It was bound to happen. You watch the Pirates of the Caribbean movies enough, couple that with the new one that's about to come out, add to that the pure speculation that Johnny Depp is talking about the possibility of a fourth one, and stir in some unmitigated lust over hot men. Then toss it to the women of Nina who love to write Woody/Jordan fanfiction and what do you get?
A whale of a tale.
So grab the Maybelline and cold shower. You're going to need it.
This time the good ship Nina is piloted by Nynaeve1723, jmkw, and nccjfan. And we don't own Crossing Jordan.
But we're willing to stage a mutiny…..
Off the Edge of the Map
Chapter One
The Bloody Bullet: The Chronicles of the Dread Pirate, Nigel Townsend
The end of October in Boston was a good enough reason to stay in for the evening. Toss in a driving rain, and no one would blame you if you didn't stir until you had hit the snooze alarm three times the next morning. Woody yawned and stretched as he came out of the bathroom after showering, flopping down on the bed beside Jordan, who was deeply engrossed in reading the latest edition of her forensic journal. He reached for a book on the nightstand he had purchased earlier in the day and settled down to spend a quiet, literary evening with her and the plethora of pirates who were running amuck in his new book.
'...Not unlike the more celebrated Caribbean pirates of Calico Jack Rackman and Edward Teach (alias, Blackbeard the Pirate), the Englishman, Captain Townsend, was renowned for his colorful attire and theatrical charisma. His ship, The Bloody Bullet, and its faithful crew sailed the Caribbean in the later half of the Golden era of Piracy and was a full-fledged member of the infamous Brethren of the Coast. The following includes excerpts from the Captain's personal logs and speculations about his life and that of his lucrative career on the high...'
Woody thumbed past the prologue to the first few pages of the book trying to judge how long it would take for him to get to looting and pillaging part. Pirates pillaged, caroused and then pillaged again. They didn't have lucrative careers. A lucrative career screamed political brown-nosing and diversified 401Ks. He had enough of that at work. He should have stuck with a true crime novel. At least he would have an idea when it was going to start getting exciting. 'Come on!" he said to himself. "Where was the dang booty?"
"What are you reading?" Jordan asked, setting her own journal aside.
"Um..." Woody hummed, flipping the book over to show Jordan the cover. "I picked this up today..."
"The Bloody Bullet: The Chronicles of the Dread Pirate, Nigel Townsend." Jordan pulled the book out of his hand and did her own fanning through the pages. "Nigel the Dread Pirate...you're kidding me..."
"I saw the title and couldn't resist."
Jordan noted the author's name was 'Ellroy' and wondered if he was originally hunting for something by James Ellroy when he stumbled on this instead.
"Wouldn't it be funny if there was some long, lost relation," she pondered.
"You have to admit it would explain a lot."
"Don't say that out loud, but then again Nige might enjoy having someone like a pirate in his genealogy."
"Not to mention he'd probably milk it to the point where he'd be able eat out on it for months."
Her own dry forensics journal forgotten, Jordan rolled over to her side and handed him back the book. Tucking her hand under her check she said, "Tell me about Nigel the DREAD pirate ..."
Woody scanned through the pages until he found one of the pirate's aforementioned journal excerpts and began to read out loud...
On this twenty-third day of May, in the year of our Lord 1720 A.D, the skies be sunny, winds a brisk and steady blow. The hold be solid with 10 kegs 'o water. A blessed day to be free pirate and on the open seas! Thirty days until we put Hoyt off on his island, thank be to our glorious Lord. We should have killed him when we had the chance. Maybe our new cabin boy will take care of this oversight for us. It is no secret that Young Cavanaugh and Hoyt barely tolerate each other. Odd bird that Cavanaugh...
"WHAT?" Jordan exclaimed grabbing for the book. "Hoyt and Cavanaugh," she laughed.
Woody held it just out of her reach. "I'm the one reading this. If you don't like the story write the author."
"This particular author has been died for three hundred years."
"That's too bad. It would have been nice to point out he spelled both Hoyt and Cavanaugh wrong. H-U-R-L-E-Y and C-R-O-M-M-O-C-K."
"A public school education in the early 18th century wasn't all it was cracked up to be," Jordan wisecracked. "So tell me, was Young Cavanaugh Townsend's shanghaied- yet- loyal right-hand and Hoyt the scurvy bilge-scrubbing deckhand?"
"Neither," Woody said pointing at the page. "It says here Hoyt was just some schmuck working off a bond and Cavanaugh was an island-born cabin boy..."
"Well, that's boring."
"This is a historical reference of a real pirate, Jordan, not one of those Johnny-Depp in Maybelline stories you like so much..."
"Captain! Captain! You're needed on the port deck! Seeley's got Bug at gun point and yelling for someone to lower the plank."
Nigel carefully blotted his journal page. "Can't you see we're occupied with the ship's logs, Mr. Winslow?"
"But?"
The sound of wood scraping wood rattled through the walls of the cabin. "It's apparent Mr. Seeley has been successful in his request. Our presence is not required...leave us, please." he drawled with a wave of the hand. "Carry on and such...shoo."
"But Captain!?"
"Shoo."
"..but"
"Very well," he sighed. "You have our attention. What put the bee in Mr. Seeley's bonnet on such a fine day?"
"Bug is in charge of the rum rations..."
"We are well aware of that fact, Mr. Winslow. We assigned the schedule."
"...well, he's been waterin' down the rum with lime again and Matt's not taking it kindly."
"Hoyt's the officer of the deck this watch. Have him handle it."
"He's, ah, got his hands full."
"Excuses. If one wants something done right, one must do it one's self. ...CAVANAUGH! CAVANAUGH! Where is that bloody lad? CAVANAUGH! Mr. Winslow, please don't tell us our cabin steward has put himself in the middle of Mr. Seeley and Mr. Vijay's little squabble," Nigel sighed.
"Woody was able to take that shank of his before he could cause too much damage."
"We assumed Mr. Hoyt tossed Master Cavanaugh's little poker overboard a fortnight ago."
"He did," Peter said looking at his feet. "Jordan must've made another one."
"Dimwits and imbeciles! 'Tis a ship of drunks and derelicts we're cursed with. Remind us to put the lot of you over board at our earliest convenience!"
Peter rolled his eyes. If he had a shilling for every time the captain threatened to toss the crew overboard he'd be the richest man in Tortuga.
"Yes, Captain, I'll make note of that."
Nigel stood and stretched the kinks out of his back. "Mr. Winslow, our hat, if you'd be so kind, sir."
Peter made short work of fetching the captain's hat. The feather and grosgrain encrusted hat was the captain's most prized possession, outside of The Bullet, of course.
"After you, Mr. Winslow." Nigel cocked his head.
Woody had to admit Cavanaugh was a slippery one. It's twice now he's had to wrestle a handmade shank from the kid and it's twice he's had the scratches to show it.
The first time Jordan pulled a knife was when the Captain ordered Woody to quote "...scrub the pestilence of Port Royal civilization off our new cabin boy". Who would have thought the brat had such a privacy issue. After all, you've seen one pecker, you've seen them all. Woody ended having his hand bandaged while the captain agreed to let the newest member of the crew to bath below decks in the hold.
Even with him unarmed, Woody still having the devil's own time keeping Jordan from jumping back in the middle of the fray between Matt and Bug. It wasn't helping that Bug seemed determined to use Jordan's body as a shield between himself and Matt's musket.
"Would you just stand still, you cheating little bastard," Matt yelled waving he pistol precariously over Woody's shoulder. "I'm getting tired of chasing you around."
"Of course you whey-faced, addlepated weasel! You have SCRUVY! It makes you tired!" Bug argued.
"Nonsense! You just want to cheat us out of our due you...you...nit!" Matt yelled.
"The lack of acids in your system you boil-brained, dull-witted ass, is what's giving you your nose bleed. The gimlet will cure it!" Bug shot back.
"He's right!" Jordan added.
"You!" Woody pointed. "Stay out of this!"
"Why? Bug's right. There's something about citrus acid that treats scurvy. The rum cuts the taste. You can't let Matt throw him overboard."
"Nobody's going overboard," Woody said with a pained smile. "You can have my ration, Matt. Just give me the gun before the captain..."
"Do as he says you beslubbering, ill-breed malt-worm. I know what I'm talking about..."
"Beslubbering!?"Jordan laughed over a rumble of thunder. She tossed her forensics journal on the night stand and tucked her feet underneath her.
"Have you ever heard of a sailor who doesn't use colorful language?"
"I've picked up a few of my more creative phrases during Fleet Week...but 'boil-brained'?"
"We're talking about Matt Seeley here," Woody smiled impishly.
"Point taken. So, what happened next?"
Captain Townsend stood six foot four in his stocking feet. Add his four inch heals and the towering plumes on his hat and there was no missing him over the heads of the horde of sailors jockeying for position to view the show. Woody puffed out a haggard sigh. He could almost count on his hands and feet how many days he had left on this ship. He didn't need some plucky cripple and pair of pigheaded adversaries mess up his plans.
"Mister Hoyt!"
The crew parted the Red Sea to make way for their captain. Knowing the show was all but over, many wandered back to the tasks at hand.
"Would you care to explain to us why our afternoon's solitude was so rudely interrupted?"
"Everything is under control Cap'in," Woody said, biting out each individual word. "There's just been a little misunderstanding. Nothing for you to be concerned about."
"If we've been unjustly torn away from our privacy then leave the plank where it is. Mr. Winslow will be taking a little stroll.."
"Sir. Mr. Seeley tried to kill Bug!" Jordan said, pushing her way passed Woody. "Just for trying to cure his scurvy and Hoyt was just going to stand by and let it happen!"
"...his puss-filled swag-bellied life..."
"That's enough, Bug," Woody warned.
"Master Cavanaugh. Since you are our new favorite, we shall excuse your naivety this once. Mr. Seeley would not do anything as base as killing Mr. Vijay. For he knows before Mr. Vijay's body hit the deck his own blood would be spilt and he'd be quickly joining him. Is that not correct Mr. Seeley...?" Nigel said, his cool tone contradicting the indulgent smile on his face.
"Yes, sir."
"Good!" Nigel clapped his hand one Matt's shoulder. "See Master Cavanaugh? There is much to learn about sailing on The Bullet. We'll have you minding your own business in now time. Now make yourself useful. Fetch us one of Mr. Vijay's fortifying gimlets. We must finish with our daily recountal..."
"...sir."
Jordan turned just in time to watch the bone blade; she had spent the last week and a half sharpening, arc over the rail and disappear into the sea.
"Don't make me regret bringing you on board, Cavanaugh," Woody hissed. "From now on, you keep your nose out of trouble and stick to washing the Captain's socks. At least until the man signs my papers and I've seen the last of this God-forsaken tub. After I'm gone you can plan a mutiny for all I care, but until then I don't even want to hear you breathe. Do we understand each other...?"
"Perfectly."
Nigel warmed the rum gimlet over a candle burning on his desk before lifting it to his lips. The heat helped cut the bitterness. Mr. Seeley did have a point. There was something wrong with diluting a perfectly, good rum with the sour acid of a lime...but it kept a sailor healthy enough to fight. He licked the end of his quill before he dipped it in the well...
'Master Cavanaugh still proves to bring joy into our life each and every day. We admit we had our reservations when Mr. Hoyt fished him off the docks in Port Royal. It was sheer brilliancy on our part to assign Mr. Hoyt to keep an eye on our young mate. The way the lad torments Mr. Hoyt brings us nothing but entertainment. Mr. Hoyt is sadly lacking in humility. If we have to be regaled with his plans to forfeit his newly acquired freedom to farm a handful of dirt, grow his sugar and sire a passel of fat babies we may have to castrate him without second thought. No pirate worth his salt would last a week the confines of the land. Then again, Mr. Hoyt never really amounted to much of a pirate. Maybe its God's Wrath that he should be cursed with some mealy mouth female and spend the rest of his miserable existence longing for the sway of a good ship under his feet...'