"…and then they made me their chief."
Jack glanced up from his letter. "You don't honestly believe that, do you Stephen? The man's very life was a fairytale, without you reading that supposed log of his."
"Who says this isn't the genuine article this time Jack? Behind every fairytale are elements of truth."
Jack resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He was the one who was supposed to be superstitious. He was the one who believed in Jonah's, curses and the like, while Stephen was supposed to be a man of science. Yet here their roles had been drastically reversed, as Stephen poured over a musty pile of bound parchment that the legendary Captain Jack Sparrow had apparently written, and confided, in.
"Chief of who Stephen? There are multiple stories on that subject alone." Jack returned to his letter, thinking that the end of the matter.
"Maybe you should read this Jack. After all, you were named for him." Jack winced. Damn Stephen, and damn his mother for being a hopeless romantic. His father, wholly in love with her as men often are, hadn't even objected. No one knew what had become of Sparrow in the end, and countless papers had been 'discovered' over the years supposedly testifying to this end, only to be exposed as frauds. Jack couldn't see why this would be any different, voicing his opinion on the matter several times.
"And where did you obtain it Stephen? From a peddler in the back streets of Kingston. Doesn't that tell you anything?"
"I get the feeling you're being a little cynical, Jack, something that's usually my forte." Stephen removed his glasses to wipe them, the climate of the tropics causing them to become spotted over time. "I'm only asking that you open your mind to the possibility that this for once is real – as you pointed out yourself the man's life was a fairytale, that no one knows what's true and what isn't."
Jack did roll his eyes this time. "Go on. What does it have to say about his sacking of Nassau Port then? Or the curse his ship carried for ten years?"
"Nassau Port? Merely his reputation would have been enough to plunder that place, even in this time Jack and you know it. As for the curse? You're the seaman Jack. You tell me what you make of it."
Stephen pushed the moulding papers across the table to Jack.
Bill. I told him not to do anything stupid, that even if the curse did exist it wouldn't be enough to save him from Barbossa, but he didn't listen, did he? Now Bill's at the bottom of the Caribbean, and Hector's sailing MY ship plundering to find an end to what those damned Aztec coins brought on him. 'Spose I should be thanking him really. If it weren't for him I'd be in on it too. I'll be damned if it ever happens though. The one consolation in all of this mess is that there's one coin Barbossa won't get, and I know where it is. I just hope the little lad doesn't take after his father and do something stupid.
"He's rather eloquent to say he was a pirate captain, Stephen."
"But in all likelihood he wasn't born into piracy. He could well have had quite an education before whatever made him turn to that way of life, as you well know Jack." Stephen had to bring it up, didn't he?
"If you're referring to the incident with the privateer, that was a completely different situation." He said defensively. Stephen blinked, looking not unlike an owl with that particular expression on his face. Jack coughed to cover the rising chuckle.
"I indicated nothing of the sort Jack. What I meant was that tales of Jack Sparrow have become as much a part of children's stories as something such as the knight rescuing the princess. Speaking of which, I believe there's a version involving Jack Sparrow…"
Jack couldn't hold it in any more. The laughter burst from him so suddenly that Stephen appeared to leap at least two feet from his chair, almost knocking his 'cello from its stand. Quickly catching the instrument, Stephen turned to Jack.
"Really, Jack, was that necessary? I was merely illustrating Sparrow's tendency to attract almost any stories to his name, as actually, do you… Jack?"
Jack hadn't been listening to Stephen since he began his reproof, having heard a small noise just beyond the cabin door. Rising, and moving remarkably quiet for someone often described as a bear of a man, he flung the door open. Stephen's eyes practically popped out; half the crew seemed to be crowded in the doorway, having apparently been listening to the conversation. Indeed, young William Blakeney toppled into the room having apparently been leaning on the door itself. The crew immediately knuckled their foreheads, and the marine who had supposed to be guarding the cabin cast his eyes down to the deck.
"What's the meaning of this?" Jack demanded, searching faces and hauling Blakeney to his feet.
"Please Sir," spoke Peter Calamy from within the group. "We only wanted to hear of Captain Jack Sparrow and the Indian tribe…"