The Vengeful Gypsy

Chapter One: The Way We Met

I'm not sure exactly how long ago I was captured - or, more accurately, rescued - by Catalina Cabot and the Cabot Corsairs. All I know is that even to this day, I owe my life to a damned pirate, of all people.

I still remember the day she found me; one moment I was fighting off a drunkard's advances, and the next he was on the ground clutching his bleeding throat as an olive-skinned, raven-haired stranger pulled me away from the pub and along the docks until we came to her ship. I was too stunned to pull out of her grasp, and by the time I knew what was happening, we'd set sail. The Corsairs had given me strange looks, and I was more than a little on edge upon realizing Catalina was the only female. I quickly realized I had nothing to fear, however, when one of the sailors made the mistake of reaching for my dress. The good captain, who still hadn't uttered a word to me in explanation, promptly equipped her cutlass and severed the poor lad's hand, sheathing her blade again in the same movement with more finesse than I'd seen in any swordsman. The ship's surgeon took the sniveling excuse of a man away to dress his wound without missing a beat and I began to wonder how many times he'd had to tend to a crew member who'd somehow crossed Cabot. I'd heard my share of stories about the infamous pirate, but I'd never imagined the relatively small woman who stood before me now. She stood at about five foot six, with a toned, slightly muscular form in stark contrast with her feminine curves. Unlike most female pirates, she didn't dress and act like a man in order to gain respect and authority. She wore her femininity with as much pride as the bloodstains on her tattered white gown, and judging from the reverence on her crew's expressions, she'd gained their respect regardless. A golden chain ran between the piercings in her left nostril and earlobe, the latter of which also held three small hoops in gold, silver, and copper. What I could see of the tan skin below her neck was littered with tattoos, some of which had faded beyond recognition while others looked fairly new. Her long black hair hung in loose tangled curls and seemed to crackle with electricity from an oncoming storm.

"I apologize for the behavior of Bartholomew. My men haven't seen a woman since we left Portugal several weeks ago, we only stopped here to resupply, and he's never possessed much self control. You shouldn't have to worry about him anymore though," she said with a slight smirk, picking up his severed hand and tossing it overboard. Her voice wasn't nearly as feminine as her appearance, but it wasn't particularly manly either. Low and gravelly, yet almost siren-like. Only when she spoke did it truly dawn on me that I was face to face with a living legend.

"You're Catalina Cabot," I murmured in shock. A few of her men snickered but were quickly silenced by a frosty glance from her. As she turned back towards me, I couldn't help but notice a twinkle of pride in her previously soulless black eyes. She seemed pleased that I'd recognized her from legend alone.

"My reputation precedes me. I hope you don't think any less of me for the stories you must've heard," she said, in a tone that told me she really didn't care what I thought of her. Regardless, I shook my head. "You're a legend, especially among us ladies of the night."

She bristled as soon as the words left my lips and I started to shake, afraid she may strike me or worse. But as she looked at me, I could swear I saw a plethora of emotions cross her face in a flash -anger, sympathy, determination, shame, rage that didn't seem to be directed at me. She composed herself before any of the Corsairs could notice the tiny crack in her stoicism.

"Jacques!"she barked, causing me and several of her crew members to jump. A tall, thin man with sandy hair and a rat-like face scurried from the crowd. "Take our guest to my cabin."

"Aye aye, Cap'n," he replied with a nod, gesturing for me to follow him. He led me down to Cabot's cabin and told me to wait. God knows how long I sat alone on her rickety bed before she finally joined me, shutting the door behind her. Despite the stories I'd heard and the lack of mercy I'd witnessed, being alone with the notorious Catalina Cabot didn't frighten me near as much as it perhaps should have. Her presence, on the contrary, made me feel safer than I ever had walking the streets. She sat down next to me, keeping a respectable distance.

"You're the first woman I've had any contact with in a very long time, and quite possibly the first ever to not see me as either a disgrace to women or a monster. I know my story is shrouded by myth, and I'd like to answer any questions you may have, so long as you permit me to ask a few myself," she said casually, not looking at me. I nodded slowly, thinking for a moment.

"Is it true that you were once a streetwalker too?" I asked cautiously, trying not to anger her. She let out a sigh and nodded. "I can't tell you how much I detest those blasted euphemisms. I'm not ashamed of being a former prostitute. I did what I had to do in order to survive. My shame and regret come from very different sources. Now, what's your name?"

I thought for a moment. I'd begun my work right after leaving the orphanage I'd grown up in. All my life I'd only been referred to as "girl", "dame", "miss", "harlot", or a dozen other slurs, but never by a name. I shrugged and she nodded as if she understood.

"Well, let's come up with a name for you, shall we?" she said, looking around the cabin. I followed her eyes to a crate with a crude handwritten label reading "JASMINE TEA - CHINA" and then to a faded poster that looked to be for some sort of Russian circus, one of the main attractions being a female sword swallower by the name of Katya Jacobi.

"Jasmine Jacobi?" she suggested. The way it sounded coming from her lips made me more than happy to claim the name as my own, and she practically beamed when I nodded. "You know, you could pass for a Russian girl. Or at least someone from somewhere in the cooler regions. Those are the only places I've seen blondes," she said,running her finger along one of the stray blonde curls that had fallen from my fontange. "I was told my birth parents were Swedish," I explained. She looked a bit taken aback. "I wonder what brought a couple of Swedes to Spain. Either way, it's your turn to ask a question, Jasmine." She smiled at me and I couldn't tell if that was what caused my heart to flutter or if it was the fact that I finally had a name.

I wasn't sure how much patience Catalina possessed, so I tried to pick a question both quickly and carefully. "Is Catalina Cabot your real name?"

She laughed - a deep, hearty laugh that I couldn't help but grin at. "If you must know, no, it's not the name I was given at birth. I was originally Tshilaba Lovel, but when I turned to piracy I decided to change it to something that wasn't so obviously Romani. There's enough hatred for my people and horrible presumptions as it is, and I didn't want to enforce the stereotypes." I nodded understandingly. I could tell from the moment I saw her that she was a gypsy - there weren't many dark-skinned Europeans who weren't. I knew of the way they were treated, and I knew she probably wouldn't want to answer any questions about it.

"So, what brought you into your line of work?" she asked. I thought fora moment and then shrugged. "There wasn't much else I was qualified for when I left the home. It's better money than being a barmaid."

"It certainly is."

I smiled and moved a little closer to her, relaxing in her presence. "Alright, well I can't think of anything else for now. How about you?" She laughed a little and shook her head. "We'll talk more in the morning Jasmine. I hope you don't mind sharing a cabin with me, I'm not certain I trust the crew to keep their hands to themselves if I'm not nearby to keep them in line," she explained, standing up and undressing. I blushed a little at her lack of modesty, though I understood it. I looked away until she'd changed into the silk slip she wore to bed, handing me one just like it before turning away to give me privacy.

Once we were both comfortable in her bed, she gave me a broad smile. "Sleep well Jasmine. In the morning, you become a Cabot Corsair." With that, she fell asleep, soon snoring not unlike one of my clients. I watched her face for several moments, a million thoughts running through my mind, but there was one thing I knew for sure and that was that Catalina Cabot was going to turn my entire life upside down one way or another.