A long corridor stretched out behind; high ceiling, thick carpet and mahogany-panelled walls disappearing into inky blackness.  In front, a massive pair of oaken doors.  There were some large, velvety couches along the walls at this end of the hallway, and right now, sitting on those couches, was the most sorry and dejected-looking group of individuals ever assembled in one place.  With an enormous clunk, one of the doors swung partially open, and a young girl with long dark hair and a tattered grey dress bolted out.  She kept her head down, hiding her face, but there was no masking the sound of her sobs.  It was the sound of utmost sorrow and despair.  But there was no time to ponder this.  From the gap in the huge doors, a deep voice called ‘next!’  

Beyond the doors lay a massive room.  The carpet on the floor was even more lush than that in the hallway, and a pleasant shade of sea-green.  The walls were circular all around, and lined all the way to the ceiling with shelves.  Not that the ceiling was visible; the shelves just seemed to disappear upwards into blackness, leaving one with the assumption that they went to the ceiling.  And every shelf was crammed full with all manner of little bottles and jars, boxes and pouches, and scrolls of paper.  In the centre of the room, there was a huge wooden desk, and behind the desk sat a little old man with a lot of hair that pointed out in all directions.  He looked a lot like Old Man Mathers from the junk shop back on the mainland.  

He looked up abruptly.  “Well?  Don’t just stand there.  I haven’t got all day—have you?”  

A hand reached out and dropped a blue velvet pouch on the table in front of him.  It landed with an ominous tinkling sound.  

“Lets see what we’ve got here.”  The old man reached out and untied the pale blue ribbon holding the pouch shut.  The object inside turned out to be a heart.  An odd-looking one, to be sure, but a heart nonetheless.  The old man groaned and slapped a hand to his forehead.  “Good grief…”

“I know it doesn’t look like much;” the second voice was definitely female, “but I swear, its as solid as gold.”

“Solid?  It’s in pieces!”

“Well, at least he won’t have to worry about accidentally breaking it himself.”  

“Oh, no.  No, no, no, no, no…”  He pushed the heart back across the table, shaking his head.  “The best I could possibly get for you is…” the old man frowned thoughtfully.  “Three ounces of pity.”  He paused a moment.  “And possibly a little bit of lust.  If the patron is desperate.  Or drunk.”

“What?!  Are you sure that’s the best you can do?”  

“Look, Lovey, I’m sorry.  But that’s how it goes.  You’re young, inexperienced, and not that much to look at…”

It was easy to understand why the other girl had left crying.  Tears of despair began to well up—and then abruptly, Tory realised she didn’t like how this dream was going.  She reached for her cutlass, only to discover that it wasn’t there.  “What?  Damn!  I always carry my cutlass!”  She concentrated hard, reached for it again…and with a ‘pop!’, the sword appeared suddenly in her hand.  “Hah!  Take this!”  She swung it down with all her might, embedding it in the desk.

“Hey!”  The old man squeaked.  “That’s not allowed!”

Tory tried to pull her cutlass back out of the table.  It was stuck firmly.  “Curses!”  She concentrated and in another second had a new cutlass in her hands.  She levelled the point at the old man’s throat.  “Are you sure you can’t make me a better offer?”

He stuck his chin in the air.  “I’m a respectable businessman. You can’t threaten me that way!”

Tory glared petulantly at him.  “Oh yeah?”  She threw her weight hard against the table; it slid into the old man and knocked him over, chair and all.  Tory seized the opportunity to leap over the top of him and grab one of the bottles from the shelf behind the desk—the one she really wanted.  Exactly how she knew it was the one she wanted, she didn’t know.  But she knew that she wanted it.  

In a flash, she was running back out the giant doors, the little bottle clasped to her chest, and the old man’s furious shouts of “you can’t do that!” and “stop her!  Guards!!” echoing after her.  

Tory flew down the corridor as though her feet had wings.  In fact, looking down and concentrating, she was pleased to find that she did in fact have wings.  

Behind her, she heard the sounds of pursuit; looking back, she saw them coming and then wished she hadn’t looked after all.  The guards were each seven feet tall, and looked like crosses between jackals and pirates.  (How she knew what a jackal even looked like, she had no idea…)  They had human torsos, and ran on two legs, but those legs looked like jackal legs, ending in huge paws and even huger claws.  Ditto for the arms.  And the heads…

Tory yelped in fright and whipped back around to face the front.  The head of the nearest guard was none other than Ike’s head, and right behind him, Billy and Poot.  She began running harder.  From out of nowhere, a steel grate dropped from the ceiling in front of her, sealing off the passage.  It was so quick, and so quiet, she almost broke her nose on it before she saw it.  She whirled about.  The guards were getting closer, coming on in great hungry bounds.  She looked down at the bottle in her hands.  So much trouble for a little bottle…what is it?  The label read simply ‘love’, and beneath it was an idiot picture of James, grinning stupidly and giving the thumbs-up.  What?!?!?!  

Jackal-Ike was brandishing a sword now, and licking his lips.  “Ah, blast it.  Here goes!”  Tory yanked the stopper from the bottle and drank.

“Phwoar!!!”  It was the most loathsome, disgusting stuff she had ever tasted, and it burned all the way down.  Reflexively, she spat it out and fell to her knees, choking.  A hand suddenly reached through the iron grille in front of her, plucking the bottle from her hand.

“Hey!”  Tory spluttered, and turned to see Bloody Mary, looking dangerously beautiful, her dark eyes glittering evilly.  

“Ah, you poor, silly little girl.  You can’t handle this.”  And with that, she tipped her head back and drank the rest of the bottle.  

“No!!!”  Tory wailed.  “That’s mine!!!  Give it back!  No!!!”  Mary simply laughed and tossed the empty bottle back through the bars to her, and then disappeared into the dark hallway beyond.  Her mocking laughter echoed behind her.  

Tears started trickling down Tory’s cheeks.  She stared at the empty bottle, feeling the despair take over.  “Awwoooooo!” She whipped back around, horrified.  Jackal-Ike and the rest of the guards were upon her…
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

“Aaaagggggghhh!!”  Tory tipped over the edge of the bed and hit the floor with a solid ‘whump!’  The floor wasn’t moving.  No rocking, rolling motion.  That was the first indication that all was not as it should be.  And it was silent.  No sound of waves lapping against woodwork.  It was also completely dark, except for a thin sliver of moonlight sneaking through a chink between curtains.  

Abruptly there came the sound of running feet.  Still half-asleep, Tory barely raised her head before the door was flung open and she was confronted with a pair of slippered feet.  Somewhere above the feet there floated a candle and a rather strained-looking face.  Behind that person came a much younger pair.  

“Good lord, she’s awake!”

“Unnhhh…”  Tory put a hand to her head, which felt decidedly light.

“Oh, you poor dear.”  This voice was older, and somewhat maternal in timbre.  A hand grasped her gently—but firmly—about the upper arm and started guiding her back up towards the bed.  

“No!”  Tory twisted violently.  Everything was confused; all she could think of was getting away.  Run.  I have to run!  The woman holding her was caught by surprise; Tory bucked free and took two running steps before the world tilted crazily and then went black.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

“What a koo-koo dream!”  Tory yawned and blinked her eyes open, then immediately squinted as they were greeted by bright morning sunlight.  Or had it been a dream?  As her eyes adjusted to the light, she realised that either her cabin had multiplied twenty times in size, or she wasn’t in her cabin.  Option A didn’t sound like it held a lot of water, so she assumed the latter.  About six feet above her face, she saw what looked suspiciously like a canopy; rolling her eyes around, she discovered four ornate mahogany poles at each of the corners of the enormous bed she was in.  They were the things holding the canopy up.

And the sheets!  They were…  “Silk?”  Tory had seen silk plenty of times—in the holds of the merchant ships she raided.  But she’d never considered sleeping in the stuff.  It felt…strange.

“Oh, no…”  She sat up, slowly this time.  Her head still felt light, but the room mostly stayed still this time.  And it was a huge room; with thick, gilt carpets and beautifully appointed with expensive and decorative furniture.  What the..?  Oh, no.  Where am I?  What on earth happened?  Oh no…

“Well, well, lassie.  You are the tough one then.”  Tory turned at the sound of the maternal voice from her dream-that-had-not-been-a-dream.  Sitting in a rocking chair, not far from her bedside, was a kindly looking middle-aged woman, wearing the traditional dress and apron of an upper-class servant.  

Tory frowned, and rested her chin in her hand.  Perhaps in a fit of madness, she had gone on another drinking spree, then taken all her treasure from the island and bought herself a mansion and servants?  …that didn’t seem likely either.  

“You must be simply ravenous…?”  The woman stood, and took a tray from the bedside table; Tory was surprised to realise that she was starving, and she fell to.  The tray contained fresh fruit—a luxury—and fresh bread.  Also a luxury.  Tory wrinkled her nose at the pot of tea, however.  

“No rum?”  She asked hopefully.  

“Heavens no, missie.  There is no rum.”  The woman was trying to look disapproving, but a smile escaped her lips anyway.  Tory realised vaguely that she must have been extraordinarily beautiful when she was younger.  She sat and watched as Tory ate; abruptly, after only a few moments silence, she spoke.  “I didn’t think you would ever pull through.”  Her voice was soft.  “But you are a strong one.  I’ve never seen anything like it.”

Abruptly, it all came rushing back.  The storm.  Poot.  The last page of her father’s journal.  Except he wasn’t really her father…  Tory stopped mid-chew; a piece of bread fell from her hand, rattling the tray as it landed.  “James.  Where’s James.”  It was the first thing she could think of to say.  She bit her lip hard to keep from crying.  

“Oh, love.”  The woman looked sadly at her.  “I don’t know anything about James.  Whoever he may be.  All I know is that the master and missus took you in two weeks ago—and you were in a right state—and I have been looking after you since then.  I really didn’t think you would come back.”  

“T-two weeks?”  Tory was stunned.  “Well…then, where am I?”  

The woman looked surprised.  “Why, Port Royal, of course.”  

“Port Royal?  The Bahamas?”  This was absolute madness.  James and Tory hadn’t set foot in Port Royal for almost 6 years—the price on their heads being far too high to warrant the risk.  They had sailed from Tampa Bay on the mainland instead.  A knot of fear formed in Tory’s stomach.  Had James been captured then?  She began rapid-firing questions.  “Is James in prison?  Where are the crew?  You must know something.  Tell me, please!”  

The woman abruptly became severe.  “I have already told you that I know nothing about this James character.  Sit down before you get all excited and make yourself ill again.”  Tory was jumping around the bed on hands and knees, searching frantically for her cutlass—which, of course, was nowhere to be seen.  “Finish your breakfast, dear.”

“I’m not hungry.”  Upon not finding her cutlass, Tory opted for the next-best thing; sulking.  She pushed the tray away and flopped back against the pillows, folding her arms and ‘harrumph!-ing’ loudly.  

The woman frowned slightly and narrowed her eyes.  “Suit yourself.  I have more work to attend to, so I will be leaving you now.  My name is Mrs. Thatcher, and I run this household.  If you need anything, ring that bell there.”  And with that, she was gone, locking the door behind her.  

Tory stared at the closed door in disbelief for a few seconds.  Does she seriously expect me to stay here?  After a few minutes, it became apparent that no one was coming back, and she was indeed left to her own devices—for the time being, at least.  With a quick glance around the room (to check there were no suits of armour hiding people or strange things like that), Tory hopped out of bed, and was immediately disgusted to find she was wearing some sort of lacy white nightdress.  With a groan she wobbled unsteadily towards the door.  Her legs were still quite shaky; testament to the fact that Mrs. Thatcher had not been fibbing when she said Tory had been asleep for two weeks.  

The door was locked, of course.  Tory hadn’t been imagining things when she heard the woman lock it behind her.  She wandered around the room, poking into drawers and cupboards.  They were mostly all empty, except for fine layers of dust everywhere.  This room obviously didn’t see a lot of use.  

There was a window set in the wall opposite the door; it was wide open, and the filmy curtains danced in a light breeze.  Tory worked her way around to the window and peered out; clearly her room was at the back of the house, for she was looking down into a yard, and not down the street towards the ocean.  The ledge outside the window was wide sandstone; Tory crawled out onto it and looked down.  She was on the first floor, perhaps 15 feet from the garden below.  There were some scrubby-looking bushes beneath her window, but otherwise, no hand or footholds to get her down.  

Well hey.  It can’t be as bad as falling from halfway up the mainmast…  Tory swung her feet over the ledge; hung from her hands for a brief moment, and then let go.  *whump!-crash-rustle-rustle*  Tory rolled out of the bush, groaning.  It hadn’t been nearly as soft as it looked.  She only had a brief moment to admire the scratches on her arms and the rips in her nightdress before a low growling sound assaulted her ears.  Tory turned slowly.  Uh-oh…  It was the biggest, ugliest dog she had ever seen.  Mangy fur, a jawbone that looked like it was made of reinforced concrete, and a nasty-looking set of yellow teeth.    

“Cripes!!”  Dizziness forgotten, she hurtled to her feet and ran blindly at the garden wall.  With a little help from a young tree growing nearby, she scrambled up and threw herself head-first over the wall—hoping fervently that there was not another dog in the next yard.  

“Ow.”  She landed with an ungraceful tumble on the lawn in the next yard.  There were no growling noises this time, so she paused a moment to look around.  The lawn was well-manicured—it looked like the sort of garden that rich people would have garden teas in.  In fact, the house looked like the sort of house that rich people would live in, too.  (Like the one she had just escaped from.)  There was a low stone building attached to the back of the house; the door to it was open.  

Tory looked surreptitiously over her shoulder before scampering across the lawn and peeking inside.  It was—as she’d hoped—a laundry room; fortunately the washerwoman inside had her back to the door, scrubbing furiously at a large tub of clothes and singing at the top of her lungs.  On a table behind her there was a pile of freshly laundered clothes.

Without a second thought, Tory tiptoed down the few steps into the room, snagged an armful of (what looked like) boys’ clothes from the clean pile, and was gone again with no one the wiser.  

Several minutes later, now dressed in some slightly oversized, but otherwise very nicely-cut boys clothes, Tory snuck down the side of the house and out onto the street.  These houses were all set on top of a slight rise; she could see straight down the hill to the ocean.  The sunlight sparkling off it almost made her ache to be back on a ship.  

“You’re gonna get in a lot of trouble running about like that, Miss.”  Tory started and spun around.  There was a young boy, about her own height—probably around 12 or 13 years of age—leaning casually on a bicycle and looking at her with a mix of curiousness and cocky amusement.  

“Running about like what?”  Tory put her hands on her hips and gave him her best I-am-an-evil-pirate-and-will-cut-you-down glare.  

“It’s a direct violation of Regulation Number Three Thousand, Eight Hundred and Seventy-Two for girls to go about in public dressed as boys.”  He grinned cheekily at her.  

“Like chum!”  Tory only barely resisted the urge to thumb her nose at him.  “Port Royal doesn’t have that many Regulations!”  

“Fine.  Don’t believe it then.  But you know Port Royal has regulations about piracy, Miss.  Or should I say, Lighthand Tory.”  He smirked triumphantly at her.
“Cripes.  They’re not still mad about those stupid diamonds?”  

“Well you did steal them.”

“Did not!  I commandeered them.”  

“…off the governor’s wife’s neck, no less.”  He laughed openly.  “They still tell the tale down in the taverns; and people still listen with awe and bated breath.”  

Tory sighed sadly.  “I suppose that means there’s still a price on my head, then.”  

“Like you wouldn’t believe.”  He winked.  “You’re mad to be running around this time of day—in fact, you’re mad even to be here at all.”  He looked curious again.  “What are you doing here?”  

“I don’t know.”  Tory folded her arms crossly and glared defiantly at him.  

“I see.”  He didn’t sound as though he saw at all, but he let it drop.  “Well, take some advice.  You might be a hero among some of us here, but if any of the Royal Guard catch you—it’s good night Lighthand.  At the very least, you should cover that hair.”  He removed his large cap from his head and twirled it suggestively around one finger.  

Tory gave him what she hoped was a cool stare.  Pirates never asked for anything.   (Sometimes they commandeered things, but they never asked.)  

“Two quid and it’s yours.”  

“Two quid!  You must be joking.”  Tory flipped her hair scornfully.  “I haven’t got any money anyway.”  

“Oh.”  His face fell.  “Well how about a kiss then?”

“What?!?!?!  No!  Bugger off will you!”  Tory cursed mentally as she realised she was blushing.  “I’ll tell you what, how about a punch in exchange for the hat?”  Losing her temper completely, she balled a fist and aimed a straight jab to his jaw.  He laughed and dodged, caught her wrist, and kissed her quickly before dropping his hat over her head.  It was too big and fell straight down over her eyes.  

“You...!!!”  Fuming and speechless, Tory pushed the hat out of her eyes and glared at him.

He only laughed back.  “You know…you’re not nearly as pretty in real life as in your Wanted poster.”  And he was gone, rolling away down the hill on his bicycle.  

Tory stuffed her hair hastily up under the hat—the bulk of it seemed to help keep the cap out of her eyes—and pondered her next move.  Down the hill led to the town, the local taverns, and hopefully information on James.  Uphill led towards the fort, and the jail—the place James was most likely to be, if he had indeed dared to set foot in the town.  Walking into the fort when one had a gargantuan price on one’s head didn’t sound like exactly the best idea—even to Tory—so she began humming a little ditty and sauntered—or at least she hoped she was sauntering—down the hill.  

The first tavern she came to was quiet; there were only one or two patrons sitting quietly in corners and drinking rum.  Not surprising, given it was broad daylight and there were a pair of red-coated Royal Navy guardsmen sitting at the table in the centre of the room.  Tory hoped the barmaid had the information she needed.  

She wandered over to the bar, and—affecting the manliest growl she could muster—demanded a pint of rum.  The barmaid stared sceptically at her.  “This tavern is not a place for little children.  Let’s see the coffers first, love.”  

Tory frowned at that.  Obviously she had no money.  Wonder if my reputation is still worth anything in this town?  She pushed the brim of her hat up ever so slightly and smiled at the barmaid out of blue, blue eyes.  “Aye, and is it a place for pirate children then?”

The barmaid’s eyes widened, and she immediately opened her mouth and yelled “Pirate!”

The two red-coats at the table turned to look, hands reaching for their muskets.

“Cripes!”

Tory clapped a hand to her head to keep the hat on and went back out the front door like a banshee, with the Navy men hard behind her.  

She got barely six steps up the street before she ran head-long into a body in her path.  She hadn’t seen the person on account of the hat-brim was hanging so low over her eyes.  A strong hand locked onto her shoulder, holding her in place.

“Congratulations sir!”  Wheezing slightly, the Navy men caught her up.  “You’ve apprehended a dangerous pirate!”

“Dangerous pirate?”  Her captor’s voice was deep, manly, and more than a little amused.  “This tiny thing?  It’s just a child!”

“No it’s not!  That’s Lighthand Tory!”

“Lighthand Tory?”  Now he was openly laughing.  “When was the last time you gentlemen looked at that Wanted poster?  Lighthand Tory is much older and much more beautiful than this scrap of a child.”

“Oh.”  They paused, and then peered closer.  “Right you are, sir.”

“I can further vouch for the fact that this is not Lighthand Tory, as she is in fact a guest at my house.  She arrived only last week by ship from the Americas.  She has been unwell, so her father – my uncle – sent her here for some sunshine and fresh air.”  The hand tightened on her shoulder throughout this entire speech, further convincing Tory that trying to escape now would be a futile effort.

“We do apologize sir.  Had we known…”  The Navy men were by now quite servile.

“No apology needed gentlemen.  I apologize for allowing her to run loose in a tavern.  Apparently in the Americas they don’t teach young ladies good manners.”  

At this Tory, opened her mouth to protest, but he cut her off.  

“Come along Victoria.  Tea is almost ready.”