hours on a ship dragged long, betimes.
John was an experienced sailor. He knew well how to make the quiet hours
John lay in his hammock, imagining each of the following things:
Commodore James Norrington tasted salt on his lips, as he sucked at the
small burn-mark on the back of his left hand. He'd brushed too close to the
recently-fired swivel gun, and though his knuckles stung, he smiled a
little. He always enjoyed the flavor of saltpeter. It reminded him of
She would miss that sturdy silver ring they had stolen. It rankled that
they'd lost the brawl, but she'd come off better in the fight with Rackham's
crew than had Tearloch or Matelot. Still, outnumbered twelve to three,
they'd held out far longer than she'd expected. As she chewed at the split
in the lower one, Anamaria tasted salt on her lips.
Governor Weatherby Swann tasted salt on his lips, as he savored the delicate
soufflé. Rodriguez had outdone himself, this night, truly. The elegant
compote of mangoes and fine madeira, the confiture of duck, and the roasted
boar with oranges and vinegar. T'was a pity there'd been too much tarragon
in the pease porridge; otherwise the dinner might have been perfect. He
stifled a belch behind the intricately embroidered linen of his serviette.
Another tooth gone, he thought, as he tore at the chunk of salted
beef with the remaining incisors. That makes six I've lost. Sweet Joseph,
protect me from losin' any more. Unconsciously, he ran his tongue over
scurvy-shrivelled gums, checking the solidity of each of the remaining
twenty-six. Testing the boundaries of the newly formed gap, Joshamee Gibbs
tasted salt on his lips.
Will Turner tasted salt on her lips, his pink tongue darting to catch the
last of his own seed from the corners of Elizabeth's wide mouth. His eyes
dark and his brow sweaty, he had pulled her up for a deep and searching
kiss. He loved to lap at the bitter-savory substance on her breath whenever
she sucked him to completion. He never told her that his smile was for the
memory of Jack Sparrow, doing exactly the same.
Deep in the nightwatch, the captain of the Black Pearl came on deck,
stealing to the helm like a cat. Most of the crew dozed at their posts, but
he found his helmsman alert and on watch. Raising a finger to signal
silence, Jack approached and whispered in the man's ear, "Let the blighters
get their rest, while they can, Marty." He smiled kindly. "Go an' have
yerself a dram in me cabin, man. I've need of a moment alone with m'girl."
Marty beat a hasty retreat, as Sparrow caressed the wheel, eyes bright.
Lowering his mouth to brush the topmost peg, Jack tasted salt on his lips.
John lay in his hammock, imagining each of these things.
John Cotton lay in his hammock, remembering the taste of salt on his lips...
...back when he had a tongue.