~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Pamela awoke the next morning well past dawn, which was unusual for her. But given her late escapades the previous night, she wasn’t too surprised. She dressed in a simply-cut blue dress that was one of her favorites. She was thankful that Kelly the galley wench wasn’t around to lace her corset. Kelly’s motto was “the tighter, the better”, which didn’t exactly suit Pamela.

“Come on, Pamela. Pull them up and out a bit. Don’t be such a prude. Corsets are designed to help people like you appear to have…assets,” Kelly prodded. 

“Um, thank you, Kelly. Good advice,” Pamela replied impassively. 

She made her way up to the main deck, stopping to pick up a basket of mending along the way. Shielding her eyes from the bright sun, she glanced around the ship. The crew was buzzing about, carrying out a myriad of different tasks. She lifted her hand in a wave to James, who was bent over listening to the ship’s safety officer Angelina. By his slightly pained expression she imagined that Angelina was once again criticizing something he’d done, perchance his knot-tying techniques this time. His eyes caught hers, and she felt a familiar warmth spread in her stomach. She quickly averted her eyes, sighing over her own foolishness. Settling on a low bench on the bow, she began the mending.           

“What I don’t get is why we have been shored up here for so long,” she heard Oscar say as he wound up loose rope.

“I like being at port. Port’s where the wenches are. Wenches with breasts,” Kevin the Seaman stated matter-of-factly. He had given himself that name years ago, knowing full well that any sailor could be referred to as “seaman”. He just liked to emphasize the word.

“Yes, but we haven’t been out on a mission for two weeks. This gold won’t last us forever. We need to plan another run,” Oscar finished. As the ship’s purser, he looked after the gold and loot that was brought in and also divvied it up amongst the crew.

And contrary to what Captain Scott believed, his title of purser had nothing to do with the fact that Oscar preferred men to women. Nor did he carry an actual purse due to this preference.

“What say you, James? Don’t you agree it’s time for some action?” Oscar inquired.

Pamela’s head shot up. She hadn’t realized James had joined them on the bow. Recovering herself, she continued her mending.

“Hee hee. Oscar wants to know if you want some action, James,” Kevin the Seaman giggled, waggling his eyebrows at the first mate.

“That’s really nice, Kevin,” Oscar replied.

Kevin continued to chuckle to himself as James smothered a smile. “Actually, Oscar, I was just coming up here with you to discuss the new run. Apparently the Captain is quite eager to head out to sea, so we leave at first light tomorrow,” James answered.

“Why’s he so eager to get to sea?” Oscar asked.

“Is it because of Cap’n Janette? I heard she made port last night. I wager it’s because of her,” concluded Kevin the Seaman.

Captain Janette LeVinsón was an infamous French privateer. She was one of the few female captains sailing the high seas, and was rumored to be a ruthless leader. She had once been the wife of a French merchant, but he had been mysteriously killed by pirates only two years into their marriage. Janette had taken over as captain of his ship, vowing to destroy any and all pirates she could track down.

“I don’t know, Kevin,” James shrugged. “The Captain didn’t share his reasons with me. Regardless, I think it’s good that we make way. I’ve been hearing the Spanish treasure fleet is making its way up the coast before setting sail for Spain. Could be a prime mark.”

Pamela frowned over his suggestion. She had long ago accepted life on the pirate ship, yet she still found herself nervous about potential raids.  The crew of the Dunder Mifflinia had been extremely fortunate to have never lost a member in battle, but that could change all too quickly. Blocking the negative thoughts, she focused back on her work. A sudden curt voice had her glancing up once again.

“What is this talk of heading to sea I hear of? I can’t believe I wasn’t consulted before any decision was made!” Obidiah Schrute barked. “As second mate aboard this ship…”

“Err, I think you mean third mate. I’d be the second mate,” interjected Andrew “Moonface” Bernard, who had followed Obidiah up the stairs.

“No, you’re third mate.”

“But in truth I’m second mate.”

“Quiet, you!” Obidiah spat at Moonface, his face reddening with anger.

James looked at Pamela, who was obviously trying to hide her amusement. Her shoulders were shaking with suppressed laughter.

“Swords in scabbards, gentlemen,” James interrupted, coughing to cover his laugh as he watched the two sailors slowly circle each other. Obidiah’s beady eyes were glaring at Moonface through his dingy spectacles, and he had one hand on the odd sickle-shaped sword he insisted on carrying. “Obidiah, you ready the guns and powder kegs. Make sure we’re stocked up. Moonface, go ashore with Kelly to stock the galley supplies. Let’s get ready to sail.”

******************************************************

Later that night, Pamela stood at the counter down in the galley, chopping carrots. She declined to eat with the rest of the crew earlier that evening– she just hadn’t been in the mood for company. The galley usually provided a quiet retreat for her at night, but not tonight. A storm was brewing and the winds were starting to whistle outside of the galley’s small porthole. Peeking out, she gasped as lightning lit up the night sky, illuminating like a giant spider’s web against the black. Truth be told, she secretly loved storms. All that wild energy crackling in the air– the booming thunder and slashing rain. There was something primitive and alluring about it all. Sighing, she walked back to the workstation to finish chopping her carrots.

A loud clap of thunder had her jumping. Her knife clattered to the floor, and she crouched down to retrieve it. As she stood back up, she heard the galley door creak open behind her. Figuring it was one of the crew looking for a late night snack, she continued her chopping.

“Hello, Pamela.”

Her body froze in place.

She slowly turned around, clutching the knife to her chest. There, standing before her, dripping wet with rain was her husband.

“Royce?”  

They stood there staring at each other for a long minute. Pamela wasn’t sure if she should scream or attempt to run. Her breath clogged in her lungs, and her feet seemed to be tarred to the floor.

Breathe in, breathe out, she silently commanded herself.

This can’t be happening, her mind raced.

Breathe in, breathe out.

Royce stepped into the small galley, his girth swallowing the space around him. He had been attractive, once, before he had become too absorbed in drinking to care. He was tall and thick, with curly dark brown hair and clear blue eyes. She had never thought him fat before, but she cringed now at the way his gut cascaded over the ridiculous sash he was using to hold up his breeches. His hair had become overly long, and a smear of whiskers covered his upper lip. He was staring at her intently, with a cocky smile on his lips.

“Did you miss me, Pammy?” he asked.

“You mean, did I miss you after you abandoned me for that bar wench?” Pamela quietly replied. Though her voice shook slightly, she could feel the anger building inside her, quashing out the fear bit by bit. “After you left me alone with nothing and made me the disgrace of the town?”

Royce’s cocky grin vanished. A hard look came into his eyes then. One that Pamela had seen too many times before, one usually fueled by too much grog. She backed up a step, still grasping the knife. A bolt of lighting exploded outside of the porthole.

“You forget your place, wife,” he growled.

“How did you find me?” she questioned.

“I saw you last night on the docks and followed you,” Royce answered.

I knew someone was following me, Pamela thought bitterly. At least I’m not crazy. 

“What do you want, Royce?”

“I want you, Pammy. I want you to come home,” Royce said.

Pamela pressed her lips together to keep them from trembling. How could he stand here and say this to her? For years she had hoped he would come back to her– to come and pick up the pieces of their life that he had shattered by leaving. As time passed and she accepted that he wasn’t coming back for her, she began to put her life back together herself. Piece by piece. And now here he was, saying the words she had once desperately longed to hear.

She slowly shook her head.

“Royce, my life is here now. I work here now. I’m sorry,” she whispered. She couldn’t believe that she had actually just denied him.

“You should leave now, before you’re spotted and the alarm is raised.” she pleaded.

She prayed he would take heed to her words. She had no idea how she would explain to the rest of the crew who Royce was– or that she was, in fact, married.

Royce’s face hardened at her words. Pamela felt a trickle of fear creep down her spine. Royce had never hurt her when they had been together, but his anger was certainly a force to be reckoned with. He grabbed her arm roughly and pulled him against her, causing the knife to slip from her fingers. She could smell the rum on his hot breath and she gulped to keep the bile from rising in her throat. Thunder boomed, shaking the ship with its force. Pamela struggled against Royce’s tight grip, praying that she could escape from his grasp and run.

He was leering down at her, his mouth going slightly slack as her stared at her chest. With a heavy hand, he reached up and swiped at the front of her gown, ripping the faded blue material and exposing her chemise. He grinned over what his handiwork had revealed. Sensing his distraction, Pamela yanked her arm free and ran to grab the knife from the floor. Royce proved to be quicker, and kicked the weapon away with his boot an instant before she reached it.

“What were you going to do, Pammy? Stick me?” Royce challenged and began to step towards her. Pamela inched back, and felt the edge of the galley workstation press against her lower back. She was trapped.

A clomping down the stairs outside had Pamela almost weeping with gratitude.  Someone was coming. Royce’s head whipped around as he heard the noise. Her eyes darted to the door and then back to Royce. The footsteps passed the galley door and faded down the hallway.

“Please. Go,” Pamela implored.

“Aye, I’ll go. But this is far from over, Pammy,” he sneered. His eyes made one last slow, sweeping journey down her body before he finally turned and left.

She waited a moment, then silently followed him up and out into the rain and across the deck. She had to make sure he got off the ship. She watched him disappear over the side and climb down one of the ropes mooring the ship to the dock. She watched as he lumbered up the dock until he was cloaked by shadows, and finally released the breath she’d been holding.  She didn’t know how long she stood there on the deck, letting the rain pour down over her. She didn’t care that she was soaked to the bone– she just needed to feel Royce’s touch wash away.

When she finally made her way back down below decks towards the galley, she was physically and emotionally numb. She was so thankful that they’d be heading out to sea tomorrow, putting all those miles between her and Port Royal. Between her and Royce. All she wanted now was to crawl into her tiny bed and forget the world. Mad Meredith’s drunken snoring would actually be a comforting sound tonight. She smiled a little at that thought and stepped into the dimly lit kitchen.

“My God, Pamela! What happened to you?” James said quickly standing up from the stool where he’d been snacking on a green apple.

She stood before him, soaking wet, her dress ripped to the waist, with her thin chemise completely exposed. James tried not to notice the fact that the rain had made it practically transparent. He also tried to ignore how his stomach muscles had instinctively tightened at the sight of her. These thoughts quickly retreated when he took a good look at her face. Even in the golden candlelight of the galley, he could see how pale her skin was. Her hazel eyes looked hollow and dark against it.

Pamela’s cheeks flamed up with embarrassment. She looked down and remembered that her dress was torn, exposing much of her chest. She quickly pulled the sopping material together in an attempt to save herself from complete disgrace.

“I just had an unexpected visitor, is all,” she replied quickly. James had an expression of such concern on his face that she nearly crumbled right there. She could feel the hot tears stinging her eyes and knew she had to leave before they began to fall. Turning, she was moving towards the door when she felt his hands on her shoulders.

“Pamela. Tell me what happened,” he said gently.

Facing him, she looked up into his kind, green eyes. She knew she could tell him, that he would patiently listen and not judge her. Yet, looking at him, all the words that needed to be said seemed to die in her throat. Suddenly, her hands gripped the front of his shirt and pulled his mouth towards hers. She saw his eyebrows shoot up in surprise an instant before her lips touched his, but she didn’t care. She just needed to feel. To be touched.

James’ head was spinning so fast it felt as if he was drunk on grog. Her hands slid up from his chest and tangled in the hair at the nape of his neck, sending shivers racing through his body. His arms encircled her waist, pulling her closer until her wet clothes were dampening his own dry ones. He couldn’t believe this was actually happening.

She was lost in him. His lips were soft and warm, and she could taste the tartness of the apple that he’d eaten lingering on his tongue. His strong hands were splayed on her back, holding her against him. He wasn’t muscular as Royce was, but she found herself far more drawn to his lean form. She never wanted it to end.

But gradually her brain began to function again, and she realized what exactly she had done. Pamela slowly pulled back, and they stood there staring at one another, the sound of their labored breathing filling the room. 

“I’m not a hussy,” she blurted out.

“What?” he smiled, looking confused.

“It’s just, I mean, oh God. I can’t believe I just…” Pamela stammered, looking at the ground. “You must think me a…”

“I don’t. You’re not,” James finished firmly. His hands still held her waist. “But I’ll admit to being a little confused. What exactly happened to you tonight?”

Pamela sighed. Here it was. She took a step back from him.

Please don’t hate me.   

“I saw my husband.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

“Sorry, did you say ‘husband’?” James croaked.

Pamela bit her lower lip and nodded her head. The flush that the kiss had brought to her cheeks had vanished. The joy that the kiss had brought to her had vanished. She could feel the tears threatening again, and it took all her might to keep them at bay.

 He hates me.

A heavy silence fell over them. James literally felt as if he’d taken a blow to the midsection. She was married? Married? All of these years he’d known her, she’d been married? To whom? And why was she on the Dunder Mifflinia instead of home with her husband? How could she not have told him? Why did she kiss him? His head began to pound with the questions.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I don’t really know.”

“What does that mean?” he prodded.

Pamela merely lifted her shoulders in a shrug, eyes still downcast.

“Do any of the other crewmembers know?” James continued.

“No.”

James just stared at her. He felt as if he were looking at a stranger. Of all the members of the crew, he had thought he was closest to Pamela. He had believed they had a different bond than he had with the other crewmembers–stronger. Didn’t they? He had felt it. Hadn’t he?

He had never intended to stay on the Dunder Mifflinia. The son of a merchant sailor, he had taken the position as first mate merely for the shillings it put in his pocket and the opportunity to see a bit of the world while he was at it. Work was work. God knows, Captain Scott was as inept as the sea was wide, and he probably would either sink the ship or get them all hanged one of these days. But he had grown close with the crew and genuinely cared for them. Especially Pamela. He knew that was the reason he had remained. He had wanted to be close to her. Yet now…

She was married? 

Pamela didn’t know what to do. James had such an odd expression on his face– unreadable really. She searched it hoping to glean some insight into what he was thinking, but there wasn’t the slightest clue. The stretching silence was creating a tangible tension. She prayed he would say something. Anything.

“I should get back to finishing the preparations to leave. I just…” he trailed off. His eyes locked onto hers a last time before he shook his head bitterly and left her alone.

Married?

*******************************************************************

“Sail ho!” Angelina’s voice rang out from the crow’s nest. A few sailors grumbled, but none seemed particularly concerned. Except for Obidiah Schrute, who immediately scrambled up the rigging with his spyglass and peered at the approaching vessel.  

Angelina’s frown tightened. She knew that most of these godless heathens on board were just too stupid to respond to a potential threat to the ship, and this stupidity would probably land them in Davy Jones’ locker before long. But she’d be damned if they’d drag her to the depths along with them. 

As Angelina shouted her warning again, the crew finally began to gather along the starboard side of the ship to get a better look at the approaching ship.

“It doesn’t look to be a French design,” stated Moonface Bernard.

“It’s not painted up all peacocky like those Spanish galleons either,” added Obidiah as he climbed down from his perch.

“I’m not seeing the King’s colors a-mast, so it’s probably not English,” voiced Poncy Howard, the ship’s deck cadet.

“Oh, like you’d know a lot, Poncy. You’re practically still a lubber,” scoffed Obidiah as he snapped his spyglass closed.

Poncy knew he should be offended by Obidiah’s condescending comments. Yet he could barely contain his smile as Obidiah’s beady eyes glared down at him, the right one ringed in black boot polish. He heard a muffled cough-laugh behind him. Turning he saw James quickly avert his eyes.

“Not all English vessels sail under the King’s colors, boy. But that isn’t one of the Navy’s frigates, so, nay, it’s not English.” Obidiah lectured.

“Which leaves one option, then,” James sighed. “Pirate.”

He knew that this could turn out to be a delay they couldn’t afford. A rival ship wasn’t a threat for them─ the Dunder Mifflinia was well-armed and its crew seasoned in battle. Hell, Obidiah and Moonface always seemed to be itching for a good fight. But they only had a small window of opportunity to intercept the Spanish treasure ships. A scuffle with another pirate ship could cause them to miss that. And given their waning amount of gold, they needed to catch those ships. Captain Scott suddenly flew to his side.

“Pirate? No! No, don’t say that unless you know for sure. You wouldn’t want to alarm the, ahem, crew,” Captain Scott ordered. “Do you really think it to be pirate?” he squeaked.

“We’ll see soon enough,” James replied. “Alright, crew! We haven’t the time to waste on this ship. We must make haste to Panama! Be smart about it!” he shouted.

There was suddenly so much activity on the ship that it was hard to keep up. As a precaution, Oscar and Kevin the Seaman followed Obidiah below decks to man the canons. Moonface, Poncy, and Stanley were quickly adjusting the riggings and sails to capture the wind to fuel their hasty departure. Captain Scott scuttled behind James as he reached the helm to begin taking evasive action.

“Hard to starboard, Mr. Halpert,” the Captain ordered.

“That would turn us directly into their path, sir. How about we take her hard to port?”

“Yes, yes, that’s what I meant to say. See it done,” Captain Scott stuttered. The ship groaned as the rudder changed its direction, and the ship began to turn around.

“We need to catch the wind if we hope to outrun them,” James said, his eyes trained on the approaching vessel. “Moonface! Secure the sheets! We need to get windward!”

“Good work, Mr. Halpert. Err, I’ll just go check the maps in my quarters,” Captain Scott said quickly.

Before James could question him, the Captain had made it halfway down the stairs. He heard the slamming of the Captain’s door shortly after.

Pamela quickly picked up her skirts to begin her appointed task. She joined Phyllis and Kelly and the three women made their way below decks to secure the gold and loot. This was a routine measure anytime another ship was seen, as it was important to protect what was theirs. They gathered up the valuables and took them to the galley to hide in the grain barrels, which always proved to be a useful disguise. Pamela chewed on her lip as she stuffed a bit of gold in the grain barrel. An uneasy feeling had settled in her belly. She desperately wanted it to be due to the possibility of a skirmish with the strange ship, but unfortunately she had been experiencing the feeling for two days now. Ever since Royce had appeared and James had discovered the truth about her.

James had not spoken to her since that night in the galley. She had never felt so alone. No shared jokes, no comforting conversations, no smiles that made her stomach flutter. He had carefully avoided being alone with her, she had noticed. She had done this to herself, she understood that. She shouldn’t have hidden the truth. But she had been embarrassed– embarrassed that her husband had cast her aside, embarrassed that she had let him. It had taken everything she could muster to set out on her own, to make a fresh start. She’d always been afraid that someone might make her go back– back to the hovel she had shared with Roy to carve out some pathetic existence until he decided to come home.

“Pamela, are you coming? We better get back up and see what’s happening,” Phyllis said gently, causing Pamela to surface from her deep thought. She shoved the last of the gold under the grain and followed Phyllis and Kelly back up.

**********************************************************

As soon as she stepped out upon the main deck, she knew something was wrong. Everything was too quiet, and the crew was lined up on the deck looking at something. Their weapons were drawn. She squeezed herself between Oscar and Kevin the Seaman to get a better view of what was happening. She gasped when she finally was able to see. The rival pirates were actually aboard the Dunder Mifflinia! She started to ask Oscar how they had managed that feat when she noticed his nose was bleeding. Her eyes traveled over to Moonface who was dabbing at his split lip. Glancing at the other crew, she saw that some were also injured. Had a fight occurred? She was still curious how their ship had been breeched. She quickly figured this wasn’t the best time to inquire about it– she would have to wait until later to get the full accounting.

No one spoke for a long moment. The two opposing crews merely stood there, staring each other down. The only sound was the scratching Obidiah’s sickle-shaped sword made as he drew it against a small sharpening rock he held in his left hand. As James opened his mouth to speak, a rustling drew everyone’s attention to a pile of old sails where an old man appeared to be awakening from a nap. Standing, he stretched his arms above his head, yawned, and proceeded to scratch himself. He bent over, picked up a half-eaten apple, and walked over to the two groups.

“Did we take on some more crew?” Creedles smiled, chomping into his apple.

“Wie zijn u?” barked a stout, middle-age man with a dark-blond scruffy beard.  

James assumed he was the captain as he had spoken first, and by the ridiculous hat perched atop his head. He also assumed, due to the large quantities of spit that flew out of the captain’s mouth when he had spoken in his strange language, that he was Dutch. All he needed on top the thoughts of Pamela plaguing his head were damn Dutch pirates.  

Perfect. 

“Where’s Captain Scott?” Kevin the Seaman whispered to James. 

“I think he locked himself in his cabin,” James replied. 

“That’s just great,” added Stanley. 

“Wie zijn u?” the Dutch captain barked a second time. 

The crew of the Dunder Mifflinia was looking confusedly at one another, not understanding what the captain has asked. Creedles took one last bite of the apple, tossed it over the side of the ship, walked straight up to one of the Dutch pirates and slapped a hand on his shoulder jovially.  

“Wat is het goede woord, broers?” (What’s the good word, brothers?) 

“Bent u de kapitein van dit schip?”(Are you the captain of this ship?) the Dutch captain demanded. 

“Natuurlijk,” (Of course.) Creedles answered. 

“Zeer goed. Bent u bereid om de termijnen te spreken?” (Very good. Are you ready to discuss the terms?) 

“Termijnen van wat?” (Terms of what?)  Creedles wondered. 

“Van ons die controle van dit schip nemen!” (Of me taking control of this ship!) 

“Niet een goed idee. U wilt dit schip niet,” (Not a good idea. You don’t want this ship.) 

“En waarom is dat?” (And why is that?) 

“Ratten.” (Rats.) 

“Wat geven wij om ratten?” (What do we care about rats?) 

“U zult geven om deze. Zij zijn de grootte van pics en geur van mung bonen. ondoordringbaar aan het doden. kan het schip van hen bevrijden niet, ” (You will care about these. They’d be the size of pigs and smell of mung beans. Impervious to killing, too. Can’t rid the ship of them).  

Creedles wrinkled his nose.  

“Ontploffing! In orde, geef ons uw goud,” (Blast! Alright, give us your gold then.)   

“Hebben geen. Wij zijn weg op een looppas om meer te krijgen,” (Don’t have any. We’re off on a run to get more.) 

“Ik geloof u niet,” (I don’t believe you.)  

By this point, the crew of the Dunder Mifflinia was brimming with curiosity as to what the two men were discussing. Obidiah had inched his way behind Creedles and was now hovering over his shoulder, as if a closer proximity would give him the ability to translate the foreign tongue. Moonface’s lips were pursed, his eyes squinting at the Dutch captain trying to discern clues from his facial expressions about what was being discussed.  

Angelina glared at the Dutch, deciding them to be more heathenish than the blaggards she sailed with. These men were overly large and burly. Dirty, too. With their tunics left unbuttoned to the waist and their breeches so indecently tight one could almost make out their… 

Her hand shakily flew to the cross pendant on her necklace as she averted her eyes from that evil sight. Her heart was beating rapidly in her chest and her cheeks were burning. She focused back on Creedles and the Dutch captain, blocking out her body’s strange reaction to the ghastly men.

“Hoe ongeveer één van onze fijne wenches?” (How about one of our fine wenches?) Creedles offered.

“Wat? A wench?” (What? A wench?) 

“Neem uw oogst van de partij. Mijn gift aan u.” (Take your pick of the lot. My gift to you.). Creedles motioned towards the women of the crew. 

The captain looked skeptical for a moment, and then his eyes began to roam over the women standing on deck. Phyllis was quickly dismissed. He smiled slightly at Pamela thinking she could be a worthy prize. He visibly shuddered in response to the hatred etched on Angelina’s face, and hoped to God she was barren. The world did not need that lineage to continue, in his opinion. Finally, his gaze landed on Kelly. She reminded him of the exotic women he had seen on his travels to the East Indies, and immediately decided to take her.  

“Wat over inheemse?” (What of the native one?)

 “Zij is kombuiswench. Maakt een erlijk erwtensoep.” (She’s the galley wench. Makes a delicious pea soup.)

The Dutch captain nodded his head, which made the feather on his hat bob around. Their ship could use a good cook, he thought. It had been months since he and his crew had been treated to a decent meal. Their last cook had been kidnapped during a battle, and their stomachs had suffered ever since. A nice galley wench would be a valued addition.

 “Ik waarschuw niettemin u: zij heeft de wench's ziekte,” (I warn you though: she has the wench’s disease.) Creedles interjected. 

“Mijn mensen wensen haar niet om te knoeien met; zij vereisen haar om hen te voeden. Zij zal goed genoeg alleen worden verlaten zolang zij ons gevoed houdt. Ik heb een andere uitbarsting op mijn schip niet nodig,” (My men don’t need her to dally with; they need her to feed them. She’ll be left well enough alone as long as she keeps us fed. I don’t need another outbreak on my ship.)

 Creedles smiled. He would miss her pea soup, but he felt better knowing the galley wench would be left alone by the Dutch. Not that it was his fault she was leaving–someone had to go. And he had made sure as hell it wasn’t him. 

The two men clasped hands. The captain smiled, walked directly up to Kelly, bent, and hoisted her up onto his shoulder like a sack of barley. She let out a squeal of surprise as the other members of the crew gasped. He tossed her to a large, beast of a man who promptly grabbed a rope and swung over to the Dutch ship. The other Dutchmen followed suit, including the captain. They cut the ropes mooring them to the Dunder Mifflinia and the two ships slowly began to drift apart. No one could believe what had just happened.  

“Poncy, save me! Why are you just standing there? James! Help!” Kelly shrieked over the giant’s broad shoulder.  

Poncy opened his mouth as to speak, but just stood there, eyes wide. James knew he should do something, but truth be told, he was really still reeling from the thought that it could have been Pamela who had been taken by the Dutch. Given how quickly it had all happened, it could have been her sailing away from them, in danger and out of reach. His heart was pounding furiously in his chest. He rounded on Creedles, who was waving at the departing ship as if nothing had happened.  

“Creedles, what the hell did you tell the Dutchman? Did you tell him to take Kelly?” James demanded. 

“Of course I did, Jimmy. It was either her or the gold,” Creedles smiled.

“You can’t just trade our crew out! She’s in great danger!” James continued. “Now we have to go after her before they hurt her!” 

“Calm down, Jimmy. You know I wouldn’t want the galley wench hurt. I told them she has the wench’s disease. They won’t touch her in fear of catching it,” Creedles defended. 

“Why did they take her, then?” James pursued. 

“They wanted pea soup.” 

James had no response for that comment. He never really had any response to the things Creedles said. In reality, they had just avoided a catastrophe. They could have held their own against the Dutch pirates, but he didn’t want to risk his crew or their ship for the more important job at hand. Kelly was part of that crew, he knew, but they could find another galley wench. Preferably one with a softer voice. He sighed. The Dutch ship had caught the wind and was now out of their range anyway. He glanced at the still-screaming Kelly, and hoped she understood. Turning his saw Pamela looking at him, questions in her eyes, and he just averted his eyes.  

Just perfect. 

The crew resumed their positions as James attempted to put them back on course towards the Spanish treasure ships. They had avoided a disaster once again. Somehow. And he knew it would be far from the last time they narrowly escaped danger.  

“Het eerlijke varen, Kapitein!” (Fair sailing, Captain!) Creedles belatedly shouted as he waved the Dutch pirates and their new wench goodbye.  

One task at a time, James reminded himself and set the ship’s direction.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~