Pirates of the Caribbean Oneshots

Saving Sahara

Her shoulders burned and her wrists ached from where the shackles were rubbing the skin, keeping her arms in position over her head.

The floor was damp under her bare feet, and rats scurried in the dark corners.

Her tongue passed over her dry lips, desperate for water as she listened to the footsteps approaching, keeping her head down submissively.

She heard the door open, then was aware of eyes running over her, though she didn't look up to see who they belonged to.

"What age is she?" The voice was male, the accent unfamiliar.

"Seventeen. Perfectly healthy, capable of doing everything you could ever want. Also pretty good in bed apparently, if you're that way inclined."

"How much?"

After some haggling, the two voices seemed to come to an agreement on price, and a few minutes later, her arms were released from the position over her head, though the shackles remained in place.

Dark eyes ran over her from head to foot, and she shifted uncomfortably, despite the fact this man was much younger than usual, and he was looking at her differently. She couldn't figure out exactly what was different but something was.

A ruby ring glimmered on his forefinger as he silently gestured for him to follow her. Amazed he hadn't dragged her, she walked quietly, blinking at the sudden brightness as they went outside.

After several moments, his gaze flickered to her, noticing her trembling.

"It's alright, I'm not goin' to hurt ye. I promise. What's your name? Wait, do you understand English? Cause if ye don't we could have a problem."

"I...I understand sir," she murmured, her voice almost too quiet to hear.
"My mum called me Sahara, but nobody has called me that in years, not since they took me away."

"Well, can I call you Sahara too? Or is there something else you'd rather be called?" he asked gently.

"Sahara...Sahara is fine sir." She wasn't used to being asked what she would rather.

"Sahara it is then. Apologies, where are me manners? My names Edward, Edward Teague." Then, quietly, he added, "I'll take your shackles off once we get to the ship, best to keep up appearances in public."

She frowned in confusion. Taking shackles off on a ship? Usually she was shackled before boarding and unshackled when somebody new bought her. She kept quiet about her confusion though; slaves weren't allowed to ask questions.

The ship they approached looked different from all the others she'd been on. It had a woman carved at the front of it, and it was a different shape.

"Welcome to the Misty Lady."
There was a regal air to the young man as he made a sweeping gesture to encompass the whole deck upon which they now stood. His long scarlet frock coat was richly embroidered with white, worn open over a dark blue waistcoat which was decorated with silver embossing, buttons gleaming in the light.

Sahara stared around the ship, eyes wide with wonder and apprehension.

"Shall I remove the shackles?"

His voice startled her out of her staring, and she shyly extended her arms, a shiver of fear running through her at the feeling of his hands against hers.

The shackles clattered onto the ships deck, and she gingerly rubbed her bleeding wrists as he unshackled her ankles too.
"Thank you," she whispered.

He nodded, then called something in his own tongue that she didn't understand.

A woman appeared, her auburn hair caught in the breeze, one hand resting on her swollen stomach.

"What d'ye want Edward?" Her accent matched his, and her tone was irritable.

He raised a brow at her. "Is that any way to speak to your captain Soracha? Some captains would flog ye for such disrespect."

Soracha rolled her eyes. "If ye ever try to flog me, I'll slit yer feckin' throat. I'll ask again, what d'ye want?"

He gestured Sahara forward. She eyed Soracha nervously through her tangled, filthy dark blonde hair.

"Sahara, this is Soracha, the doctor on this ship, and my best friend."

Sahara kept her head lowered. "Pleased to meet you miss," she murmured quietly.

"Nice meetin' ye too," Soracha responded with a nod, her eyes running over the woman, lingering on her bloody wrists and the way her arms were crossed protectively over her upper body.
"Would ye like help gettin' cleaned up?"

Unsure of what to say, Sahara nodded.

Teague watched them go below deck together, knowing she'd be safe with Soracha.

He made a quick check of the crew and provisions, then gave orders to raise the sails and anchor. The sun was high in the sky, and it was sweltering hot. Stripping off his coat and waistcoat, he rolled his sleeves up as he took the ships wheel.

He'd been intending to stay longer, but he now wanted to get Sahara away, so with a sigh, he began to guide the ship into open waters again, leaving the island of Madagascar.

Once the ship had left the port, he handed the wheel over and went to his cabin to plot a course, leaving the door open. A breeze made his maps and charts flutter on the desk, setting the curtain which concealed his bed swaying gently.

Teague sighed, stroking his dog and settling back in his high-backed chair, stretching his legs.

As much as he hated slave trading, he was freeing her, and that eased his conscience. Drowsy from the heat, he drifted off, a satisfied smile on his lips.