Hey guys! So, I was thinking about Jacob here, so I decided something to Lady Femme Fatal's rather, er, strong suggestion. So, yeah. I hope this one's interesting enough, because I absolutely suck at writing. And this is where the title comes in. Anyways, thanks to ..You, and Lady Femme Fatal (I hope this chapter meets your satisfaction!) Don't forget to tell me what you guys think, and tanks so much! Enjoy! Wolfie*
Kelly closed the door and Jacob heard pounding footsteps and a squeal. Jacob nodded, stubbornness overcoming his sense of logic. "Smutty, lend me a walking stick or something for me, would you?" Jacob asked. Smutty stared at him with quizzical eyes, but finally shook his head and handed Jacob a long rifle. He said it wasn't loaded, so he wouldn't have to worry about Jacob shooting his own toe off.
He opened the door and limped to the second door of the staircase, leaning heavily on the cane. He stopped to rest for a moment, and then pushed against the door. It should've swung open, like it had when Kelly had rescued and smuggled him down to the infirmary.
Instead, it didn't budge. There was a small laugh, as if someone was leaning against it. Jacob, glaring at the door, tried again. Nothing happened. There was another laugh, and Jacob almost laughed with relief when he heard different footsteps.
"Kelly, Silver, what's going on here?" Lizzie asked sharply. Her voice softened slightly. "And, might I ask, where is Mr. Rochester?" Jacob's eyes narrowed. Something told him that he should be yelling at Lizzie, to tell her that he was right behind the door, but another instinct told him to hush and listen.
Kelly's voice came, barely containing a giggle. "Nothing, capt'n. Mr. Rochester, I presume, had the good sense to not be a fool and decided to rest in the infirmary."
"Is this so?" Lizzie mused. There was a tone that Jacob had never heard from her before: respect. "Well, alright. I'll bring him back some rum to lighten his spirits. Let's go to Tortuga, crew." Many footsteps faded off, and then there was a muffled shout and a clatter. The gangplank?
Jacob heaved a sigh, his fists balled up. Then, he turned around and headed back to the infirmary. There was no point in trying to catch up with them now. He opened the door to see Smutty preparing another hammock. Smutty looked up and smiled with wry amusement, fluffing a pillow and placing it against the edge of the hammock.
"Why are you making another one?" Jacob asked. "Do you intend to have another patient in here so soon?" Smutty's wry smirk deepened, and he nodded. "Who?" Jacob asked, astounded.
"Lizzie," Smutty sighed. "Whenever she and her crew visit a rum-filled town like Tortuga, she's made it a bad habit to load herself to the gills with whiskey and winds up here. It happens quite often, actually." He sighed again.
Jacob smirked, settling down on a stool and throwing the cane aside. "Really? Lizzie never appeared to me as a drunkard. More like a cold woman who cannot see emotion." Smutty glanced at him sharply.
"She's neither," Smutty said, instantly smiling. "Has she been cold to you, you say?" He sighed and gave a half-hearted laugh. "We've talked about this. I'm sorry if Lizzie offended you, Jacob Rochester, but she's always that way with a new man. Ever since England, she's always had a dislike of the male sex, and she never hesitates to show that she's in charge on board the England's Ashes, just because the men always think that women are base to them. She's stubborn, but I promise you that she'll warm up to you in a week or so. If you get shot by her and don't die when she wanted you to die, then you get a respect others had to work three months for automatically. So, Jacob, Lizzie's just a rebel because she had no fatherly figure in her life. Dr. West was cruel to her, and Lizzie still has scars from him to prove it. I've treated her before," Smutty added hastily.
"Thank you for explaining Lizzie's behavior to me, Smutty," Jacob said genuinely. "It clears some doubts and thoughts away." Smutty nodded, smiling. They shook hands formally, and then Smutty went back to preparing Lizzie's future hammock.
Lizzie herself was actually browsing some firearm pubs with Kelly near her. Silver came running up. "Capt'n, crew wants to know if ye're going to join us at Navy's Bare Neck for a drink or two." Silver smiled smugly, knowing what Lizzie would answer.
Lizzie picked up a pistol, and took out her own to inspect. Her pistol was paneled with wood and its silver barrel was polished by Silver every night. Lizzie made sure that it didn't end up in his collection of his trinkets every other week. If it was, which was happening rarer and rarer these times, she would make Silver swab the decks from dawn until the next dawn, without sleep but only three meals of biscuits and rum.
No one stole her pride and joy without being punished for it.
Then, she set the revolver down. Hers was much better. Lizzie turned to Silver and nodded. "Aye, alright. We'll go to a pub. Kelly, are you up for it?" Lizzie asked. Her childhood friend had been eyeing a shirtless commoner laboring with deliveries, but then her name had snapped her back to attention. She hastily nodded. The two followed Silver to a pub, named Navy's Bare Neck. Personally, Lizzie enjoyed the name of the bar; even though there was no doubt that the Navy would hang the owner for treason.
She opened the door. There was abruptly a hushed silence in the bar, and a woman's voice whispered, "Is that the infamous Gunshot Liz, Arthur?" Upon hearing this, Lizzie rolled her eyes, leaned to the side, and took out her pistol. She pretended to blow off smoke, and then smiled. The woman who had spoken had reddened visibly.
She quickly spotted her crew and walked over to the booth, sliding in easily next to their lookout, a native named Aztan. He was useful whenever the England's Ashes needed Native American help for supplies. Kelly and Silver slid in across from her. Aztan leaned over and whispered urgently in Lizzie's ear. Unlike the rest of the crew, Aztan had a wife who'd been killed by the Navy and wanted revenge on them. He got this chance by joining Lizzie and the England's Ashes.
"Capt'n, there's a man from the Americas who wishes to speak to you. He said that Lizzie West of us would be wantin' to hear what he had to say." A bar wench came and served twelve glasses of whiskey, leaving three absent. Lizzie looked at Aztan, who only shrugged and nodded in a direction. The bar wench was writing down Kelly and Silver's ordered when Lizzie stood up and made her way to a man with white hair smoking rolled tobacco. He looked up, a wry smile on his face.
"You might be Lizzie West, daughter of acclaimed doctor Dr. Joseph West?" the man asked. Lizzie grit her teeth, but nodded and drew up a stool to the table. "Aye, I have something for you. Something of great importance."
"And what might this be?" Lizzie asked, tilting her head. "Because I can assure you, old man, that if this bores me then I will shoot your leg so that you will never be able to walk again. Is this clear?" At this, the man actually threw his head back and let out a rambunctious laugh. Then, he leaned forward and placed his elbows on the table, growing serious.
"Well then, Lizzie. Have you ever heard of the Isabellan Treasure?" he asked. Lizzie's eyes flashed to his face. She leaned forward. The man smiled. "Aye, you haven't. Just as I expected. I'll tell," he wiggled his fingers in her face, "if you pay me three Spanish gold coins, because I am too old to search for such a thing."
Lizzie's jaw popped at the price, but she nodded and placed three Spanish gold coins from her leather pouch she kept attached to her brown belt. The man nodded. "Aye, so I shall tell only the most notorious female pirate of the Caribbean of the Isabellan Treasure." He paused. A bar wench came and laid four glasses of foaming rum, and Lizzie automatically grabbed two, downing one half-way instantly, thinking that two were for him and two were for her.
When she laid down the drink, she found the man staring at her with a peculiar expression on his face. "What, old man?" Lizzie snapped, scratching her cheek. "Never seen a woman drink two whiskeys before?" The man chuckled, shaking his head. He took a drink of his rum himself before heaving a great sigh and continuing.
"The Isabellan Treasure is deep underground the mainland, farther south than Margarita, near the center. Supposedly, it is the lost treasure of Asia and the man or woman who finds it first will become the richest human being on the planet. But it is filled with danger, and there are Portuguese settlements scattered near the heart of the mainland. Supposedly, the quickest way to reach the Isabellan Treasure is in an underwater cave near Trinidad. But there is also a barrier, where no one knows how you can enter it. I am telling you, specifically, because I knew that you'd take up the challenge. If you pay me another Spanish coin, then I will give you a hand-drawn map from my own adventures." The man drank the rest of his first glass, content. Lizzie, though, had already finished her second one and was now ordering for three more.
When it arrived, she took a sip of the rum before asking the man a vital question. "And how can I trust you, old man?" Lizzie asked, her words slightly slurred. "I don't even know you."
The man drank the rest of his second glass. "Well, the Isabellan Treasure is not something that one can scam a pirate like Lizzie West in. They must be truthful lest they wish a bullet in their heads." The man grinned cheekily at her, and Lizzie was dimly aware that his grin reminded her of Jacob.
She sighed, and was about to take out a Spanish coin, knowing that she shouldn't be giving away money so profusely, but she was already so drunk from her fifth glass that she didn't really care.
Lizzie turned when someone tapped her shoulder expectantly. "Whadda want, Kelly?" Lizzie slurred, holding onto the table for support. Her vision was slightly hazy, but she could still make out Kelly's extremely worried face.
"Sorry, capt'n, to interrupt you. But we have a problem. The Navy's here; and they've spotted us."