Disclaimer: I'm not making any profit, Potc and Jack all belong to Disney and people with expensive cars. Not me.
Bonny Read was a bit of a
pickpocket. A nobbler. A lightfingered, nimble mild-manered
criminal who would rob the shirt off your back while you sneezed.
But not the bad sort.
She saw herself as service with a smile. Too many nobles with too
much money- she evened out the balance. To her favour, o' course.
It helped that she looked as innocent as a spring lamb, with big
brown eyes, an oval face, and chestnut curls that framed it all.
And there was her accent. A lyrical well-bred refined Irish
brogue that hinted at breeding, if not actual money.
All of this helped her stay out of trouble. For the most part.
Bonny had arrived off the boat with nothing but a name. Her
parents were killed by pirates and she was rescued off the wreck
by the Royal navy.
At Port Royale she had been taken under the wing of Madam Molly,
who was quite taken with the pretty child and her manners, and
brought her up in the trade. At age seven Bonny was already
pick-pocketing, and bringing home a few shillings for Molly. At
age (roughly) twenty, Bonny was the best at the job, and was
known for her quick fingers and canny intellegence. The locals
would call at the Madams for her, if they needed some expertice
and foolhardyness.
For there was one thing Bonny Read loved, and that was a
challenge.
Unfortunatly she liked it a bit too much, which is why she found
herself locked in the brig in the fort.
She sighed and paced up and down, running her hand along the
bars. It was rare when a woman was caught, but this was her
fourth time this month, and the charges were serious. But the
taxman was a target impossible to resist, and with his bag of
gold? She would have got away
with it too, if the soldiers had not recognised her face.
The guards alcoholic breath announced himself before he did. She
sighed and turned to the door.
"'ello again Bonny."
"Always a pleasure." She snapped. "What do you
want?"
The guard leered. "The commodore wants a word with yer fine
self. Must be serious. "
"Oh bleedin' hellfire," she muttered and followed the
guard upstairs.
The guard let her in the office with a smirk and locked the door
after her. She sighed and glanced around. The walls were lined
with oak panneling, and the carpet was lush under her boots. She
exhaled and loosed her lace collar; the fire was blazing in the
hearth, even though the weather was swealtering. Tiptoeing behind
the desk she stared at a painting. It was a misty landscape, a
moore, with jagged rock and depressing scenery. Did this man
realise he was in the carribean?
She glanced at the desk and gave a small grin. This man she could
handle. The papers were all in neat files, the pen was at a
perfect 90 degree angle to the ledger, and the hand-writing was
perfect. A tidy script that kept between the lines.
The door opened and closed with a light click. She spun around
and placed a hand over her heart.
"Oh commadore!" She began, adopting her lightest, most
feminine, most well-bred accent. "I'm so glad you could see
me. There has been the most horrendous mistake!"
He regarded her levelly from under his grey wig, then took a seat
behind the desk. He motioned for her to sit, then glanced at some
papers.
Bonny sat as primly as she could, opened her eyes as wide as
possible without them falling out, and paid rapt attention.
"Your name is Bonny Read, is that correct?"
"Yessir."
"And you arrived in Port Royale aged Seven, is that
correct?"
"Yessir."
"And what age are you now? Seventeen?"
"About twenty sir. "
He gave her an appraising glance. "And you claim you were
orphaned abord the St. George when you were orphaned during a
pirate attack."
"Yessir." She wasn't sure she was happy about the way
things were going.
"And what do you remember of your parents?"
She blinked once, then donned an expression of painful loss.
"My Father was a merchant. He wanted to start a business in
Hispaniola. He couldn't bear to be parted from my mother and me,
so he took us with us. He died trying to save us."
"Hmmm."
Bonny frowned a little and tried to read what he was reading.
"It seems that there was never a Mr Read on board the St.
George. As a matter of fact, the St. George sank two hundred
miles off the shipping lanes, and three years before you arrived
in Port Royale."
He gave her a shrewd look over the page. "What do you have
to say to that?"
Bonny gaped. "Yer pullin me chain!" She composed
herself quickly. "Ah, sir, I mean to say, what?!"
The atmosphere in the room was defininatly getting colder. Her
nails found their way to her mouth.
"Although," he continued, in an altogether different
tone of voice, "There was a child on the St. George. A niece
of Leutenant O' Leary. It was thought that she went down with the
ship. The remaining O' Leary was devastated, since she was the
last heir of the O' Leary fortune."
Bonny perked up. "You know, I always felt Irish..."
The commadore gave her another appraising look.
"Indeed." He cleared his throat. "Its a pity that
we can never prove who was the lost child....unless..."
"Yes?!"
He gave a small smile entirely without humour. "Unless, she
did a certain favour for the royal navy, we could find a way to
proving her birthright."
The room was definatly chilly. "Certain favour?"