Scarlett & Giselle Series - 5: A Stitch in Time
Author: mamazano
Title: A Stitch in Time
Rating: R (suggestive situations)
Characters: Jack / Giselle / Scarlett / Gibbs
Disclaimer: Disney owns them, I just play with them
Summary: How did Jack come by that scar on his… Gibbs knows, but ain’t tellin’
Note: Another installment in the ongoing saga of Scarlett and Giselle. Previous episodes can be found here. ( Index to all Episodes )
A special thanks goes out once again to my beta queen
compassrose7577. A never failing cornucopia of knowledge, be it nautical or needlework. And patient too!
****
A Stitch in Time
****
“Hold still, Jack!” Scarlett's brow furrowed with concentration as she bent over the recalcitrant pirate. “I know it hurts, but you’re not helping matters by moving about like that.”
Jack mumbled a drunken response. Gibbs and Giselle had been steadily plying him with rum since they’d arrived, imbibing their own fair share, as well. Scarlett, the only sober one in the room, drew a deep breath, and returned to the task at hand.
This wasn’t the first time Scarlett’s handiness with a needle had been called upon, but it was certainly the toughest. She had stitched up men before, and some women for that matter, but those had just been simple gashes caused mostly by broken glass. It seemed at least once a week, some damn fool would get smashed over the head, or elsewhere, by some irate, bottle-wielding drunk.
Jack’s wound was much deeper, and more serious than those. A long knife wound, running the length of his thigh, the wielder of this weapon had meant business. Complicating matters, her emotional attachment to her patient was making Scarlett’s hands shake.
“Whatever possessed you to take on three at a time?” she scolded, angry with Jack for both his foolishness and for frightening her so.
“How’s I t’ know the bugger weren’t alone,” Jack slurred, leaning back against the wall, his head lolling to one side.
“Well, it’s a miracle you didn’t bleed to death in that alley.” Scarlett went back to her task, stitching the wound closed as best she could, silently thankful that he had not done that very thing.
****
The evening had been slow, the taverns half empty. Scarlett decided to retire early, Giselle opting to stay a while longer. She hoped to entertain at least one more customer, as she was skint broke, again. It turned out to be a fortunate decision, as she encountered a distraught Gibbs on her way back to her room above the haberdashery.
“Mister Gibbs! When did you make port?” Her smiled faded as she saw the panic on his face. “What’s the matter?”
“Mother’s love, it’s Jack. He’s been cut something fierce and refusing t’ let me or anyone else near ‘im...”
Giselle’s gut twisted inside at the news. “Where is he?”
“Over here,” he said, gesturing to a doorway. “He’s bleedin’ like t’ perish. I bound it best I could but he’s gonna need it stitched up.”
Stitching! Giselle knew just the person for the job.
The two of them had half dragged, half carried Jack the short distance to the room she shared with Scarlett, a place ordinarily off limits to men. Scarlett took one look at Jack’s ashen face and gestured them inside.
“I’ll need some water and clean rags,” she told Giselle. “And my sewing kit.”
Giselle hurried to fetch the box, proud of the fact her gift would be put to good use. She had bought the kit (with a little help from Jack) for Scarlett as a birthday present. A frivolous item, one Giselle would never understand the need for…until now.
“Mister Gibbs, we’ll need some rum.” Scarlett was all business. “Jack, we’ll need to get these breeches off.”
Jack, his face white from pain and loss of blood, still managed to smile crookedly. “Never argue with a woman wants to take your breeches off,” he slurred to his quartermaster before collapsing onto the bed in a dead faint.
“Is he dead?” Giselle asked in a worried voice.
Gibbs shook his head. “Just passed out. Probably for the best.”
Giselle chatted nervously to Gibbs as Scarlett tended Jack’s wound. “Gonna leave a scar,” she commented, “t’ go with all them others he’s got.”
Gibbs nodded. “Many a tale could be told by them scars. Take for instance that one on his right shoulder. Got that one while boardin’ a French merchantman-- the second time.”
“Second?” Giselle passed the rum bottle to him and settled down to listen.
“Aye. See it were like this…” Gibbs settled in as well, taking a large swallow before resuming his tale. “We caught sight of her earlier that day, a fat merchantman, ridin’ low in the water. The Cap’n had ordered us to follow ‘til we could make out her colors. Once we were a-certain she were French, he gave the order and the chase was on. The winds were in our favor, so we caught up with her about mid-afternoon. Fired a friendly warning shot across her bow, just t’ let her know we meant business. Ran up the flag and brought the Pearl ‘round to board. The crew of that merchantman didn’t even put up a fight. Had them a hold full of goods, including casks of rum and cases of fine wine. We loaded it all in the Pearl, thanked the French cap’n for his generosity and bid them farewell. Without a shot being fired.”
He sat back, a content smile on his face.
Perched on the edge of her seat, Giselle listened with rapt attention as Gibbs recalled the events, and then frowned.
“That’s it?”
“Aye.”
“Then how’d Jack get that scar, if there weren’t no fightin’?” Giselle asked, in a puzzled voice.
Gibbs leaned forward and said in a low voice, “Well, let me tell you. We’d all returned to the Pearl and were makin’ ready to sail, when Jack, he remembers he’d forgot somethin’ on the other ship. He’d snuck back over and was just coming out of the hold when they caught ‘im.”
Giselle gasped, a hand to her mouth.
Gibbs nodded. “Jack had him an armful of ladies’ gowns, and when they tried to grab him, he’d flung that pile of frocks at ‘em and made a run for it. The French crew, they got all tangled up in all that silk and lace, and it looked as if Jack would get away free and clear. But just as he were grabbin’ the rope to swing back to the Pearl one of ‘em fired his pistol. Caught Jack square in the shoulder.”
Gibbs shook his head. “Jack was more angry ‘bout leavin’ them frocks behind then bein’ shot. Never did tell me what he wanted ‘em for.”
Giselle sat back, mouth agape.
So that’s what happened.
She glanced over at the pirate sprawled across the bed. She owed him a big apology when he woke up. Another thought crossed her mind and she turned back to Gibbs.
“So, how’d he get the squiggly one?”
Gibbs face reddened slightly. “You mean the one…”
“On his arse.” She finished the sentence for him, well acquainted with Jack’s body. “He ever tell you how he come by it?”
“Aye.” Gibbs turned even a deeper shade of red. “Perhaps we oughtta let the Cap’n tell that tale,” he mumbled.
Giselle laughed, looking over at Jack again. “I can only imagine the story behind that one!”
Scarlett washed her hands and joined the two of them. “Well, that’s done. Best leave him ‘til morning, let him sleep. Did what I could, going to leave a nasty scar, though.” She sank wearily down in the chair and poured herself a cup of rum.
“We was just talking ‘bout scars. Gibbs here was gonna tell me about how Jack got the squiggly one.”
“On his arse?” Scarlett was also well acquainted with Jack’s body.
Gibbs stood up unsteadily and beat a hasty retreat towards the door. “I’ll just be goin’ now, ladies. I’ll come fetch Jack in the mornin’.” He scurried out the door before they could ask him any more questions.
****
Jack woke at dawn with a throbbing headache and only a vague recollection of the night before. To his amazement, he found himself lying diagonally across a bed, clad only in his shirt, a length of cloth wrapped around one leg, and what turned out to be Scarlett draped across the other. A glance to his right found the other wench asleep in a chair next to the bed, her blonde hair splayed across the pillow, a hand curled up in his.
Any ideas of amusement were dashed as soon as he made an attempt to move. Groaning loudly, he woke both women with his yelp of pain. “Bugger! What the bloody hell did you two do to me?”
Scarlett sat up and rubbed her eyes. “Saved yer life, most likely,” she said irritably.
“Fine way to thank us,” groused Giselle, yawning widely. “Gibbs ought to be along shortly to collect you,” she added, stretching.
“Would figure Mister Gibbs had a hand in this,” Jack grumbled, laying back.
Scarlett stood up and straightened her skirts. “If it weren’t for Mister Gibbs, you’d likely have bled to death in that alley. Don’t you remember?”
“Last I remember was leaving the tavern with a wench…” Jack started to explain and then shut it abruptly.
The two women narrowed their eyes at him. “Which tavern? We didn’t see you or any of yer crew all evening.”
Jack avoided their eyes and tried once more to gingerly sit up, only to have the room spin wildly and his head pound as if to explode. Helpless, he sank back down on the bed and closed his eyes, trying to think of a plausible story to tell the two. After all, it weren’t as if he had to visit them each time they made port in Tortuga, and last night was supposed to be just a quick in and out, to drop off a special consignment of goods. It had seemed prudent, at the time, to stay down by the docks, at the less reputable (as if anything in Tortuga could be considered so) and anonymous ale houses along the waterfront.
He opened one eye gingerly, to find the two women staring at him.
Not good.
Jack tried one of his most disarming smiles, in an attempt to appeal to their softer nature.
Well, that didn’t work.
The two continued to glare at him. He struggled to his feet and looked around for his breeches.
“They needed to be washed and mended.” Scarlett commented. “And you’re in no condition to go anywhere.”
Jack sat back down, hissing slightly as his leg began to throb as severely as his head.
Well, a man couldn’t rightly go anywhere without his breeches.
Resigning himself to an unexpected layover, he reclined on the bed.
It could be worse. I could be dead.
Not much later, death began to appear to be the preferable option.
“Mister Gibbs was telling us the most fascinating stories last night,” Giselle said brightly, too brightly for this early in the morning. Jack groaned, wishing he had some rum…or some silence.
Giselle didn’t seem to notice, continuing to prattle on like some persistent little bird, chirping away at his sanity.
“So there we were, watching Scarlett sewing up yer leg, and I said to Mister Gibbs, ‘Why, that’s gonna leave a nasty scar’ and he goes on about how scars can tell tales and begins to tell me the most exciting story about the French ship and the frocks and how you were shot trying to get them…”
Jack winced.
She would bring up those bloody frocks again. Damn wench was worse than a starvin’ dog with a bone, worrying about them bloody frocks. ‘Bout near got killed over ‘em.
Jack was only half listening to Giselle until she mentioned the OTHER scar.
“…and then I asked Gibbs about the squiggly one, you know, the one right there on your…”
Jack sat up abruptly, causing his head to pound and eyes to cross.
How much rum DID they force upon me? Bugger. Head a-pounding and no breeches and woman talking a blue streak…seem to be getting me fair share of torture without bringing up the OTHER scar. Just doesn’t seem fair. Who's she think I am…Job?
“…and then Gibbs told me to ask you, seeing how he didn’t feel all that comfortable telling us about what happened to your…”
“Stow it!”
Giselle stopped in mid-sentence, mouth open in surprise.
“What happened to my derriere is between me and my…”
“Arse.” Scarlett finally put in a word. “You are an arse, Jack Sparrow. Trying to get yourself killed, arguing with Giselle here when you should be resting.”
Jack glared at her. He didn’t need a mother. He just needed his breeches back. Cover up his…”
“Dearie?” Giselle had a puzzled look on her face. “You call your arse your dearie?” She shook her head. “What’ya call yer other parts?”
Jack was spared any further discussion along these lines by a knock on the door. Mister Gibbs stood there, looking far less chipper than the women; he gave them both a nod as he passed.
“Cap’n, it’d be best if we were to slip out of port real quiet like,” he said in a low voice. “Seems that feller that took a dislikin’ to you last night is wantin’ to continue the conversation, if you get my drift.”
Jack grimaced at the news. From what he DID remember, this other feller was about twice as tall and broader than the two of them put together. Putting the town to their rudder seemed an excellent plan.
“A wise, and might I add, prudent idea, Mister Gibbs, and one I would be willin’ to act upon immediately, exceptin’ for one small problem.” He turned to Scarlett and grinned. “I need me breeches back.”
Scarlett finished the last stitch and snipped the thread with her shiny new scissors. “Here’s your bloomin’ breeches, Jack Sparrow. Least you could do is say ‘thank you’.”
Jack stood up gingerly, keeping his weight off his wounded leg, as he clumsily pulled them on. Grabbin’ his effects, he bent down and gave Giselle a quick kiss, Scarlett a longer one, told them both ‘thank you’ and bolted out the door.
When Gibbs caught up with him in the street, Jack hobbled alongside him without speaking for several minutes. Finally, he turned to his quartermaster with a curious scowl.
“How’d you come to know about that scar?”
Gibbs had the decency to redden slightly and cleared his throat. “I were just comin’ off watch. Heard you hollerin’ and ran to see if you needin my help. Seeing the situation, I figured it best if I just let you handle it yerself.”
“Bloody monkey,” Jack muttered. “Suppose it could’ve been worse.”
“Aye. Could of bit your…”
“Aye.” Jack agreed. “Could have ended up a eunuch.”
****
Title: A Stitch in Time
Rating: R (suggestive situations)
Characters: Jack / Giselle / Scarlett / Gibbs
Disclaimer: Disney owns them, I just play with them
Summary: How did Jack come by that scar on his… Gibbs knows, but ain’t tellin’
Note: Another installment in the ongoing saga of Scarlett and Giselle. Previous episodes can be found here. ( Index to all Episodes )
A special thanks goes out once again to my beta queen
compassrose7577. A never failing cornucopia of knowledge, be it nautical or needlework. And patient too!
****
A Stitch in Time
****
“Hold still, Jack!” Scarlett's brow furrowed with concentration as she bent over the recalcitrant pirate. “I know it hurts, but you’re not helping matters by moving about like that.”
Jack mumbled a drunken response. Gibbs and Giselle had been steadily plying him with rum since they’d arrived, imbibing their own fair share, as well. Scarlett, the only sober one in the room, drew a deep breath, and returned to the task at hand.
This wasn’t the first time Scarlett’s handiness with a needle had been called upon, but it was certainly the toughest. She had stitched up men before, and some women for that matter, but those had just been simple gashes caused mostly by broken glass. It seemed at least once a week, some damn fool would get smashed over the head, or elsewhere, by some irate, bottle-wielding drunk.
Jack’s wound was much deeper, and more serious than those. A long knife wound, running the length of his thigh, the wielder of this weapon had meant business. Complicating matters, her emotional attachment to her patient was making Scarlett’s hands shake.
“Whatever possessed you to take on three at a time?” she scolded, angry with Jack for both his foolishness and for frightening her so.
“How’s I t’ know the bugger weren’t alone,” Jack slurred, leaning back against the wall, his head lolling to one side.
“Well, it’s a miracle you didn’t bleed to death in that alley.” Scarlett went back to her task, stitching the wound closed as best she could, silently thankful that he had not done that very thing.
****
The evening had been slow, the taverns half empty. Scarlett decided to retire early, Giselle opting to stay a while longer. She hoped to entertain at least one more customer, as she was skint broke, again. It turned out to be a fortunate decision, as she encountered a distraught Gibbs on her way back to her room above the haberdashery.
“Mister Gibbs! When did you make port?” Her smiled faded as she saw the panic on his face. “What’s the matter?”
“Mother’s love, it’s Jack. He’s been cut something fierce and refusing t’ let me or anyone else near ‘im...”
Giselle’s gut twisted inside at the news. “Where is he?”
“Over here,” he said, gesturing to a doorway. “He’s bleedin’ like t’ perish. I bound it best I could but he’s gonna need it stitched up.”
Stitching! Giselle knew just the person for the job.
The two of them had half dragged, half carried Jack the short distance to the room she shared with Scarlett, a place ordinarily off limits to men. Scarlett took one look at Jack’s ashen face and gestured them inside.
“I’ll need some water and clean rags,” she told Giselle. “And my sewing kit.”
Giselle hurried to fetch the box, proud of the fact her gift would be put to good use. She had bought the kit (with a little help from Jack) for Scarlett as a birthday present. A frivolous item, one Giselle would never understand the need for…until now.
“Mister Gibbs, we’ll need some rum.” Scarlett was all business. “Jack, we’ll need to get these breeches off.”
Jack, his face white from pain and loss of blood, still managed to smile crookedly. “Never argue with a woman wants to take your breeches off,” he slurred to his quartermaster before collapsing onto the bed in a dead faint.
“Is he dead?” Giselle asked in a worried voice.
Gibbs shook his head. “Just passed out. Probably for the best.”
Giselle chatted nervously to Gibbs as Scarlett tended Jack’s wound. “Gonna leave a scar,” she commented, “t’ go with all them others he’s got.”
Gibbs nodded. “Many a tale could be told by them scars. Take for instance that one on his right shoulder. Got that one while boardin’ a French merchantman-- the second time.”
“Second?” Giselle passed the rum bottle to him and settled down to listen.
“Aye. See it were like this…” Gibbs settled in as well, taking a large swallow before resuming his tale. “We caught sight of her earlier that day, a fat merchantman, ridin’ low in the water. The Cap’n had ordered us to follow ‘til we could make out her colors. Once we were a-certain she were French, he gave the order and the chase was on. The winds were in our favor, so we caught up with her about mid-afternoon. Fired a friendly warning shot across her bow, just t’ let her know we meant business. Ran up the flag and brought the Pearl ‘round to board. The crew of that merchantman didn’t even put up a fight. Had them a hold full of goods, including casks of rum and cases of fine wine. We loaded it all in the Pearl, thanked the French cap’n for his generosity and bid them farewell. Without a shot being fired.”
He sat back, a content smile on his face.
Perched on the edge of her seat, Giselle listened with rapt attention as Gibbs recalled the events, and then frowned.
“That’s it?”
“Aye.”
“Then how’d Jack get that scar, if there weren’t no fightin’?” Giselle asked, in a puzzled voice.
Gibbs leaned forward and said in a low voice, “Well, let me tell you. We’d all returned to the Pearl and were makin’ ready to sail, when Jack, he remembers he’d forgot somethin’ on the other ship. He’d snuck back over and was just coming out of the hold when they caught ‘im.”
Giselle gasped, a hand to her mouth.
Gibbs nodded. “Jack had him an armful of ladies’ gowns, and when they tried to grab him, he’d flung that pile of frocks at ‘em and made a run for it. The French crew, they got all tangled up in all that silk and lace, and it looked as if Jack would get away free and clear. But just as he were grabbin’ the rope to swing back to the Pearl one of ‘em fired his pistol. Caught Jack square in the shoulder.”
Gibbs shook his head. “Jack was more angry ‘bout leavin’ them frocks behind then bein’ shot. Never did tell me what he wanted ‘em for.”
Giselle sat back, mouth agape.
So that’s what happened.
She glanced over at the pirate sprawled across the bed. She owed him a big apology when he woke up. Another thought crossed her mind and she turned back to Gibbs.
“So, how’d he get the squiggly one?”
Gibbs face reddened slightly. “You mean the one…”
“On his arse.” She finished the sentence for him, well acquainted with Jack’s body. “He ever tell you how he come by it?”
“Aye.” Gibbs turned even a deeper shade of red. “Perhaps we oughtta let the Cap’n tell that tale,” he mumbled.
Giselle laughed, looking over at Jack again. “I can only imagine the story behind that one!”
Scarlett washed her hands and joined the two of them. “Well, that’s done. Best leave him ‘til morning, let him sleep. Did what I could, going to leave a nasty scar, though.” She sank wearily down in the chair and poured herself a cup of rum.
“We was just talking ‘bout scars. Gibbs here was gonna tell me about how Jack got the squiggly one.”
“On his arse?” Scarlett was also well acquainted with Jack’s body.
Gibbs stood up unsteadily and beat a hasty retreat towards the door. “I’ll just be goin’ now, ladies. I’ll come fetch Jack in the mornin’.” He scurried out the door before they could ask him any more questions.
****
Jack woke at dawn with a throbbing headache and only a vague recollection of the night before. To his amazement, he found himself lying diagonally across a bed, clad only in his shirt, a length of cloth wrapped around one leg, and what turned out to be Scarlett draped across the other. A glance to his right found the other wench asleep in a chair next to the bed, her blonde hair splayed across the pillow, a hand curled up in his.
Any ideas of amusement were dashed as soon as he made an attempt to move. Groaning loudly, he woke both women with his yelp of pain. “Bugger! What the bloody hell did you two do to me?”
Scarlett sat up and rubbed her eyes. “Saved yer life, most likely,” she said irritably.
“Fine way to thank us,” groused Giselle, yawning widely. “Gibbs ought to be along shortly to collect you,” she added, stretching.
“Would figure Mister Gibbs had a hand in this,” Jack grumbled, laying back.
Scarlett stood up and straightened her skirts. “If it weren’t for Mister Gibbs, you’d likely have bled to death in that alley. Don’t you remember?”
“Last I remember was leaving the tavern with a wench…” Jack started to explain and then shut it abruptly.
The two women narrowed their eyes at him. “Which tavern? We didn’t see you or any of yer crew all evening.”
Jack avoided their eyes and tried once more to gingerly sit up, only to have the room spin wildly and his head pound as if to explode. Helpless, he sank back down on the bed and closed his eyes, trying to think of a plausible story to tell the two. After all, it weren’t as if he had to visit them each time they made port in Tortuga, and last night was supposed to be just a quick in and out, to drop off a special consignment of goods. It had seemed prudent, at the time, to stay down by the docks, at the less reputable (as if anything in Tortuga could be considered so) and anonymous ale houses along the waterfront.
He opened one eye gingerly, to find the two women staring at him.
Not good.
Jack tried one of his most disarming smiles, in an attempt to appeal to their softer nature.
Well, that didn’t work.
The two continued to glare at him. He struggled to his feet and looked around for his breeches.
“They needed to be washed and mended.” Scarlett commented. “And you’re in no condition to go anywhere.”
Jack sat back down, hissing slightly as his leg began to throb as severely as his head.
Well, a man couldn’t rightly go anywhere without his breeches.
Resigning himself to an unexpected layover, he reclined on the bed.
It could be worse. I could be dead.
Not much later, death began to appear to be the preferable option.
“Mister Gibbs was telling us the most fascinating stories last night,” Giselle said brightly, too brightly for this early in the morning. Jack groaned, wishing he had some rum…or some silence.
Giselle didn’t seem to notice, continuing to prattle on like some persistent little bird, chirping away at his sanity.
“So there we were, watching Scarlett sewing up yer leg, and I said to Mister Gibbs, ‘Why, that’s gonna leave a nasty scar’ and he goes on about how scars can tell tales and begins to tell me the most exciting story about the French ship and the frocks and how you were shot trying to get them…”
Jack winced.
She would bring up those bloody frocks again. Damn wench was worse than a starvin’ dog with a bone, worrying about them bloody frocks. ‘Bout near got killed over ‘em.
Jack was only half listening to Giselle until she mentioned the OTHER scar.
“…and then I asked Gibbs about the squiggly one, you know, the one right there on your…”
Jack sat up abruptly, causing his head to pound and eyes to cross.
How much rum DID they force upon me? Bugger. Head a-pounding and no breeches and woman talking a blue streak…seem to be getting me fair share of torture without bringing up the OTHER scar. Just doesn’t seem fair. Who's she think I am…Job?
“…and then Gibbs told me to ask you, seeing how he didn’t feel all that comfortable telling us about what happened to your…”
“Stow it!”
Giselle stopped in mid-sentence, mouth open in surprise.
“What happened to my derriere is between me and my…”
“Arse.” Scarlett finally put in a word. “You are an arse, Jack Sparrow. Trying to get yourself killed, arguing with Giselle here when you should be resting.”
Jack glared at her. He didn’t need a mother. He just needed his breeches back. Cover up his…”
“Dearie?” Giselle had a puzzled look on her face. “You call your arse your dearie?” She shook her head. “What’ya call yer other parts?”
Jack was spared any further discussion along these lines by a knock on the door. Mister Gibbs stood there, looking far less chipper than the women; he gave them both a nod as he passed.
“Cap’n, it’d be best if we were to slip out of port real quiet like,” he said in a low voice. “Seems that feller that took a dislikin’ to you last night is wantin’ to continue the conversation, if you get my drift.”
Jack grimaced at the news. From what he DID remember, this other feller was about twice as tall and broader than the two of them put together. Putting the town to their rudder seemed an excellent plan.
“A wise, and might I add, prudent idea, Mister Gibbs, and one I would be willin’ to act upon immediately, exceptin’ for one small problem.” He turned to Scarlett and grinned. “I need me breeches back.”
Scarlett finished the last stitch and snipped the thread with her shiny new scissors. “Here’s your bloomin’ breeches, Jack Sparrow. Least you could do is say ‘thank you’.”
Jack stood up gingerly, keeping his weight off his wounded leg, as he clumsily pulled them on. Grabbin’ his effects, he bent down and gave Giselle a quick kiss, Scarlett a longer one, told them both ‘thank you’ and bolted out the door.
When Gibbs caught up with him in the street, Jack hobbled alongside him without speaking for several minutes. Finally, he turned to his quartermaster with a curious scowl.
“How’d you come to know about that scar?”
Gibbs had the decency to redden slightly and cleared his throat. “I were just comin’ off watch. Heard you hollerin’ and ran to see if you needin my help. Seeing the situation, I figured it best if I just let you handle it yerself.”
“Bloody monkey,” Jack muttered. “Suppose it could’ve been worse.”
“Aye. Could of bit your…”
“Aye.” Jack agreed. “Could have ended up a eunuch.”
****