NaNoWriMo 2007 Eleventh Chapter

NaNoWriMo is National Novel Writing Month, in which participants need to write 50,000 words from November 1 to midnight November 30.  The point is to get the words flowing, push to the end, allow yourself to write a bunch of crap, and revise in December.  This motivation and urgency should help a writer put aside the internal editor and excuses that normally stop them from writing a novel in the first place. 

Fresh Water Pirates- Chapter 11

Captain Charles rowed Black Jenny back to the dock near the warehouse after a frigid woeful night aboard the Rotten Rose.  Jenny hadn't known how much she would have loved that child until she lost it.  Her emotions jumped from mournful to embarrassed to frightened to empty.  No matter what thoughts ran through her head, she kept quiet, not speaking one word since the still birth.  Feeling dried up of all tears, Jenny merely stared out towards the endless lake, pretending it was the sea, ignoring the fact that she was to reenter the city and resume business as before.

Seymour was whittling a bar of soap into a skull, sitting on the dock, waiting for the Captain to return.  His head felt like a rotten coconut, and it pounded with every snore that reverberated in the warehouse from The Others.  None of the pirates made it to their respective floors, as they were far too drunk.  This meant Seymour had to share his floor with the other three.  At first this gave Seymour the comfort of company, but the snoring hurt his head so bad he couldn't sleep.  The only logical quiet thing Seymour could think to do was to slink away to the peaceful dock and carve a lovely lavender bar of soap.  

As he sat there he realized how much he missed the water.  Even though they met the worst hunger and sun burn on that wretched Rotten Rose, he longed for the water voyage again. He forgot what the air smelled like so far from land.  The feeling of the boat beneath his feet felt more natural that the pavement.  When he saw Captain Charles and Black Jenny approach with no bundle in her arms, Seymour knew to keep his mouth shut, and he did.  Captain tossed the rope to Seymour and he tried not to groan as he bent over to grab the rope and tie them to the dock.  His head pounded like a lightning bolt was trapped in his skull, but he dared not utter one sound.

No one spoke a word.  For pirates, the only time anyone keeps this quiet is when they are in hiding, waiting for the right moment to steal or kill or follow a fellow pirate secretly to a hidden treasure.  During those times, the silence seems impossible with the beating of the heart working against your will.  However, that morning on the dock, the silence felt painful.  Seymour's heart clenched tight and felt like he would vomit.  The way Black Jenny's face told too much of the story, Seymour stomach turned.

Seymour watched as Captain Charles took Black Jenny's arm and slowly walked her along the shore.  He didn't call after them, "Hey, ye bully rats, th' warehouse tis this way!"  He did not ask them where they were going, or what they were doing.  Seymour sat down again, cross legged, resting his thumping head against a tie-post, and resumed whittling the flowery soap.  
Several hours passed before Seymour had his skull sculpted to a fine-detailed skull with defined teeth and a fairly accurate nasal cavity.  As he blew some of the soap dust off the latest carving, and used is thumbs to smooth out the two front teeth, he saw the two figures approaching fro the shore again.  Black Jenny had her head resting on Captain Charles arm while he stoically marched forward.  That Captain always looked like he was on a mission.

Black Jenny allowed herself to look at Seymour and wave.  When she and the captain got closer to him, she said, "Ahoy, Seymour.  We needs t' meet agin.  Muster up th' others fer us.  We's gots ‘nuther plan."

Seymour held his head while he slowly pried himself off the dock and got to his feet.  he didn't make eye contact with Black Jenny.  Instead he looked to Captain Charles.  "Cap'n?"
"Do as yer told, mate.  She means business, and tis business we needs t' attend.  Scramble on, ye rancid sea dog."

"Yes, Cap'n."  Seymour swallowed the bit of nauseous notion that arose, his Adam's Apple bobbed, and he grabbed his head again.  "Yes, Cap'n," he repeated, and he steadily walked, holding his head in place, to the warehouse.  

Rousing The Others was not an easy task.  Dog Face Dale swung a fist in the air, eyes firmly shut, and he rolled over into another rattling snore.  Barley Bob tried to get up, but his legs fell asleep from rolling out onto the concrete in his sleep.  Raven Red Tooth cursed and groaned, cursed and groaned.  Not knowing what else to do, Seymour dumped buckets of ice cold water on each of them.  The healing power of water, Seymour thought to himself.  "Get yer arses up, ye scurvy dogs!  Th' cap'n wants ter talk t' ye!"  Oh how his head pounded when he shouted that!  He thought he'd lose his sight if her had to shout again anytime soon.

Captain Charles and Black Jenny waited for the crew on the second floor.  It was very easy to see that The Others had not only neglected their duties for a day, but they had also spent a good deal of booty.  Captain Charles learned long ago in the company of pirates to always keep the captain's share well hidden.  He felt confident he had plenty of what the crew needed for their next excursion.  Black Jenny focussed on her breath, trying to keep her head clear.

The second floor, the butcher shop, the soap factory, the industry.  She knew the freezer to the West kept the fat, and the freezer to the East stored the meat.  She also knew that even though the cities lazy police were taking their time, trying to find the mass murderer and thief, it would only be a matter of time before someone stumbled upon their enterprise.  Who would ever guess that the best selling soap line in this Big Town was made from the fat of wealthy obese city folk, and that the $50 steak these richies are eating at the five star restaurant was sliced off their neighbor last week.

After quieting the wave of nausea in her stomach with her controlled breathing, Black Jenny found the resurgence of pride.  Who else would have thought to not only make off with the lute from the rich folk, but to pad the pirate pocket by selling off the bodies of the rich to none other than more rich fat folk?  Only the craftiest of women could dream of a scheme like that.  No man had the imagination to think that far into the plan.  A good male pirate could make the best of a one shot deal, but a woman takes it further than one volatile profitable plot.  A woman makes certain that the plan squeezes out every little drop of opportunity.

Just as Black Jenny was giving herself a mental pat on the back, The Others stumbled up to the second floor, adjusting their headscarves and caps, twisting their braids, fidgeting with their beads, and picking at their ear wax.  The Others were never what anyone would call polished men, but they looked more pathetic and incapable than ever before that late morning.  Seymour walked up and planted his soap skull on the soap-cutting table and scampered back to his place in the line-up, holding his head as before.

Black Jenny wanted to smile, but knew that would earn her no respect from The Others, and respect and fear from those scroungy men before her was exactly what she needed, especially before such a voyage.

Captain Charles stood like a King, ran is long slender fingers through the large feather in his hat, and surveyed his men like an eagle.  He took a deep breath, and remembered he had to summon a bit of inspiration for these drunkards before him.  
"Avast, me hearties!  We be lookin' t' go on the account in search fer new land.  The water be long an' wide, wit' no end in sight!  We be pirates, tis true, so onward an' heave ho!  We be settin' fer th' North!"

Scratching his sore head, Barley Bob looked puzzled.  "The North, Cap'n?  Me thinkst we be settin' fer th' South, Cap'n, as twer' th' adventure an' booty, we know."
"Yaaarrrr," Dog Face hollered, and then winced.  "We be ready fer th' thrill n splendor o th' South, Cap'n."

Raven Red Tooth rubbed a green stone between his fingers.  He had no opposition in his dark leathery face.  "Why we be settin' fer t North, Cap'n?"
"Arrrrrrrr, me maties, no pirates be this North befar. T' more North we go, we be find' th' more innocent folks to pillage an' plunder.  We be pioneers, me hearties, pioneers!"  Captain Charles stood erect and regal, proud of his short speech and already excited for the unknown.
"Cap'n?" Seymour asked nervously.  "We be starvin' agin' Cap'n?  We no be eatin' no fatties, Cap'n!  We won't!"

"Aarrrrr! One more pillage, fer grub, me scurvy dogs!" Black Jenny heard her voice sound out for the first time in nearly a day.  To reaffirm her surprise statement, she gave another, "Arrrrrrrr!"
The Others, all holding there heads and wincing, raised their arms rather sheepishly and gave a weak, "Yaaaaaarrrrrrrr," in return.

"Ey, me hearties, we be more pirate an that!" Captain Charles shouted.
"YAAARRRRRRRrrrrrrrr!" The Others all chanted together with tears in their eyes.
Dog Face suddenly grinned far and wide, his eyes glistening with an idea.  "Cap'n.  We be a great Press Gang fer snaggin' clippers.  Th' tavern las night, Cap'n, be'd one heck of a site fer Sprogs an' Old Coats alike."

"Yaarrrr.  Tis true, Cap'n," Barley Bob spoke up.  "We be a bit short a help fer ‘nuther voyage, Cap'n."

Captain Charles stroked his beard and furrowed his brow in thought.  After a long cold moment, he nodded in approval.  "Yaarrrrrrr!  We set sail t'morrow then!  Tonight we hit th' tavern fer clippers, an' pillage th' fatties fer grub!"

The Others stood a bit more proudly themselves, and brought, albeit clumsily, their swords to vote in favor of the proposals.

"Yaaaaarrrrr!  Yaaarrrrrr!  Yaaaarrrrrr! We be pirates!  We be pirates!  We be pirates!"
After the chanting, The Others nodded to Captain Charles and Black Jenny before stumbling back to their nests to slumber off their hangovers.

Captain Charles and Black Jenny retired to the top floor.

Copyright 2007 Laura Beck Nielsen