Multiple locks--at least six--clicked and the ebony door opened. Bluebeard's girth filled the doorway, and he stood at eyelevel with me. His bloodshot eyes grew darker upon seeing me, but he stood aside to let me through anyway. His cabin wasn't nearly as lavish as the ones on my ship--more of an office with a cot in the corner--but I'm sure it was a lot nicer than his crew's cabins.
Bluebeard returned to his desk and sat stiff as a board, his eyes darting around as though expecting to see the rest of my crew pop out of the woodwork and surround him.
"Nobody'll interrupt us," he grumbled, "Whaddaya wanna talk 'bout, Sparrow?"
"Word in Tortuga's ya got ol' Davy Jones after ya."
"Blast it! When I catch the barnacle brain who let slip, I'll..." he let his voice trail off, probably thinking up threats to use on his crew. Of course, he'd never find out, seeing as I was told by Davy Jones himself.
"Heh. You're big on keepin' secrets, aintcha, Arty?" I was teasing him, meaning for him to take it badly as he did. His head jerked up and he fixed me with an icy stare.
"Didja come 'ere ta make fun a' me?" Bluebeard growled, reaching for the pewter pistol in his belt.
"Lookin' fer this?" I chuckled, swinging the gun on my finger and tossing it back to him, "Naw. I ain't here ta make fun a' you. Ol' Davy's been tryin' ta get me, too."
Of course, Davy Jones really wasn't after me. I just wanted to get Bluebeard off his guard.
"'E 'as?" Bluebeard's bushy brows rose in surprise, "Why you?"
"Breakin' tradition, past crimes an' the like."
"Heh heh, yer crew's a bunch o' monsters an' abominashuns, Sparrow, that's fer sure."
My temper flared, but I didn't let it show; letting him know he'd got to me would do me no good. I suppressed the urge to wrap my fingers around his scrawny gullet.
"Aye, that we are." I flashed Bluebeard a casual smile, extending my canines. "'Course, when ya say my crew, yer includin' me." I rested my hands on the edge of his desk and looked him straight in the eye. "So, ya'd wanna be careful 'round me, lest I change my mind about helpin' ya an' jus' handja over ta Davy Jones outta the evilness o' my shrivelled black heart, eh?" I straightened up and began picking at my nails. "'Course, that'd help neither of us, would it? So, ya ready ta talk wivout tradin' insults?"
"Aye."
"Well," I started, then stopped as if realizing something, "Y'know, it'd be a better idea ta talk 'bout this on land, wouldntcha say? Where's yer next port?"
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Hmm...what's gonna happen? I know, do you? Send me a comment if you think you do. Or if you don't. You know what, just comment anyway. Constructive criticism is welcome. Keep reading to find out what happens next.
SKBCTayuyaFluteofDeath Community Member 
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