hesitantly steps forward and takes the flimsy strings from her fingers. She sucks in a breath and straightens up, and he gives the first pull.
"Ah!" The girl winces and he halts, "Maybe not that tight. And maybe pull a bit slower."
He opens his mouth to protest... but ends up closing it instead. Perhaps if he does her this small favor, she'll be more open and honest when he asks her why in the name of Mary isn't she dead.
Resuming his hold on the strings, Salazar twists them around his pale, cracked fingers and this time, give it a gentle pull. Before his eyes, the two ends of the bodice meet. As he notices this, he also notices the exposed skin of her back underneath the material. He can't even remember a time before the curse when he had the pleasure of beholding a woman's bare back, even less her ankles.
Ultimately, that thought is what darkens his mood and causes him to resume lacing her up just to get it done with. If not for this damned curse, he might have had a wife and a family by now after cleansing the seas of pirates. He could've indulged in the intimate pleasures of marriage as many times as he liked if not for Jack Sparrow. This is yet another thing that the pirate stole from him.
...
The Capitán doesn't linger once he completed his task of lacing me up. As soon as he tied the strings at the bottom of the bodice, he limps towards his desk and leans over it as if studying a chart.
I pull at the top to cover more cleavage before moving to what remains of the mirror against the wall. It really is a beautiful dress, slightly different than the ones they wear in Britain. Perhaps it was made in Spain? The intricate designs on the skirt sure remind me of the fabrics Elizabeth had imported from Spain. And despite not wearing undergarments or a corset underneath, it still manages to maintain shape and posture.
Still slightly shivering, I wrap the dry curtains around my shoulders and move towards the desk, "Thank you."
"I don't want your gratitude." His sudden outburst stops me from taking another step. Looking up from his desk, he tilts his head towards me, "I want to know how you're still alive. No living being can survive such fall which tells me you are keeping secrets, girl."
My feet stand their ground when he passes through the desk and approach me dangerously slow. Those raven tresses float around his head in watery patterns while the gold flecks in his dead eyes seem to ignite in his rage.
"You claim to be a healer but we found you locked in the brig," he rasps and leans down to whisper into my face, "Tell me, señorita, why did they confine your hands?"
Although my heart is racing in my throat, I keep my mouth shut.
"Is it because you can do more than healing, perhaps? You bring people back from the dead?" His brows rise in anticipation as he makes the next assumption, "Is it because you're a witch?"
"I am not a witch." That little word instantly fills me with rage while I stare down the Capitán. How dare he make such claims? He doesn't know me. He doesn't know what I had to endure to be where I am today. Yes, he might be cursed, but at least was never on the run from guards and townspeople who want to hang him at the noose or burn him at the stake.
My reaction only spurs him on, black liquid dripping from his lips when he continues, "How do you explain this then? Only a witch can escape death as you did."
"I did not escape death, it's the ocean that won't let me die!"
The floorboards beneath our feet tremble and the ship creaks ominously. The Capitán looks from me to the floor and, finally, back to me. Although he lacks the usual fear and disgust I'm used to seeing on people, I can clearly tell he is baffled - surprised even - by what he just saw.
His gaze makes my skin crawl as he tilts his head in question, "Then what are you if not a witch?"
"Cursed," I say through my teeth, "just like you."
My whole body tenses when out of nowhere, he barks a laugh and the black liquid sputters from his lips, "Ha! Cursed? You think you're cursed, girl?" He leans dangerously close to my face and seethes, "Do not toy with me. You know nothing of how it feels to be cursed!"
"So you think because you're a ghost and condemned to the Triangle that your predicament is worse? You know nothing of what I had to endure."
"Twenty-five years," he grinds his on his teeth, "That's how long it's been since I've seen the sun and felt its warmth. That's how long it's been since the Mary fell prey to the Sparrow, trapping us here where the light can't reach our eyes and the bitter cold is all we know." He straightens up and limps back to his desk, "Do not tell me you know what suffering feels like. I detest lies as much as I detest pirates."
I know he has a point. My arms and legs are still trembling from the chill in the air and even the constant darkness is clouding my mind, threatening to erase all traces of determination and optimism from my head. This crew had to endure this for two and half decades - I can't even begin to calculate how many times I can try drowning myself in those years.
Sympathy replaces the spark of anger within me. Arguing with him won't get me closer to finding the trident. The best I can do is try and make him understand that we are more alike than he thinks.
"You're right, I don't know what it feels like to be trapped here for all those years." He huffs from the desk but I choose to ignore it. "But I do know what it feels like to spend a night in the barracks with prisoners reaching for me with their filthy hands, vulgarly saying what they want to do to me. I know what it feels like to be on the run and surviving off scraps of food I find in alleyways or animal pens. I know what it feels like to hide out in caves and jungles and go days without eating or sleeping."
My courage starts to return and my feet carry me towards him, "Everywhere I go, people shun me for something I am not. I've faced death so many times, I lost count. Tell me, Capitán, is it really living if all I do is run and hide? All because I am stuck with an ability I do not want?" Placing my hands on the surface of the desk next to his, I lean over slightly and add, "Doesn't that sound like a curse to you?"
...
As soon as the Spanish captain looks up, he regrets it. The moment their eyes meet, he is trapped in her oceanic gaze. There is nothing he can do to look away. Weren't her eyes sapphire blue before? Is it possible for their color to change from blue to a pale, stormy gray?
It is as if the ocean itself feels her desperation.
He blinks from his trance when a breeze sweeps through the cracks in the walls, whispering past his ear and stirring his hair. But this is not the kind of breeze that one feels when standing at the wheel of the ship with the open sea ahead. It doesn't fill him with the sense of freedom he so very much craved. Instead, he feels her pain in the gust of air passing over and through him. It seeps into his ghostly form and fills him with more melancholy he thought possible for one person to feel. Is this truly what she is feeling right now? Is she sharing her emotions through the wind? What kind of magic does she possess...
And just like that, the breeze vanishes along with the cloud of pain that accompanied it. The Capitán gazes down at himself, making dead sure he is still a ghost incapable of emotions, before finally looking at her, "What are you?"
"I already told you, Capitán," she says, "I'm cursed."
Salazar would've asked her how exactly she became cursed if three knocks on his door didn't foil his plan. Despite his curiosity towards her and what she can do, he thumps his sword against the floor and watches as three crew members drift into the cabin with arms full of extra provisions.
When did he order them to scavenge for more supplies?
His annoyance is instantly overclouded upon noticing the look on the girl's face as she beholds the objects they set on the table. Leaving him at his desk, she goes to see what the crew found. He keeps a close eye on her as she picks up each object and examines it all over. The more he thinks about it, the more he starts comparing her to the ocean itself - vast and unpredictable, yet it leaves you curious about what lies underneath the surface and at its deepest end. One moment, she is calm, and the next she is a raging storm that threatens to sink any ship within her reach.
Now?
He tilts his head at the sight of her turning a music box over in her hands. She opens the lid and gives the figurine inside a little twist, blinking in delight when it makes a melodic sound.
Now she reminds him of a tide pool - calm and still, but if you look close enough you'll spot the treasures underneath the surface.
...
"What's all this for?" I ask the crew members and gesture at the supplies on the table.
"We do not know how long you will be staying with us, señorita," Santos, who is among them, says, "Hopefully this will make your stay on the Mary easier."
Easier.
Not memorable - easier.
I realize what it must look like to them, a mortal woman falling to her death from a mast. Or did she? Who says she didn't jump to be rid of this punishment? Anything is better than waking up to complete and utter cold and darkness each morning.
The fact that they wish to make my stay with them easier, tells me there is still a hint of humanity left within them. The curse hasn't taken it all away. This is more than any Navy ship has ever done for me - and I was their healer, which says a lot. Here, all I am is a prisoner, a reassurance that Henry will return with Jack Sparrow and yet they treat me like a guest.
They didn't need to do this but I am eternally grateful they did.
Although it's not more food, at least there are a few objects among the heaps on the table I can occupy myself with. There are a few books, all wet, of course, but nothing a day outside and a breeze can't fix. There is a sword, still sharp and relatively new. The hilt tells me it belonged to one of the Navy's officers I sailed with. And then there is the music box. It must have been in the water too long for it doesn't work as well, but I'm sure if I tweak with it a bit I might get it to play a song.
"Thank you," I tell the officers sincerely and look upon the rest of the objects - lanterns, pieces of jewelry, a heap of clothing, wet blankets, and... is that a cannonball? Ignoring the latter, I add, "I appreciate your effort."
"We shall lay the blankets outside to dry," Santos nods and pulls his lips in what I presume is a smile which, to his dismay, only allows black liquid to dribble down his chin. Wiping at his mouth, he waves the other two officers to the table and they each grab an armful of clothes and blankets before leaving the Great cabin.
The Capitán has been quiet the whole time. From the corner of my eye, I catch him glowering at the things on the table before pacing around his desk. And just like that, without another word towards me, he leaves the room.
What an odd man.
I shrug it off. It suits me perfectly fine if he doesn't wish to be in my company anymore. All that talk about curses and who endured the worst punishment was starting to get frustrated anyway. Now I can work in peace in trying to figure out how to get those lanterns working again...