Fic: 'Devil's Own Luck'
This is a reply to a couple of drabble challenges at Black Pearl Sails, though at almost a thousand words it's hardly a drabble. There will be at least one more part to this, perhaps several, and it may turn spoilery for AWE -- not that we need to warn for that any more, really. Many thanks to hereswith for editing!
~ Devil’s Own Luck ~
Chapter One
“The devil’s own luck!” squeaked Favisham, cringing at Mrs. Favisham’s scowl.
“I’ll devil you!” she snapped, but curbed her ire when she dealt with Jack, much to his relief.
‘Twasn’t as though he’d planned to clean up at Favisham’s expense when he’d sat down to cards with him. Owners of the finest brothel in Port Townsend, the Favishams were, and Jack’s winnings were equally fine: the better part of a week’s profits (or so Mrs. F. claimed), and the hand (Ha!) of a fairer prize, a (reputedly) well-born virgin they’d acquired and had been planning to sell to the highest bidder.
Winnings heavy in his pockets, Jack trod behind Mrs. F., up the stairs to their best room, the one with the balcony overlooking the garden, with a view of the harbor beyond. The girl was there, sitting on the bed in a robe of red silk, her face white and set under the paint her mistress had no doubt insisted upon, eyes huge and dark, and curling hair the color of carrots, clashing mightily with the robe. Jack winced slightly, at both the affront to his sense of aesthetics and to the apparent youth of the girl.
“She’s seventeen,” said Mrs. F., having noted Jack’s expression, "and she’s been well-coached. You’ll have no cause to complain - will he?” This last bit thrown at the chit, along with a baleful glare.
“No, ma’am.” Her voice was soft and sweet, and shook slightly.
Good God.
“Mrs. Favisham, I-“
“You’ll do right by her, I know,” Mrs. F. said to Jack, adding to the girl, “Captain Sparrow is truly a Gentleman of Fortune, Miss Arden. Youngest captain in the Caribbee and, besides bein’ blessed with the devil’s own luck, he’s a real ladies’ man.”
The old harridan gave a coy smile, and Jack nearly winced again. “Miss Arden?”
“Arden Forest,” said Mrs. F., dead serious.
Jack gaped, and then had to stifle a laugh. "As I like it, eh?" he quipped. The girl flushed, and Jack grinned, took off his hat and placed it over his heart. "From the east to western Ind, No jewel is like Rosalind."
"Rosalind?" said Mrs. F., frowning. "'Her name's Arden!"
"Ah... yes. Well, in any case, I'll be as true a lover as ever sighed upon a midnight pillow. You have my word on't." He winked, and 'Arden' pinked vividly, a mixture of fear, astonishment, and (Jack felt sure) admiration on her pretty phiz.
Perhaps it would be all right. Seventeen was young, certainly, but not too young. Moreover, he'd had a virgin or two in the past and felt he'd learned from those encounters. Her fate determined, it was possible a kindly providence had led him here tonight, rather than some randy old satyr who wouldn't have a thought beyond his own pleasure.
Mrs. F. smiled benignly, and said, "I've no doubt you'll treat her well. You shall call me if you need anything."
Jack bowed her out, then turned back to the girl. She rose, abruptly, clasping her hands together. Nervous, poor chit.
"Would you like something to drink?" she said, breathlessly. "There's wine!"
"Aye, and you shall join me in a glass," Jack said, and followed her over to a dresser laid with linen, silver tray and goblets, and a cut glass decanter. As she moved, he could not help savoring the curve and sway of the nicely rounded backside beneath the red silk, and his fingers fairly itched to loosen the tie that set off her slender waist. Patience! The wine would do them both good.
She poured, taking some time about it, then faced him, the two goblets in hand and a shy smile on her lips.
"Shall we toast?" she asked.
"Aye." He took one of the goblets, and raised it to her. "The sweetest flower in all the field." Compliments never came amiss in situations like this.
She raised a brow, and pointed out, "That's Juliet."
"So it is," he agreed and tossed off the wine.
"A little more?" she asked, immediately.
"Of a surety." She refilled his goblet. He sipped more slowly, watching her as she did the same. And then three things happened at once: he said, "Odd aftertaste to this wine. Bad year, maybe. Not like Mrs. F. to..."; as he spoke the girl had set her goblet down and backed away, an alert look on her face; and finally, a wave of dizziness swept over him, too strong to have been an effect of the libation itself. He frowned, a chill going through him. "Did you put something in this?" He lifted the goblet, but it slipped from his nerveless fingers.
He took a step toward the girl, whose hand was suddenly clapped over her mouth, eyes widening; stopped, swaying on his feet for a moment; tried to move again, and collapsed gracefully to the floor.
He lay blinking at the ceiling, until the girl came, hovering, all flames, with bright spots of color in her cheeks, and eyes as dark as night and cold with contempt. She spoke: "Poison I see hath been his timeless end."
Poison! He reached for her, gasping, "Juliet... no!" but caught nothing but air, then knew no more.
~.~
~ Devil’s Own Luck ~
Chapter One
“The devil’s own luck!” squeaked Favisham, cringing at Mrs. Favisham’s scowl.
“I’ll devil you!” she snapped, but curbed her ire when she dealt with Jack, much to his relief.
‘Twasn’t as though he’d planned to clean up at Favisham’s expense when he’d sat down to cards with him. Owners of the finest brothel in Port Townsend, the Favishams were, and Jack’s winnings were equally fine: the better part of a week’s profits (or so Mrs. F. claimed), and the hand (Ha!) of a fairer prize, a (reputedly) well-born virgin they’d acquired and had been planning to sell to the highest bidder.
Winnings heavy in his pockets, Jack trod behind Mrs. F., up the stairs to their best room, the one with the balcony overlooking the garden, with a view of the harbor beyond. The girl was there, sitting on the bed in a robe of red silk, her face white and set under the paint her mistress had no doubt insisted upon, eyes huge and dark, and curling hair the color of carrots, clashing mightily with the robe. Jack winced slightly, at both the affront to his sense of aesthetics and to the apparent youth of the girl.
“She’s seventeen,” said Mrs. F., having noted Jack’s expression, "and she’s been well-coached. You’ll have no cause to complain - will he?” This last bit thrown at the chit, along with a baleful glare.
“No, ma’am.” Her voice was soft and sweet, and shook slightly.
Good God.
“Mrs. Favisham, I-“
“You’ll do right by her, I know,” Mrs. F. said to Jack, adding to the girl, “Captain Sparrow is truly a Gentleman of Fortune, Miss Arden. Youngest captain in the Caribbee and, besides bein’ blessed with the devil’s own luck, he’s a real ladies’ man.”
The old harridan gave a coy smile, and Jack nearly winced again. “Miss Arden?”
“Arden Forest,” said Mrs. F., dead serious.
Jack gaped, and then had to stifle a laugh. "As I like it, eh?" he quipped. The girl flushed, and Jack grinned, took off his hat and placed it over his heart. "From the east to western Ind, No jewel is like Rosalind."
"Rosalind?" said Mrs. F., frowning. "'Her name's Arden!"
"Ah... yes. Well, in any case, I'll be as true a lover as ever sighed upon a midnight pillow. You have my word on't." He winked, and 'Arden' pinked vividly, a mixture of fear, astonishment, and (Jack felt sure) admiration on her pretty phiz.
Perhaps it would be all right. Seventeen was young, certainly, but not too young. Moreover, he'd had a virgin or two in the past and felt he'd learned from those encounters. Her fate determined, it was possible a kindly providence had led him here tonight, rather than some randy old satyr who wouldn't have a thought beyond his own pleasure.
Mrs. F. smiled benignly, and said, "I've no doubt you'll treat her well. You shall call me if you need anything."
Jack bowed her out, then turned back to the girl. She rose, abruptly, clasping her hands together. Nervous, poor chit.
"Would you like something to drink?" she said, breathlessly. "There's wine!"
"Aye, and you shall join me in a glass," Jack said, and followed her over to a dresser laid with linen, silver tray and goblets, and a cut glass decanter. As she moved, he could not help savoring the curve and sway of the nicely rounded backside beneath the red silk, and his fingers fairly itched to loosen the tie that set off her slender waist. Patience! The wine would do them both good.
She poured, taking some time about it, then faced him, the two goblets in hand and a shy smile on her lips.
"Shall we toast?" she asked.
"Aye." He took one of the goblets, and raised it to her. "The sweetest flower in all the field." Compliments never came amiss in situations like this.
She raised a brow, and pointed out, "That's Juliet."
"So it is," he agreed and tossed off the wine.
"A little more?" she asked, immediately.
"Of a surety." She refilled his goblet. He sipped more slowly, watching her as she did the same. And then three things happened at once: he said, "Odd aftertaste to this wine. Bad year, maybe. Not like Mrs. F. to..."; as he spoke the girl had set her goblet down and backed away, an alert look on her face; and finally, a wave of dizziness swept over him, too strong to have been an effect of the libation itself. He frowned, a chill going through him. "Did you put something in this?" He lifted the goblet, but it slipped from his nerveless fingers.
He took a step toward the girl, whose hand was suddenly clapped over her mouth, eyes widening; stopped, swaying on his feet for a moment; tried to move again, and collapsed gracefully to the floor.
He lay blinking at the ceiling, until the girl came, hovering, all flames, with bright spots of color in her cheeks, and eyes as dark as night and cold with contempt. She spoke: "Poison I see hath been his timeless end."
Poison! He reached for her, gasping, "Juliet... no!" but caught nothing but air, then knew no more.
~.~