Disclaimer: No copyright infringement is intended. This story is meant for amusement purposes only. After all, I'm no pirate.

Seaman Jack Sparrow

The Queen's Quail

Jack Sparrow, ordinary seaman, looked out across the harbor of Port Royal. An audible gasp escaped his lips as his heart twisted, his hand fell upon the knee of Bootstrap Bill Turner next to him, and he announced, "Oh Bill! I am in love!"

Bootstrap stopped dead in mid swig. His eyes flew to those of the young seaman next to him, but thankfully Jack was not gazing lovingly at him. Rather, the young man was focused on something in the harbor.

A slip of a ship was gliding gracefully into port. A pair of raked masts, hull as slender as a greyhound, lines trimmer than those of the most expensive whores in Tortuga, she took a man's breath away. "Oh Jack," he murmured. "What the hell is she?"

From behind them, Captain Barbossa's evil voice cut through the air. "I'll be telling ye that. She's a clipper named The Queen's Quail. Faster than a cannon shot she is. If she sets sail today, she can get to her destination yesterday."

"What's she doing here?" asked Bootstrap.

Jack frowned. "Not much room for cargo."

Barbossa grunted. "So what she carries must be extremely valuable: gold, silver, gemstones, urgent dispatches, and when she can't fill her hold with those, then she'll carry the Caribbean's white gold: sugar!"

"Where are her bloody cannon?" groused Jack.

"Those are them. She's not built for fighting. She's built for running. But look there," said Captain Barbossa nodding toward the harbor entrance. "There's her escort while she's in these waters: HMS Jaguar."

A sleek frigate was sailing in on the wake of the Quail. The warship was freshly painted; her lines gleamed white in the sunlight; her pristine sails billowed; her crew stepped lively. She was trouble, looking to fall upon any pirate foolish enough to get within eyeshot of the Queen's Quail.

Jack Sparrow ignored HMS Jaguar. His eyes were solely focused on the seductive clipper. "Valuable cargo. Few cannon. Interesting."

"I'm here to sign on as a crew member on yon lovely boat, er, ship." Jack looked lustfully at The Queen's Quail, which was tied up just behind a party of armed marines off the Jaguar.

A covey of muskets pointed their single, black eyes at him.

"We're here to blow your soul to the deepest pits of Hell. Back away!" snarled a young naval officer, Lieutenant Norrington.

Jack backed away. "No openings have you?"

Norrington grabbed Jack's arm and shoved his sleeve up. "Well, at least you're not branded. -–Why do I get the urge to end that sentence with the word 'yet'? What's this?"

"It's a tattoo."

"Of a birdie?"

"A sparrow, if you will. That's me. Jack Sparrow, Ordinary Seaman."

Norrington sneered. "Ordinary Seaman?"

"That's only me job title, mate. In reality, I'm a seaman extraordinary."

"The Queen's Quail is not hiring."

"Oh. Well, then I'll just have a friendly look around then, shall I?"

The flints of the muskets were pulled back.

"They obviously don't want me," observed Jack Sparrow, "but then, none of them is officer material, are they? What sayeth thou?"

Norrington glared at him. "I shall count to three," he hissed. "On the count of three, these men will fire. One."

Jack held up a finger. "Please, I wouldn't want you to strain your mathematical abilities."

"Two."

Jack shrugged and wandered back up the wharf.

"I've never wanted anything so badly in all my life."

The young, pretty, very naked strumpet walked on her knees across the bed to where Jack Sparrow sat moping. She pulled the side of his head down onto one of her lovely breasts. "Not even me?"

"You must understand, love," mourned Jack, "that you're just a woman. There's a special bond between a man and a ship."

CRACK! The palm of her hand slashed across Jack Sparrow's face, loosening a filling.

He blinked. "Did I say something wrong?"