The Tale of Coin #877

Written by: Tina Marina

A/N: Hope you all like my contribution! Thank FreedomoftheSeas for her amazing beta work and Nytd for getting us all organized. And of course, the Broken Compass Forum for coming up with another wonderful anthology idea! :)

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Peter O'Brady could not feel the little bits of him at the edges anymore. It seemed like a lifetime at sea, crossing the brisk and grumpy Atlantic to find the mythical Caribbean, and his fingers and toes seemed to dislike the idea.

It was early enough that Peter had a few moments to himself in his shabby bunk before the captain would expect him on deck of the Malcontent, and he took the time to let his worries churn up inside him.

He had spent about fourteen months worrying about his older sister Vivian before he got the courage to follow her to sea. As much as he loved her, Viv deserved to pay a little bit of hell for what she'd done to their mother. A woman who'd been as strong as the squat and sturdy house she'd lived in for thirty years was reduced to a nervous mess. Though not many had noticed her habit of wringing her hands when she believed no one was looking, it had frightened Peter. But the boy, though fifteen years Vivian's junior, had promised himself he would find his sister and set his mother's heart to beating steadily again. So far, he hadn't been particularly lucky.

Suddenly the stuffy space below deck seemed too tight, and Peter crept as silently as possible to get some space to breathe. It was one of those rare moments in which he had time to admire the sea, before his eyes were to be strictly confined to the deck he was mopping, the grunts of grumpy merchant sailors who expected him out of their way overwhelming the calming nip of waves slapping the Malcontent.

Hearing boots behind him, Peter frantically reached for his mop, still swimming in a layer of less-than-pristine water.

"What brings you here, boy?" The booming voice of the quartermaster, a daffy bloke the captain was planning on replacing as soon as they made port in Virginia, rang across deck.

Peter cringed. "Er—er—just getting an early start on my duties, sir," he stammered. He was nearly eighteen, but he did still feel like a child among men old enough to salt the sea. This man's name, far as Peter had heard, was Billingsworth, but everyone simply called him Billings.

Billings shook his head, giving Peter a broad clap on the arm. "No, no, no," he grumbled, halfway to laughter.

"Why're you here, lad?" Billings asked, taking in the approaching Virginia coast with a wary eye. "You're pay is nothing, the weather's awful, and I haven't heard you say a word since we left for Jamestown. I'm beginning to think that the deckhand has a mission."

Peter's fingers tightened about the mop handle. "To-to find my sister, sir," he mumbled.

A chill breeze began to wander across deck. Peter, whose skin was thin and arms thinner, barely avoided shivering by biting the inside of his cheek. Billings didn't move, and Peter could tell he hardly felt the air on his face anymore.

"Peter," Billings began gravely. "Has anyone told you about pirates, son?"

Peter nodded, a chill of dread accompanying the cold. "No-not exactly, sir," he said softly. He'd heard stories of pirates, but his sister had told them; full of magic and wicked smiles, not how he'd heard they weren't opposed to slicing civilians to bits and drinking themselves to death.

It was vaguely cruel, Peter thought, that Vivian had let him believe in the pirates of her generous imagination. Yet she hardly seemed to realize that "devilish rouge" was hardly a compliment, willing to follow a man she only referred to as "the Captain" to his Caribbean sea. He had stolen her heart, she'd written, and the O'Brady's were quite positive that hearts were not all this captain absconded with.

Billings, leathery face as careworn as it was kind, cleared his throat. "Well, don't take this wrongly, lad, but the present seems a mighty good time to learn a thing or two." His blue eyes, specks in his face, hardly there, flicked to the open sea.

Peter's eyes followed. There was a shape on the horizon.

The boy's stomach froze, and hardly knowing what he was doing or where he was, he strained as far over the edge of the ship as he could. That was hardly the direction of Virginia. Besides, reasoned Peter's brain, icing over with fear, would Virginia, a piece of land that stretched so far, bleeding into a wilderness so wide a thousand Irelands could disappear into it with ease, be able to approach so quickly, with a shape like a frigate?

"There was a ship," Billings began. "It's said that the East India Company owned it for a time, but that it was built for pirates, and when a pirate stood at the helm, it was forever lost to the company and destined to sail as long as it was captained by a rouge."

Their own ship groaned from under them, as though hearing talk of pirates was enough to send it in the other direction. The breeze slackened the sails, trailing off and leaving Peter trembling with worry instead of cold. The frigate continued to approach. A lack of wind seemed not to trouble it. It troubled Billings neither, who continued with his tale. "This ship changed hands in the foulest of methods—a mutiny."

Peter's eyes widened. The ship moved closer, flying across the waves on a wind that left the sails of the Malcontent limp and lifeless.

"Boy!" Billings snapped, grabbing the back of Peter's shirt. "This is more than just a yarn of average importance; it would benefit to listen. Now," he said, clearing his throat, "This ship, it was said, was on a search for the key to life itself."

As much as he wished for it not to, the ship grew in Peter's mind, its sails snapping in the wind that it carried at its beck and call. It was likely unfair to assume the decks were teeming with filth, but it was comforting, as a swab, to think that his job needed to be well done. And in the midst of it all, a grinning, soulless mask passing as a face: the Captain, Peter thought.

"And," continued Billings, no longer pretending he wasn't watching the ship as well, "when they found it, it is said that the price they had to pay was great enough to make every one regret it."

Other sailors began to mill about behind Peter and Billings. The day was off to an honest start.

"What was it?" breathed Peter, as the other ship drew closer and closer to the Malcontent. It was even intimidating as the sun rose behind it, not needing a cover of darkness.

"I can't say I know, lad," admitted Billings. "This tale is of the sort where the bloke that told it to me, was told it by some other fellow with a past, who spent time in some deplorable cell with another man who confirmed it all to be true."

Peter's heart sank into his stomach, where it joined the pit of fear. "So it's not the Captain," he said softly, more to himself than to Billings. He had gotten his hopes up a little; perhaps the sea was not as infinite as it seemed and Vivian was trapped in that very same cursed frigate, doomed to sail with the Captain for an eternity.

Not only would it mean Peter had a chance at being a hero, it would also bring a blessed end to his time at sea. Some men, he was sure, were built for the ocean, but he was glad to say that he could never imagine being one. Yes, the sun beginning to turn the water all sorts of orange was a nice sight, but what time was there to see it?

Billings, in one last attempt to reclaim his story, leaned close to Peter's ear. "These pirates, forced to haunt the seas with their pathetic existence, are supposedly looking for only one thing."

Peter hardly had time to wonder what such a thing could be before Billings was handing him some sort of coin, something icy and gold that smiled at Peter the same way he'd imagined the captain.

"Don't give it to them," Billings said calmly.

The coin drew Peter in with its manic smile. It seemed to be reunited with its brethren. And sickly, the knot in his stomach became heavy enough that he lost his footing as the other ship, the pirate ship, brought to life from the mishmash of Vivian and Billings and other stories that clattered about in his brain, was now dangerously close to the Malcontent. Peter's foot landed in a bit of scummy water, sending him to the deck, as he realized what a flurry of movement the merchant ship had been sent into.

Pirate raids were not uncommon, but they had been blessed with an empty, cold and gray sea. Their captain, who drank, cursed, and worked like a common sailor, was shouting orders, somehow trying to get the weak wind allow the Malcontent to escape.

And so there was a haze of running, and shouting, and searching for pistols, and a rusty sword was placed in Peter's hand, and much of what happened was all a blur in Peter's mind, until the man set foot upon the Malcontent's deck.

He was tall, though more of it came from the merchant sailors shrinking from him. He was dressed quite elegantly for a legend supposedly cursed, and even the wide brim of his hat could send a bolt of fear into a man's heart.

"Seems ye have something that we need," he said. His eyes, far crazier - yet far more intelligent - than Billings, scanned the deck. "If ye know the story of Captain Hector Barbossa of the Black Pearl," he continued, with an air of pride, "then ye'll know we 'ave little patience an' less mercy." The pirate's crew shared a dangerous laugh.

Peter's breath caught in his throat. He held the tiny, golden key to the pirate's curse? Billings was right. He couldn't let himself be convinced to help men that wanted to kill him on the slight chance that Vivian might have been referring to this captain.

Peter leapt, dove, and drove the sword into the man's stomach. It needed a revolting amount of strength.

"In fact, as ye've already made an attempt on my life, I feel obligated to take yers," he mused. "But I shan't. Ye know why, boy?"

"No," Peter whispered.

"Familiarity," he said shortly. "Any acquaintance what I've not yet killed certainly deserves a moment to explain who exactly he is."

Hardly believing himself, "I'm Peter," Peter said, still cowering on the deck.

The pirate grinned again. "There be quite a few Peter's, lad, but what I'd want to know is, what'd go on your grave if I were to return the favor you've handed me." The man reached into his own gullet, prompting Peter to gulp for air and scream at the same time.

As his own breath strangled him, the captain leaned own, dangling Peter's sword, dripping in his own blood, in the boy's face. His face remained grim, but not cruel. If Peter were less frightened, he would have detected a small amount of sadness in the pirate's jaw.

The pirate dropped the sword. It seemed to take hours to watch it leave his hand, clattering to the deck as the early morning sun hit it, sending a glare into Peter's eyes. "I—I'm Peter O'Brady, sir," he sputtered. "Here to find my sister Vivian and bring her back from this hell—this hellhole and back to Ireland. Where she b-belongs, sir." Peter didn't know what about the pirate captain invited him to say so much, but he'd spouted it all without noticing that the man was thoughtfully narrowing his eyes.

"Masters Twigg and Kohler!" the captain shouted, turning to his crew, who snapped into action. "Take a longboat from this soggy excuse for a ship and send the boy down in it. The rest of you bilge rats may take a look below deck and see what a couple of scoundrels like ourselves may take a fancy to." His grin in place, he stamped and scowled, sending the merchant sailors scuttling as far away from him as possible.

Away from Barbossa and his terrifying glee, Peter saw something else. All of the men he had been ignored by as a scrawny deckhand were reduced to scared children, probably told the same stories he'd been raised on. And the pirates, if Billings was to be trusted (for he had told just another story, it had to be admitted, if less romantic than Vivian's) had a sort of happiness on their angular faces.

"Captain," Peter said. "Are you the Captain? Did you," he asked hesitantly, "know Vivian?"

Barbossa simply held his hand out to the side. Peter placed the coin into the pirate's hand, which snatched it, examined it, and sent it to disappear into his elegant coat.

"Seems the boy has saved us some time," the captain said sweetly. Voice gruff once more, he gestured to two of his crewmembers. "Get the boy into his boat and make sure he has proper oars before we send this heap to meet her maker." And the pirates busied themselves with going; all the talk of raiding the textiles the Malcontent was shipping (or, God forbid, the drink) mere talk.

"Come on, ya scrawny piece o' meat, get in!" a portly crewmember shouted at the boy.

Peter climbed into the longboat, the faces of his fellow sailors sour, knowing their own mortality. But for a moment that would linger in his mind for years, Barbossa turned his head to Peter. "If I catch ye lookin' back, I'll have to tell yer sister ye met with an unfortunate fate at the hand of piratin' dogs. And I'd not want to do that to such a good woman. In fact, she and her captain send their regards."

"Aye, sir," Peter replied breathlessly. And he took not even one backward glance.