Loathsome: Revisited

AN: Greetings, all! So I’ve been mulling over the idea of re-vamping this here beastie for a couple weeks, and I figured, why not? I ship out in June to a lovely institution of higher education, and I shan’t have the time there to write whenever I like. In this version, expect some polishing and additions and some chapters that I don’t really do a lot with. I’ve decided to expand on some things but won’t elaborate. You’ll just have to read it. ;P

Love you guys!

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Chapter One: The Orphan

“Lightnin’ flashed. Thun’er split the skies. Rain poured from ominous thick black clouds. Wind shrieked and howled through the rigging of two ships, lost in a deadly dance and trapped within the howling maelstrom. Cannon shot screamed through the air, skitterin’ off t’surface of the ragin’ sea or colliding wiv the side of a ship. The two ships, a Royal Navy bark and a pirate full rigger, had been a-duelin’ for nigh upon eight hours. T’was the famous HMS Rapier versus the equally infamous Aldebaran, capt’ned by none other than Bloody Finn McCully who was the most fearsome, famous, and all around best pirate of the seven seas.

“Three times the Rapier and Aldebaran came in wiv’in boardin’ distance of each other and three times, many lives were lost. Three times blood spilled across the decks of the ships. Three times Bloody Finn and the Navy captain shot at each other with their pistols.

“Hundreds of pounds of powder had been shot and hundreds of pounds of lead had torn through ship siding. And now, after eight hours, it seemed like the battle would never end. The two ships came together a fourth time, cannons still a-blazing. This time, neither captain would back down. The prows of the ships met with a crash and a mighty splinterin’ of wood. They were now locked together in a final effort to sink th’other.

“The pirates swooped in from their side as the navy sailors did the same, swords a-wavin’ and pistols firin’. Bloody Finn and the Navy captain found each other amidst all the hackin’ and slashin’ and blood sheddin’. It would be the most fearsome fight ‘twixt a h’officer n’ a pirate.”

The crowd gathered around the fire place in the Broken Fiddle pub was on the edge of their seats as the story teller, an old, one-eyed one-toothed individual named Sod Henry, wove tales of pirates and adventures on the high seas. Every soul there knew that Sod used to be a pirate and every soul knew that if the London officials found out, he’d be hauled off to hang from the gallows; fortunately, as nearly every soul in the Broken Fiddle had dark dealings of their own, they held their tongues.

With his emaciated form outlined by the fire on the hearth, Sod was reenacting the famous battle between Commodore William Willoughby and Bloody Finn McCully. He waved his arms and danced around, brandishing a knobby cane as a sword. While most of the crowd had heard this story several times over and were mainly adults, they still turned in their seats to listen. However, they were not as enraptured as the five children seated in a semi-circle at Sod’s feet.

They were between the ages of thirteen and five, all of them orphans or near to it. There were two in the group that still had at least one parent left. Covered in grime and soot from the streets, none of them had to have seen a bar of soap in the past few years. A few were missing fingers. Some had bumps and bruises. One even carried a crutch. But, such were the trials and tribulations of orphans in the seventeenth century poor side of London. They had each come from the tenement square a few blocks over from the Fiddle, and they each had lost parents to the small outbreak of pestilence a couple years back.

Society would not take them so they banded together. Their names from oldest to youngest were Jack, Hector, Dill, Jess, and Eliza. The leader of this little group was the teen, Jack. He was a cocky sort of cove but he acted as an older brother to the younger kids. Dill and Jess were siblings, and tiny Eliza huddled between them. Jack’s first mate was the next oldest, twelve-year-old Hector Barbossa. Young Hector was a spry, generally hateful little fellow and possibly the scrappiest in the whole group. He wore a constant challenging expression, eyes flashing from underneath an auburnish mop of hair at any that sent looks of disdain towards him. And it was he that was inspired the most by Sod Henry’s tales of pirates and adventures.

The entire process always sent a thrill through him as he sat listening to the old man yarn. It didn’t matter if he’d heard the tale dozens of times or not. His blue eyes would always be wide in awe at Sod’s exclamations and movements. Early on his life, he’d decided he was going to be a sailing man whether it be by legal or illegal means. Everything about sailing fascinated him – the vocabulary, the excitement, the chance at making a name for himself.

In fact, the lad employed his passable imagination to create his own name. Hector had heard horror stories of the fierce Barbary pirates and their captain, Barbarossa. Using his meager writing skills and a stick of charcoal, he toyed around with the letters of the place and the name and derived ‘Barbossa.’ This was far more fierce-sounding than ‘Haywood,’ his real surname. His first name was a product of his late father’s sense of humor; a Spanish-sounding name for a half-breed Irish brat who was a citizen of the British Empire.

But what made Hector desire for a vast expanse of blue and an empty horizon was the thought of freedom. Life in a tenement square was squalid and cramped and, as Jack’s mate, he had obligations to his crew. In all, he felt trapped.

Sod finished his tale amidst scattered applause and calls of “’Ere, ‘ere.” The pub owner then promptly ushered the orphans out the door, complaining that their presence was bad for business. How business could get worse was anybody’s guess, but the man had his principles. Jack, looking on the bright side for his little brood, claimed “bread don’t beg for ‘isself” and did not argue. Hector was last out of the pub, hands shoved irately into the thin pockets of his equally thin pants. Oh well. After the day was over, he could head back to the Fiddle on his own to see if Sod would tell him any more pirate tales.

Later, as the sun was setting over the Thames, the group of kids settled down in their little ‘home’ near the docks. The twins, still in possession of that luxury dubbed ‘parent,’ went home. The conditions were probably not any better but, as they knew what it was like to be totally orphaned from the others, they went anyway. Hector was in a foul mood and did not feel like going to the Broken Fiddle.

He could not come up with a reason for it. It was inexplicable. Maybe it was their lack of success that day. Maybe he was feeling bogged down by the others. Flopping down on the cobblestones under their lean-to next to a dock warehouse, he heaved an angry sigh through his nose and stared up at the lean-to’s top. Eliza, being of somewhat weak constitution, was the first asleep. This left only Jack and Hector.

Jack remained silent for a long time, watching his friend stare angrily upwards. “Hey Hec,” he said, flicking a stray strand of his black hair from his eyes. Hector only glanced at him in reply, his eyes soon flicking back to the ceiling. “There somethin’ what’s vexin’ ya?”

“I wants out, Jack,” Hector replied. “I been listenin’ to Sod tell tales for near three years now, and I knows there be a better life fer me out there somewheres.” He sat up, clenching his fists. “At least a life where I don’t hafta beg for me food.”

Jack nodded in agreement, but his mouth had a disapproving curve to it. “I know what you’re sayin’. I felt th’same way back when I founded our little group here. But that’s summat you gotta get used to. Yer obliged here, Hec. ‘Sides, a street orphan gots a snowball’s chance in makin’ it big. Life ain’t gonna change for us.”

Hector glared at his fists, a decisive expression on his face. The lay-down-and-die take on life his friend had irritated him. “Well…then I’ll make it change.” He rose to his feet, casting a disdainful eye over Jack. “You stay here and make a beggar outta yerself. I’m going to be a sailor. No…I’m going to be a pirate!”

Jack returned Hector’s derisive look with a steady one of his own. “Hec, we’re friends n’ all but I ain’t backin’ you in this ‘un. A pirate’s life ain’t high end if ye didn’t know.”

“It’s better n’ bein’ a beggar what depends on others t’do ‘is work.” And with that, Hector Barbossa turned on a bare heel and marched out of the lean-to. The water on the Thames was orange with the fall sunset. The sails of the docked ships were stark black against the light of the fading sun, and Hector could just make out some figures moving to and fro on the docks.

There had to be someone who dealt with such shifty dealings as pirating. A name popped into his head. Sod Henry.

The Broken Fiddle was near empty when Hector came through the front door, teeth chattering in the autumn cold. He spotted Sod Henry sitting on the hearth of the fireplace, sipping at a bowl of soup. Hector felt an excited grin cross his face. He hurried over to the old man. Sod looked up from his food and smiled, showing off his one tooth. “Come back for an encore?” he asked.

“No, but I got a question, Sod Henry,” Hector said, trying to ignore the smell of the soup and his growling stomach. The old man nodded once.

“And what question be that?”

Hector glanced around the empty tavern and lowered his voice. “How does one go ‘bout becomin’ a pirate?”

Sod Henry looked puzzled for a moment and fixed the boy with his one eye. “Hmm…odd sorta question fer a boy ter be askin’.”

“Please. I gotta get outta here. I don’t got any kinda life here so’s I figure I’ll go and become as famous as Bloody Finn. You was a pirate once, weren’t ya?” The old man sat back a little, looking Hector up and down for a moment.

“I were,” he said finally. “But ye do know that the life of a pirate can be thankless. Not all buccaneers get ta be Bloody Finn.”

“I know,” Hector insisted with a spastic nod.

“And ye know that sometimes life aboard ship can be as trapping as life on the streets?”

“Not possible.”

The old man threw back his head and laughed suddenly. “And ye know what to do when another man be comin’ up to knock yer block off?”

“I run ‘im through!” was the first reply that came to mind.

He laughed again, ruffling the boy’s hair. “Then it seems you got what it takes, says I!” Hector grinned in spite of knowing he had no idea how to use a sword. Sod Henry leaned in closer, lowering his own voice. “There be a ship in port at the very end of the docks. She’s a full rigger and in need o’ a few extra hands. It’ll be a right fine learnin’ fer ya. Jus’ tell Cap’n Teller tha’ Sod Henry sent you.”

Hector seized the old man’s hand and shook it vigorously. “Much obliged, Sod Henry, much obliged. How can I ever thank ye?”

“I want t’ hear o’ ye later, seein’ as yer quite set on becomin’ somethin’.” Hector nodded yet again and made for the door. He burst out onto the street and raced for the docks, cold and hunger forgotten.

By the time he reached the end of the docks, the sun had long since set and lanterns were being set out. The very last ship was in sight, and Hector could feel his blood pumping. Inwardly, however, he felt like this was far too easy. Was there not supposed to be some kind of difficulty to overcome? Or had just getting up and walking away from Jack and the kids been the hardest part?

Hector slipped into the shadow of a stack of crates to watch the dark, silent figures move back and forth from a small storage house to the ship. The men looked like pirates – some of them scarred, grimy, grim, and fairly intimidating. But what about the crates they were carrying? Smuggling perhaps.

He jumped as one man’s fingers slipped from a carried crate. Wood smacked against wood as the box dropped to the dock. Immediately, an angry hiss lashed out. “Mind yerself, Bellamy, or I’ll have your guts fer garters!”

“Aye, sir,” Bellamy replied hastily, reclaiming his box and scurrying on board the ship. Hector watched as a tall, frightening man stepped into view. The man was dark haired, but light skinned, features testament to a mixed heritage. His black eyes glittered beneath a large, grand, feathered hat sitting atop his greasy head. Immediately Hector knew this was Captain Teller. Time for an entrance.

Mere milliseconds before he came out from behind the stack of crates, a growl came from behind him, and Hector suddenly found himself being lifted off his feet. A cry caught in his throat as his would-be assailant turned him around in the air. The man that held him aloft was the biggest human he’d ever seen. Not fat but just huge. When the man spoke, Hector thought he could hear his bones rattling the pirate’s voice was so deep. “Cap’n, it seems to be we got a wee spy ‘ere.”

The large man hefted Hector a little higher into the air and came out from behind the crates. Captain Teller turned his attention from the working line of men. By this time, Hector’s tongue came back to life. “Put me down, ye lily livered galoot!” he declared, swinging a fist at the large man’s head. Futile efforts but it got a short laugh out of Captain Teller as he came over.

“Scrappy little cove, ain’t ye,” he said, looking the struggling boy up and down. Teller’s voice was low and smooth, quite contrary to the rasp of the typical pirate. It struck Hector as profound, and it would be a voice he would also remember as long as he lived. “What’s yer purpose down here, lad? T’ain’t safe for a youngun’ like yerself t’be wanderin’ alone.”

“I been alone most of me life, ye-” Hector stopped himself from calling Teller a ‘cad.’ “Sir. I wanta join yor crew and be a pirate. Sod Henry sent me.”

Teller seemed remotely impressed at his ready reply. “Well now. Any lad sent by Sod Henry’s got to be somthin’ worth lookin’ at. Set the boy down, Meyer.” Hector found himself being lowered to the ground. The boy brushed himself of and shot a short scornful look at the large man. Meyer remained unperturbed.

Turning back around to the Captain, Hector found him regarding him with a searching air. Teller’s sharp eyes took in the undersized lad with a single glance. “What’s yer name, lad?” he asked.

Hector replied promptly, head tossed back challengingly. “Hector Barbossa.” The name came off his tongue easily; he had used it often enough whenever the group of orphans took a day to play pirates or bobbies and thieves.

Teller emitted an ‘ah’ and nodded sagely. “Well then, Barbossa, wot d’you got that makes you think yer worthy enough to join my crew?”

“I suppose me bein’ here b’fore ye be evidence enough I got what it takes. Life on the streets certainly ain’t a slice o’ heaven, Cap’n. Not only that, me Mum taught me diction n’ writin’, an’ me Da taught me t’ fight.” Hector paused grandly, poised as if speaking rhetoric to a group of scholars. “I’m at yer judgment, Cap’n.”

Teller’s expression had not changed, but his jewel-like eyes twinkled amusedly. He inhaled sharply and looked at Meyer. “Well, I don’t think I can argue against such a case, eh Meyer?” The large man merely grunted in reply, but did not seem to disagree. Teller laughed suddenly and ruffled the top of Hector’s already tousled head. “Welcome aboard the Kracken, then, Hector Barbossa!”