In The Company of Thieves (1/1)
"Can you open your eyes?"
Wind. Searing pain. Crimson dripping down his face. Surf chilling his bones...
"Can you hear me? Can you open your eyes for me?"
Sweet voice, silk hand across his face, sleep claims him once more...
Oliver's eyes slowly peek open, hues of warm reds and oranges flooding his vision. He can't see much...a dark blur immediately above him...the soft light of the fireplace... a mahogany desk to his right... a very old man intently studying charts, completely ignoring the injured young man as if he had seen that sight one too many times in his life to care...
He blinks to find that the dark blur above him is no longer a blur, but rather a young woman- a very beautiful young woman of no more than eighteen, adorned in men's clothes- examining him with a furrowed brow and a tongue that slightly pokes from the corner of her lips; her hands upon his chest, playing with the buttons from his uniform.
When she finally notices his dazed expression, her scrunched eyes suddenly become as wide and as bright as the moon.
"Good, you're awake...now I must know. Who are you?"
She goes back to her studies instantly, chocolate hair cascading over him, hands curiously poking at his clothes. Never in all his twenty years had he been this close to anyone...and certainly not anyone female. Oliver's body tenses suddenly, flushed beneath her touch and frozen in apprehension.
"Leave 'im be, Scout," the old man at the desk finally speaks, low and rough, eyes focused on his work, and the girl looks to the side, as if internally debating with her inner angels and demons, before eventually leaning closer...
Oliver instinctively reaches for a sword that is no longer at his side...
The light from the fire casts a wicked glow upon the girl's smile. She whispers.
"You'll get the sword back after I tell you that you've woken in Shipwreck City, surrounded by pirates..."
He only leaves a moment for his eyes to widen before he's standing, backing up to the wall, searching desperately for a weapon, feet less sturdy than his determination...
Before he can protest, she catches him, arms wrapping arms, nose grazing nose, a laugh erupting, reverberating through her body.
"Are you trying to injure yourself?" She asks, trying her best to keep him upright. His breath catches and she smiles mischievously in response before slowly helping him lower himself upon the hammock.
Oliver suddenly notices the sharp pain ringing across his forehead, reaching gentle fingers to the source of the discomfort, finding tiny protrusions beneath cloth.
"There was loads of blood when I found you. Had to sew up your head." The girl has sat upon a chair just next to him, feet propped upon the mahogany desk, boots inches from the old man's. She leans over and picks up a block of wood from the desk and begins slicing meticulous pieces using a blade with a curious handle.
"My mum, having the steadier hand, would have mended you, but she is away on business on behalf of the King."
The old man at the desk coughs, slowly shaking his head at something. Frustrated at his charts? She looks up briefly to meet Oliver's gaze and smiles upon finding his perplexed expression.
"Pirate King, mate," She remarks, placing a soft hand upon his arm. Oliver wonders whether it's the pirate or the girl that makes him tense beneath her touch.
"Is it true?" He finally manages to speak, voice scratched as if he was speaking for the first time.
"Is what true?" She asks nonchalantly, focused on her carvings.
"What my father told me? The stories about this place?" He pauses, suddenly feeling possibility rise in his chest as something terrifying, and yet somehow horribly exciting...
"Am I really here?" The question leaves his lips like a whisper, a prayer to an unknown deity.
She smiles, glancing over to the old man who meets her eyes with a knowing smile before looking over to Oliver.
"Well of course you're really here. What kind of a question is that?" The man replies, an amused smile digging deep lines into his face.
"But you haven't killed me." Oliver sat up slowly, wincing in pain.
"Have to have a reason for killing someone, lad. By the looks of you, you've been sailing under the British flag for less than a year. Wouldn't be much use killing you now that you're here in me study, and no one would care to pay money for you anyhow. Just feel lucky Ava found you and not some trigger-happy drunk with an unusual sense of humour."
"Ava?"
The girl looks up in a smile, gently gesturing to herself by pointing the blade in her direction.
"Me," She says, before gesturing with the blade over to the old man. "That's Captain Teague.” Her expression suddenly becomes still and serious. “You best listen to him if you want to live. He’s quite the formidable centenarian.”
Ava’s slight chuckle betrays her face, escaping before she even has a chance to stop it. Teague’s pen falls to the desk in a light click and his seat creaks as he turns, eyes darkened by the candlelight’s shadow.
"You follow your own advice, princess?"
Ava’s laughter halts. She did not like that.
Her feet fall from the desk, landing in a thud on the floor. She sits up straight and crosses her arms.
"I can handle my own with you, old man."
Her voice, low and smooth, does not waver one bit. Oliver’s eyes widen. While he had only recently been terrified for his own life, Oliver suddenly felt that if, perhaps, anyone was going to get killed for something tonight, it would be Ava for her attitude.
"Is that right?" Teague is clearly amused by her words, a curious smile tugging at his lips.
Ava does not respond, simply glancing off to the side in an almost embarrassed manner as Teague turns in his chair, focusing on his charts once more, the smile still lingering on his lips as he shakes his head.
"My name's Oliver... Wesley,” an uncomfortable cough pushes from his throat and echoes through the room. “Oliver Wesley.”
Ava smiles, placing her blade by her feet, folding her fingers upon her lap.
"Lovely to meet you, Oliver,” She imitates a cough, “Wesley. Now tell me, aren’t you a little young to be wearing that uniform?”
"No,” Oliver replies defiantly, instinctively straightening his posture, “My twentieth birthday was just in April."
"Ah,” Ava smiles. “And how would a young sailor like yourself find his way to our modest fortress?”
"I have no clue. Ship was attacked, I took a blow to the head from the broken mast. Don't know how long I was out.”
While Ava had been mostly playful, there’s a brief moment of silence where Oliver cannot read her expression at all.
"My father was a military man before he died,” she says after a beat.
"I'm so sorry."
"Yes... I've heard it is quite the dreadful profession.”
Oliver is confused by this statement, but shrugs it off as just another odd comment by the oddest girl he has ever met.
“I have to get home,” he says, looking out the window at the glimmering lights of the city.
“Not in your condition,” Ava states seriously as she lightly taps his forehead. Oliver winces.
“We’ll find a ship to take you back to England in the morning. But in the meantime, you’re going to have to learn to live in the company of thieves.”
Oliver considers this for a moment. When would he ever have another opportunity like this? Another experience like this? When would he ever meet another woman like this?
“Could you tell me a story?” He asks, a curious smile upon his face.
Ava laughs.
“A story? But what kind should I tell you?”
“As a child my father told me the myths about this place. He told me stories of undead pirates, sea monsters, and even men who have bested death itself.”
Ava coughs, eyebrows furrowed.
“Sounds like you’re talking about Jack Sparrow.”
“Captain Jack Sparrow, isn’t it?”
Captain Teague laughs from his corner as Ava rolls her eyes.
“You sound just like him.”
Oliver sits up straight.
“He’s real?”
“You could say that.”
“Would you tell me about him? What he is like? You actually know him?”
Ava laughs, amused by his interest.
“Yes. The man behind the myth. But if it’s a story you seek, then it’s a story you’ll get.” Her eyes suddenly light up.
Oliver glances off to the side in thought. He remembers…
“Heard there was some scandal about him stealing some governor’s daughter. Any truth to that?”
Ava’s eyebrows raise as she stands up to tend to the fire.
“These stories do go far, don’t they?”
“So he did steal her, then?”
Ava chuckles once, and rolls her eyes, turning back to face Oliver.
“Please. Jack Sparrow doesn’t have to steal women.”
She turns around again, adding a slice of wood to the flame.
“Stolen his fair share of hearts, perhaps, but he’s never had an unwilling hostage.”
The fire pops and Ava is caught in a brief reverie.
After a moment she continues, “But she was different. Some say she stole him away. Made him softer. Not the case. Made him truer perhaps, but definitely not softer.”
“They stole each other then?” Oliver asks.
Ava smiles, turning to nod at him.
“And gave nothing back.”
An hour passes, Ava weaving stories at first on her feet, making grand gestures with her hands, sometimes in a sort of dance, sometimes her alto voice slipping into a sort of melody. Oliver watches her intently, enchanted.
Ava’s own spirit exhausts her after a bit, so she finds her way back to her chair, leaning in an almost intimate way, mirroring Oliver’s posture, leaning into her tale. The crackling of the fire begins to quell…
There she was, this completely insignificant, silly girl from the aristocracy. And she bested him. He was frustrated, confounded, and intrigued. Although he would never admit so.
After the great battle with the East India Trading Company, Elizabeth said goodbye to her husband. She was left with few choices: she could go back to Port Royal where she was most likely a fugitive or she could find her way back to the Pearl, return to Shipwreck Cove and start a new life as King.
Nine months later, she bore a son. Liam was her true companion, and of course, there was Jack Sparrow. For three years they danced around each other a slow, tentative dance, circling what they knew was a hurricane. Time and tide. The dance did not last. The storm continues. Twenty years later…
“Oi, deckhand!”
A voice booms through a newly opened door and interrupts Ava mid-sentence. She’s startled right out of her seat, chair now flipped, bum on floor. The man slips out of the darkness, a low chuckle in harmony with Captain Teague’s, following him into the dim light…
Oliver had never seen the man in the flesh, but he knows in an instant that this is him. This is Captain Jack Sparrow.
Jack is still laughing as he extends a hand to Ava, whose face is bright red with a mixture of anger and embarrassment. She ignores his hand, preferring to stand on her own in a small act of defiance. She turns the chair around and places it next to the desk, but decides to remain standing.
Jack begins walking around her in a small circle.
“Was the most interesting thing. I was just on The Pearl and I noticed something. Rather, noticed the lack of something, as it were. Do you want to know what that something was?”
Ava shrugs, glancing once from left to right before looking up at him.
“Rum?”
Jack lets out a brief chuckle, one laced with insincerity.
“Still got your sense of humour. You’ll need it. You’ll be pressed to smile when you’re tying ropes tomorrow.”
Ava sighs.
“And what of Liam?”
“He’s the one who said he saw you leaving with a boy.”
Jack waves a lazy hand in Oliver’s general direction.
“An invalid,” Ava insists.
“Excuse me!” Oliver exclaims. “I’m right here.”
“What would you have me do, just let him lie there bleeding?” Ava asks, ignoring Oliver altogether.
Jack stops directly in front of her, all humour gone from his face.
“Watch your soft side, it could kill you someday, Ava.”
“Like it killed you, Da?”
Oliver’s eyes widen as an uncontrollable, “What?!” escapes his lips.
Jack lips curl into a feline smile.
“Indeed.”
Jack and Ava look back to Oliver whose mouth is agape, eyes rapidly turning between the two of them as he begins to quickly piece everything together.
“Princess?” Oliver asks, his voice cracking slightly.
Ava sighs a ‘Jesus Christ’ as Teague’s silence turns into an eruption of laughter.
Jack places a soft hand on her shoulder.
“Check the stitching. Make sure it hasn’t broken, from all that…eyebrow raising.”
He turns to exit the room, but stops half way out the door. He turns around again, in a jingle of trinkets and worn cotton.
“If I were any sort of a father, I’d tell you that it’s getting late and I’ll be waiting for you in the Great Hall.”
“Will you?” Ava asks, amused, glancing over at Oliver.
“No. Probably not.”
“Good to know.” Ava nods.
“Can’t expect any better from you, if I don’t expect any better from me, ‘eh?” Jack muses as he exits with a push from his own tailwind.
Ava turns around to find Oliver sitting up straight with a quizzical expression on his face.
“He was a military man?”
Ava smiles before picking up her block of wood and knife, giving Teague a small kiss on the head. Teague lets out a small grunt that sounds vaguely like, “Ridiculous child,” though his smile betrays his bitter tone.
Then Ava turns to Oliver, whose bright green eyes await her answer patiently. She leans in to double-check her stitch-work on his forehead and removes a few stray strands of dirty blond hair from his face. She can feel the skin beneath her hand flush with warmth.
“Goodnight, Oliver.”
As she begins to exit, she hears him call to her, “Will I see you again?”
Without turning, her voice echoes from the hall, “If your sailing technique doesn’t improve, I suppose I’ll just have to rescue you again.”
Oliver cannot see her face, but he knows she’s smiling. He leans back against his pillow, the low light from the fire and Teague’s candle easing him into a gentle slumber.
Wind. Searing pain. Crimson dripping down his face. Surf chilling his bones...
"Can you hear me? Can you open your eyes for me?"
Sweet voice, silk hand across his face, sleep claims him once more...
Oliver's eyes slowly peek open, hues of warm reds and oranges flooding his vision. He can't see much...a dark blur immediately above him...the soft light of the fireplace... a mahogany desk to his right... a very old man intently studying charts, completely ignoring the injured young man as if he had seen that sight one too many times in his life to care...
He blinks to find that the dark blur above him is no longer a blur, but rather a young woman- a very beautiful young woman of no more than eighteen, adorned in men's clothes- examining him with a furrowed brow and a tongue that slightly pokes from the corner of her lips; her hands upon his chest, playing with the buttons from his uniform.
When she finally notices his dazed expression, her scrunched eyes suddenly become as wide and as bright as the moon.
"Good, you're awake...now I must know. Who are you?"
She goes back to her studies instantly, chocolate hair cascading over him, hands curiously poking at his clothes. Never in all his twenty years had he been this close to anyone...and certainly not anyone female. Oliver's body tenses suddenly, flushed beneath her touch and frozen in apprehension.
"Leave 'im be, Scout," the old man at the desk finally speaks, low and rough, eyes focused on his work, and the girl looks to the side, as if internally debating with her inner angels and demons, before eventually leaning closer...
Oliver instinctively reaches for a sword that is no longer at his side...
The light from the fire casts a wicked glow upon the girl's smile. She whispers.
"You'll get the sword back after I tell you that you've woken in Shipwreck City, surrounded by pirates..."
He only leaves a moment for his eyes to widen before he's standing, backing up to the wall, searching desperately for a weapon, feet less sturdy than his determination...
Before he can protest, she catches him, arms wrapping arms, nose grazing nose, a laugh erupting, reverberating through her body.
"Are you trying to injure yourself?" She asks, trying her best to keep him upright. His breath catches and she smiles mischievously in response before slowly helping him lower himself upon the hammock.
Oliver suddenly notices the sharp pain ringing across his forehead, reaching gentle fingers to the source of the discomfort, finding tiny protrusions beneath cloth.
"There was loads of blood when I found you. Had to sew up your head." The girl has sat upon a chair just next to him, feet propped upon the mahogany desk, boots inches from the old man's. She leans over and picks up a block of wood from the desk and begins slicing meticulous pieces using a blade with a curious handle.
"My mum, having the steadier hand, would have mended you, but she is away on business on behalf of the King."
The old man at the desk coughs, slowly shaking his head at something. Frustrated at his charts? She looks up briefly to meet Oliver's gaze and smiles upon finding his perplexed expression.
"Pirate King, mate," She remarks, placing a soft hand upon his arm. Oliver wonders whether it's the pirate or the girl that makes him tense beneath her touch.
"Is it true?" He finally manages to speak, voice scratched as if he was speaking for the first time.
"Is what true?" She asks nonchalantly, focused on her carvings.
"What my father told me? The stories about this place?" He pauses, suddenly feeling possibility rise in his chest as something terrifying, and yet somehow horribly exciting...
"Am I really here?" The question leaves his lips like a whisper, a prayer to an unknown deity.
She smiles, glancing over to the old man who meets her eyes with a knowing smile before looking over to Oliver.
"Well of course you're really here. What kind of a question is that?" The man replies, an amused smile digging deep lines into his face.
"But you haven't killed me." Oliver sat up slowly, wincing in pain.
"Have to have a reason for killing someone, lad. By the looks of you, you've been sailing under the British flag for less than a year. Wouldn't be much use killing you now that you're here in me study, and no one would care to pay money for you anyhow. Just feel lucky Ava found you and not some trigger-happy drunk with an unusual sense of humour."
"Ava?"
The girl looks up in a smile, gently gesturing to herself by pointing the blade in her direction.
"Me," She says, before gesturing with the blade over to the old man. "That's Captain Teague.” Her expression suddenly becomes still and serious. “You best listen to him if you want to live. He’s quite the formidable centenarian.”
Ava’s slight chuckle betrays her face, escaping before she even has a chance to stop it. Teague’s pen falls to the desk in a light click and his seat creaks as he turns, eyes darkened by the candlelight’s shadow.
"You follow your own advice, princess?"
Ava’s laughter halts. She did not like that.
Her feet fall from the desk, landing in a thud on the floor. She sits up straight and crosses her arms.
"I can handle my own with you, old man."
Her voice, low and smooth, does not waver one bit. Oliver’s eyes widen. While he had only recently been terrified for his own life, Oliver suddenly felt that if, perhaps, anyone was going to get killed for something tonight, it would be Ava for her attitude.
"Is that right?" Teague is clearly amused by her words, a curious smile tugging at his lips.
Ava does not respond, simply glancing off to the side in an almost embarrassed manner as Teague turns in his chair, focusing on his charts once more, the smile still lingering on his lips as he shakes his head.
"My name's Oliver... Wesley,” an uncomfortable cough pushes from his throat and echoes through the room. “Oliver Wesley.”
Ava smiles, placing her blade by her feet, folding her fingers upon her lap.
"Lovely to meet you, Oliver,” She imitates a cough, “Wesley. Now tell me, aren’t you a little young to be wearing that uniform?”
"No,” Oliver replies defiantly, instinctively straightening his posture, “My twentieth birthday was just in April."
"Ah,” Ava smiles. “And how would a young sailor like yourself find his way to our modest fortress?”
"I have no clue. Ship was attacked, I took a blow to the head from the broken mast. Don't know how long I was out.”
While Ava had been mostly playful, there’s a brief moment of silence where Oliver cannot read her expression at all.
"My father was a military man before he died,” she says after a beat.
"I'm so sorry."
"Yes... I've heard it is quite the dreadful profession.”
Oliver is confused by this statement, but shrugs it off as just another odd comment by the oddest girl he has ever met.
“I have to get home,” he says, looking out the window at the glimmering lights of the city.
“Not in your condition,” Ava states seriously as she lightly taps his forehead. Oliver winces.
“We’ll find a ship to take you back to England in the morning. But in the meantime, you’re going to have to learn to live in the company of thieves.”
Oliver considers this for a moment. When would he ever have another opportunity like this? Another experience like this? When would he ever meet another woman like this?
“Could you tell me a story?” He asks, a curious smile upon his face.
Ava laughs.
“A story? But what kind should I tell you?”
“As a child my father told me the myths about this place. He told me stories of undead pirates, sea monsters, and even men who have bested death itself.”
Ava coughs, eyebrows furrowed.
“Sounds like you’re talking about Jack Sparrow.”
“Captain Jack Sparrow, isn’t it?”
Captain Teague laughs from his corner as Ava rolls her eyes.
“You sound just like him.”
Oliver sits up straight.
“He’s real?”
“You could say that.”
“Would you tell me about him? What he is like? You actually know him?”
Ava laughs, amused by his interest.
“Yes. The man behind the myth. But if it’s a story you seek, then it’s a story you’ll get.” Her eyes suddenly light up.
Oliver glances off to the side in thought. He remembers…
“Heard there was some scandal about him stealing some governor’s daughter. Any truth to that?”
Ava’s eyebrows raise as she stands up to tend to the fire.
“These stories do go far, don’t they?”
“So he did steal her, then?”
Ava chuckles once, and rolls her eyes, turning back to face Oliver.
“Please. Jack Sparrow doesn’t have to steal women.”
She turns around again, adding a slice of wood to the flame.
“Stolen his fair share of hearts, perhaps, but he’s never had an unwilling hostage.”
The fire pops and Ava is caught in a brief reverie.
After a moment she continues, “But she was different. Some say she stole him away. Made him softer. Not the case. Made him truer perhaps, but definitely not softer.”
“They stole each other then?” Oliver asks.
Ava smiles, turning to nod at him.
“And gave nothing back.”
An hour passes, Ava weaving stories at first on her feet, making grand gestures with her hands, sometimes in a sort of dance, sometimes her alto voice slipping into a sort of melody. Oliver watches her intently, enchanted.
Ava’s own spirit exhausts her after a bit, so she finds her way back to her chair, leaning in an almost intimate way, mirroring Oliver’s posture, leaning into her tale. The crackling of the fire begins to quell…
There she was, this completely insignificant, silly girl from the aristocracy. And she bested him. He was frustrated, confounded, and intrigued. Although he would never admit so.
After the great battle with the East India Trading Company, Elizabeth said goodbye to her husband. She was left with few choices: she could go back to Port Royal where she was most likely a fugitive or she could find her way back to the Pearl, return to Shipwreck Cove and start a new life as King.
Nine months later, she bore a son. Liam was her true companion, and of course, there was Jack Sparrow. For three years they danced around each other a slow, tentative dance, circling what they knew was a hurricane. Time and tide. The dance did not last. The storm continues. Twenty years later…
“Oi, deckhand!”
A voice booms through a newly opened door and interrupts Ava mid-sentence. She’s startled right out of her seat, chair now flipped, bum on floor. The man slips out of the darkness, a low chuckle in harmony with Captain Teague’s, following him into the dim light…
Oliver had never seen the man in the flesh, but he knows in an instant that this is him. This is Captain Jack Sparrow.
Jack is still laughing as he extends a hand to Ava, whose face is bright red with a mixture of anger and embarrassment. She ignores his hand, preferring to stand on her own in a small act of defiance. She turns the chair around and places it next to the desk, but decides to remain standing.
Jack begins walking around her in a small circle.
“Was the most interesting thing. I was just on The Pearl and I noticed something. Rather, noticed the lack of something, as it were. Do you want to know what that something was?”
Ava shrugs, glancing once from left to right before looking up at him.
“Rum?”
Jack lets out a brief chuckle, one laced with insincerity.
“Still got your sense of humour. You’ll need it. You’ll be pressed to smile when you’re tying ropes tomorrow.”
Ava sighs.
“And what of Liam?”
“He’s the one who said he saw you leaving with a boy.”
Jack waves a lazy hand in Oliver’s general direction.
“An invalid,” Ava insists.
“Excuse me!” Oliver exclaims. “I’m right here.”
“What would you have me do, just let him lie there bleeding?” Ava asks, ignoring Oliver altogether.
Jack stops directly in front of her, all humour gone from his face.
“Watch your soft side, it could kill you someday, Ava.”
“Like it killed you, Da?”
Oliver’s eyes widen as an uncontrollable, “What?!” escapes his lips.
Jack lips curl into a feline smile.
“Indeed.”
Jack and Ava look back to Oliver whose mouth is agape, eyes rapidly turning between the two of them as he begins to quickly piece everything together.
“Princess?” Oliver asks, his voice cracking slightly.
Ava sighs a ‘Jesus Christ’ as Teague’s silence turns into an eruption of laughter.
Jack places a soft hand on her shoulder.
“Check the stitching. Make sure it hasn’t broken, from all that…eyebrow raising.”
He turns to exit the room, but stops half way out the door. He turns around again, in a jingle of trinkets and worn cotton.
“If I were any sort of a father, I’d tell you that it’s getting late and I’ll be waiting for you in the Great Hall.”
“Will you?” Ava asks, amused, glancing over at Oliver.
“No. Probably not.”
“Good to know.” Ava nods.
“Can’t expect any better from you, if I don’t expect any better from me, ‘eh?” Jack muses as he exits with a push from his own tailwind.
Ava turns around to find Oliver sitting up straight with a quizzical expression on his face.
“He was a military man?”
Ava smiles before picking up her block of wood and knife, giving Teague a small kiss on the head. Teague lets out a small grunt that sounds vaguely like, “Ridiculous child,” though his smile betrays his bitter tone.
Then Ava turns to Oliver, whose bright green eyes await her answer patiently. She leans in to double-check her stitch-work on his forehead and removes a few stray strands of dirty blond hair from his face. She can feel the skin beneath her hand flush with warmth.
“Goodnight, Oliver.”
As she begins to exit, she hears him call to her, “Will I see you again?”
Without turning, her voice echoes from the hall, “If your sailing technique doesn’t improve, I suppose I’ll just have to rescue you again.”
Oliver cannot see her face, but he knows she’s smiling. He leans back against his pillow, the low light from the fire and Teague’s candle easing him into a gentle slumber.