Disclaimer: The following is fan fiction inspired by the film The Pirates of the Caribbean: On Stranger Tides © Disney (2011).
Rated T: Strong Language
THE BARRISTER'S SON
OCRACOKE, NORTH CAROLINA
21 NOVEMBER 1718
Teague's first punch sent Edward Teach sprawling across the deck of the Adventure. The swarthy young man with the pock marked face shook with anger as he waited for the belligerent drunk to get back to his feet. The fight had been over twenty years in the making and time did little to temper the animosity the two felt for each other. The men had grown both older and presumably wiser, but little else had changed from the spring when Teague was a scrawny fourteen-year-old and Edward Teach was the terror of King Street.
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KING STREET, BRISTOL
MARCH 1697
Nicholas Teague had moved to Bristol in January after his recently widowed mother had married the humorless shipping agent for the Royal Africa Company. Bored and eager to avoid spending any time with his stepsisters, he quickly found a group of boys his own age that loitered around the quays at the end of King Street. After an awkward period of sizing each other up, Teague became friends with the group lead by the dashing often-arrogant James Darling, the son of the harbormaster. James introduced him to Seamus Fergusson, a bold prankster whose father ran a local tavern, and his cousin, by way of his mother's sister, a gregarious know-it-all named Hector Barbossa whose father owned the chart shop on the opposite side of the street. Teague also met the ever-present Paul Pintoller whose mother operated a boarding house on Welsh Back. Paul was much younger than the others, but it proved impossible to deter his devotion to the group. The diversity in the odd little gang of boys helped Teague forget about his scarred face and feel like he actually belonged. Quite sincerely, Teague believed that everything was going in the right direction and then he met Eddie Teach.
"What's with that Teach boy? Heard he's looking for me, but I don't know that I've ever said a word to him." Teague sat down on the stack of lumber next to Hector in front of the new construction at the corner of King and Queen Charlotte Streets. The smaller boy was polishing a brass quadrant, while he kept looking up the street for his father.
"Eddie Teach?" Hector shook his head as he grinned. "You've not had the pleasure, then? A good left hook followed by a quick dodge to the left and solid one in the gut bests him every time."
"He wants to fight me?"
"I never heard of him ever wanting to buy anyone a pint, but I suppose there's a first time for everything." He smirked. "Eddie Teach don't do much other than fight, Nick, so if he be looking for ye, expect a fight."
"He seems out of sorts."
"That's a right diplomatic way of putting it. He's not just out of sorts, I'd wager that he's out of his mind. Naught more than a mean bastard and I don't reckon anyone I know of has ever seen him act to the contrary." He reattached the plumb line to the quadrant and squinting against the bright light, lined it up with the angle of the sun. "I think I fought him ten times last year and ask around, I'm pretty damn affable."
"Why'd you fight him?"
"He can't say a civil thing to anyone. It's like he's spoiling for a bloody beating just for the sake of it and he's not much of a fighter, in spite of all the practice he gets." Hector shrugged. "Once I got him on the ground, I just about broke my fist on his face last time we got into it." He gauged Teague's look of surprise. "I might be affable, but I'm a hell of a brawler."
"What'd he do to provoke it?"
"Oh, ye know…he be the type that says everything. Like some old charwoman, he throws out every bloody insult in the book he can think of looking for one to set ye off. I know I shouldn't give into the worthless cur's taunts, but I don't take kindly to anyone calling me mum an Irish whore." Hector spotted his elderly father at the corner and jumped to his feet. "Me father says to pay him no mind and be the bigger man, but there's a line that ought not be crossed. I reckon I'm going end up killing him. Hell, last time I even knew I'd get a beating from my mum when I got home for fighting on the Sabbath, but I did it anyway." He waved goodbye and dashed up the street to meet his father. The old man had very poor eyesight and the scrappy redheaded boy took advantage of it whenever the opportunity presented itself, most likely he had been told to wait at the other corner.
Teague watched his friend follow the elderly man into the darkened shop full of nautical curios and chart books. A part of him envied Hector's privileged life and the hours he spent at his father's elbow studying the trigonometry and algebra that navigators used to unlock the ocean's secrets. Teague's surly stepsisters occupied all of his stepfather's time and his mother had been bedridden for several weeks following a fall down the cellar stairs. She promised to find him a barrister to study under, but he knew that he needed to put his mind to locating a captain willing to take on a half-educated orphan eager to find his own fortune.
"Damn it, where'd Hector go?" A ridiculous brogue interrupted Teague's thoughts and he turned around to find Seamus Fergusson covered in ink and dangling a wrinkled piece of parchment from his blackened fingers.
"What the blazes happened to you?"
"Stupid pack of little brothers upset the table about the time I was trying to refill the ink well. Bloody disaster!" He wiggled his fingers menacingly at Teague. "Aye, look at me! I've got the black mark! I'm a cursed man! Davy Jones be coming for me soul!"
"Looks like it. How do you get it off?"
"Don't rightfully know. Mum was so angry, she threw me out of the house and said it would have to wear off. Could take years." He sighed. "You any good with figures? I don't know what the hell I'm doing. Me tutor says I'm daft, but I says he needs to work harder as it ain't much of a feather in his hat to have a student as dumb as me counted amongst his tuitions. Crusty bugger doubled me practice and I got to get this mess sorted before tomorrow." He shook the paper at Teague. "This is me future at stake here, Nick. I don't want to be a drunk publican married to an Irish wench, but if don't learn this crap I'm doomed to be me father and that's just horrible depressing. Have ye heard me parents on a Saturday night? Everyone up and down King Street has. If I'm still in this town when they kill each other, I'll be stuck raising that mess of wild devils I count as me brothers."
Teague looked at the jumble of numbers and equations crammed onto the paper. "I don't think I can help you with these sorts of problems. I was just starting geometry when we left London and my mother hasn't secured a teacher for me here."
"That's really very tragic," he groaned and kicked at the cobblestones. "Look, I ain't allowed in me uncle's chart shop until I pay off that compass I broke by accident. Who'd thought that the bloody trinket would be worth more than I am? However, if you go and get this to Hector, I'll trade you a tankard." Seamus handed Teague the parchment. "He'll know what to do—he learned this rubbish years ago from his old man. All you got to do is waltz in there an hand it to him, his father don't mind—he's like an old bear without any teeth and if he cusses ye it's in Portuguese, so not like ye know what he's saying half the time—but, make sure you avoid getting hit by me aunt Mrs. Kathryn. That woman makes me mum look civilized and good humored."
"She hits people?"
"She hits me for corrupting her already corrupted son who corrupted me in the first place and if she knows you're my proxy, she'll probably hit ye too."
"Then a tankard and one of them hot meat pies your dad makes in the afternoon." Teague bargained, but refused to shake Seamus's inky hand.
"Deal, but I want to see you walk in the door."
The taller boy nodded and with the folded parchment in his hand walked across the busy street to the chart shop. He pushed open the door and the clamor of the string of bells caught him off guard only half as much as a burly tough perched on the wooden stool just inside.
"Can I help you, young master?" The hulking brute leered at him.
"Uh, I wanted to speak with Hector just for a moment." Teague's voice cracked and he considered bolting. The large man looked exceptionally ill tempered.
"Oh do ye?" He growled before lowering his voice dramatically. "Well, ye best make it right quick, Mrs. Kathryn just stepped out, but she'll be back pretty quick." He added with a wink. "Go ahead and go straight through the shop then again through the curtain behind the counter."
Teague nodded mutely as his gaze drank in the sight of the shelves cluttered with strange brass instruments, ship's models and countless bits and baubles that he had no idea as to their use. He paused briefly to look at the oversized book open on the big table at the center of the room where one of the Portuguese clerks worked. His imagination reeled at the thought of the contents of the volumes in bookshelves lining the walls. In his distraction, he walked in to the edge of the counter where Hector's older sister was showing a customer how to use one of the new slide rules. The pretty girl, who was rumored to be wicked with a sword, managed to divert her attention long enough to make a face at her little brother's friend and point him toward the back room. Teague took a deep breath and cautiously pushed back the curtain to reveal, yet another cavernous room full of bookcases, angled scribe's desks and dominated by a huge ornate globe at its center. The curiosities contained in the cabinets outshone those in the first room. It took him a few minutes to find his friend, because of his curiosity. Hector was sitting a tall desk facing the far wall of the room next to his father who was crouched over a beautifully embellished old book. Teague did not recognize the script, but some of the words looked Latin.
"Nick? What the hell are you doing here?" Hector turned around and beamed at his guest before his father slapped him on the back of the hand with the brass pointer he had been using. Hector winced and gestured to Teague to come closer. He then said something to the older man in what Teague assumed was Portuguese.
The old man turned and looked inquisitively at Teague with the same blue eyes his son possessed. "Where ye from Nicholas Teague?" His voice was raw and strained from a bout of apoplexy.
"London. Me father was a barrister. He died last summer and my mother remarried Mr. Gattling at the Royal Africa Company."
"Muito prazer, Senhor Teague." He offered his hand, but smiled impatiently. "A boy ye age and size ought not be running errands for me halfwit nephew. Go on give Hector what he sent you with, so as we might continue with our own lessons."
Hector feigned insult as he took the wrinkled ink-soaked parchment. "What ever are you implying, sir?"
"Sun ruined me eyes, ye insolent boy, but I be far from blind and, even so, a blind man could figure out that ye been doing that daft fool's calculations for the past three years. For the love of sanity, Seamus Fergusson won't know how to plot a safe course across the Avon." He mumbled something in Portuguese and closed Abraão ben Samuel Zacuto's Almanach perpetuum. "Go on, Hector, ye don't want to keep Sr. Teague from his well earned reward."
Hector made a face at the tangle of figures scrawled on the parchment and turned it over in hands as he looked for a space in which to write out the formula. At one point, he looked as if he were ready to scream. Meanwhile, his father continued to study Teague.
"A barrister? Is that what ye want to be or do ye aspire to dirty ye hands with the slave trade?"
Teague looked down at his oversized feet and wished the old man had not taken an interest in him or spoke as much English as he apparently did. "I think I'd just like to see some of the world and make up me mind as I go along."
"That's a more respectable future then, we would say aboltar cazal, aboltar mazal or a change of a scene, a change of fortune. For thirty years before I came here to marry my Kathryn, I was a privateer in the employ of the stockholders of the Dutch East India Company. I had letters of marque from the Dutch, English and French. I been round the world quite a few times. Me father made a longer go of it. He said the salt water was in our blood, yet my grandfather warned him quien no sabe de mar, no sabe de mal, he who knows nothing of the sea, knows nothing of suffering."
The genealogy impressed Teague. "And your grandfather was a privateer as well?"
"Naught, but a humble advisor to the Portuguese navy," he shook his head, "murdered on account of sending a helpful bit of information to Queen Elizabeth's physician concerning the departure of the Spanish Armada from Lisbon's harbor in May of 1588." He leaned forward and smiled. "Hence me father's devotion to the destruction of Portuguese and Spanish ships."
"I liked my father, too. He was murdered by a man who felt he had not represented his case very well." Teague had never spoken aloud what happened to his father and could not readily explain why he chose to do so. "It wasn't fair."
Hector looked up from Seamus's paper. "That's horrible, Nick. I hope he swung for it."
Teague shook his head. "He was acquitted on account of who he was. I don't want to be a clerk or a barrister. I think I'd like to sail."
"And many a man has sealed either his fortune or ruin with that proclamation. All the same, ye can't learn to sail from the dock or by running errands for a spoiled brat. The sands are running, lad, and ye best be putting your mind to finding a ship."
"I've given it some thought, sir."
"Then ye best be giving it some action, before you wake up an old man with a pile of regrets." He watched his son refold the paper and a terse smile crossed his lips. "Adeus, Sr. Teague." He closed the conversation sharply as he reopened the almanac.
"Tell Seamus, I'll see him later, if me mum allows it." Hector returned the paper. "This is nonsensical. Oh and try to hold off on fighting Teach until you get an audience rounded up. Remember left, left, gut—"
Hector's father snapped at him in Portuguese and the boy swiftly returned his attention to his lessons.
The sharp contrast between the interior of the shop and the bright afternoon sun made it difficult to see and, in the moment that it took Teague's eyes to adjust, he almost walked straight into Edward Teach. The stocky boy with the mess of black hair, dirty face and split lip was older, but had an air of inexperience and immaturity about him. He wore his dishevelment proudly, but Teague saw through it and recognized the degree of the boy's neglect. He had seen it in the children huddled around their mothers at Old Bailey when his father would take him to court. Teague mumbled a quick apology and tried to sidestep him, but Teach stepped back into his path.
"What's this? Poxy Teague is it? I don't believe we've had the pleasure."
"It's Nicholas Teague, actually."
"You're a madman if you think people going to waste their breath with that one when 'Poxy' be so much better fitting and easier to remember."
"Then you're welcome to call me Nick. All my friends do."
"Oh your friends? Looks like you're nothing but a servant to…which one, is it Barbossa or Fergusson? If you ain't figured it out, I bet ya Barbossa will pay better. Filthy Jews always loaded with money. Fergusson's just an Irish swine and his mummy nothing, but a used up Catholic whore. Wait, then again, so is Barbossa's mum. Ha! Better get your reward up front, Poxy, they might both be broke. Although, with whores it's half off if they're hard to look at—is that your case? Poxy? You only half off?"
"Edward, I don't work for anyone and you shouldn't say things like that about people. Perhaps, if you just stopped and gave it some thought before you opened your mouth. Someone will cut you down for slander someday." Teague mumbled as he sidestepped him again and started to walk purposefully toward the tavern where Seamus had been joined by James and Paul.
"How dare you walk away from me you ugly son of a bitch?" Teach roared.
Suddenly, Teague stopped. He remembered how calm his father had been the morning that he was murdered and remembered he always said that it was strength not weakness that motivated the just man to confront evil with reason. His father had been a Quaker.
"Why should I stand here and listen to you insult me? Who would put up with that? Do you honestly think that I want to hear you say such horrible things about me or my friends?"
From the safety of the sidewalk in front of the Llandoger Trow, Paul's jaw draw dropped. "Bloody hell, Hector's going to miss the fight of the century."
"I think it might be the murder of a century." James shook his head. "You can't talk to Teach. Why didn't someone tell Nick that you can't talk to Eddie Teach? He needs to get his fists up."
"Lamb to the slaughter," Paul whistled, "and Hector's going to miss it. If I could write, I'd take notes."
"Hell, I hope he don't get blood on me math practices."
Paul unfolded his arms and pointed to the confrontation. "Hey, he called your cousin a filthy Jew and your mum an Irish whore. Maybe you ought to get over there and help out?" He shoved Seamus toward the street.
"Wait," Seamus pushed back and challenged the boy with the oversized head, "I think that's really an issue that I'll have to be raising with Hector and we'll address it later on. I wouldn't want him to miss out on a fight defending our mothers' honors."
James shook his head. "It'll only make it worse if we help, because Eddie will just catch Nick off by himself somewhere and it'll be much more brutal."
Teach glared at the boy standing in front of him and his face burned with hate. "You'll listen to me, because if you don't I'll give you a right proper pounding."
"Do you realize how asinine that is? The redundancy alone is maddening. I'm not going to give in and fight you. I refuse."
"Enough with your prayer meeting talk, there's no place for it here. I'm not just going give you that beating, I'm going to burn you—"
"For Chrissakes, Teach, get to it then!" Teague let out an exasperated sigh and there really was a part of him that did not expect Teach to hit him in the middle of the street in the middle of the day.
He did.
And then he walked away.
James rushed into the street to help Teague to his feet and led him back to one of the tables outside of the pub where Paul gave him a handkerchief for his bloody nose. Seamus had disappeared inside and returned with a tankard of ale and two of the younger barmaids for moral support.
"Didn't Hector tell you how to fight him? Left hook, left dodge and one in the stomach?" Paul made a face as he looked up Teague's bloody nose. "We gots it all figured out. I've even gotten in a few licks fighting him that way. Me! Why didn't you do anything? You just stood there."
"I didn't expect him to hit me." Teague regretted his civilized approach to dealing with the bully as his lip and nose throbbed.
"What did you expect? A meaningful conversation about the origins of the universe?" Seamus pushed the tankard at him.
"Why does he do it? Why was he waiting for me? I've never done anything to him."
"No rhyme or reason at all, Nick. It's just the kind of person he is." James shook his head. "He's not really a person though, not like us. He's like some sort of animal, but I say with a great deal of reservation considering I like cats and dogs."
"I won't take that for an answer," Teague pulled the wrinkled parchment from his pocket and handed it to Seamus who hugged it protectively, "I'm getting to the bottom of this."
"That's bloody insane." Paul shook his head from side to side. "He's just bad. He kicked me ass up and down Welsh Back last week and I'm not even ten years old. Most folks grant me a bit of a reprieve on account of me age."
"You're not ten? Are you sure?" James questioned the weird looking kid.
"Yeah, I don't turn ten 'til August."
Seamus paused to count on his fingers. "Paul, you been running around with us since you was seven? Seven. Makes us look bad."
"Didn't know there was age limit on this gang. If you kick me out, Eddie will kill me." Paul pleaded. "At least he's afraid of Hector and Hector ain't here to kick me out."
"Nobody's kicking anyone out," James put an end to the debate, "just act older and …less weird. Now Nick, you aren't going to get anywhere trying to reason with Teach, so forget about it. Next time you come across the bastard make sure there's something in your hands to slam upside his head."
"You're mad. I'm not going to—"
"Hey! Don't say anything interesting 'til I get back!" Hector screamed from the across the street as he sprinted by waving a leather tube and disappeared in the direction of the quays obviously on a delivery errand.
Surprised by the sudden materialization of their other friend the group complied and waited silently as they watched Paul try to put his foot behind his head for almost ten minutes. Hector returned out of breath and collapsed on the bench next to Teague. "Gut me for a preacher, if didn't tell you how to fight Teach. Hell and harpies, ye look awful! Did ye not lead with the left?" He tried to catch his breath and dramatically rolled off the bench. "I'm dying here, Nick! Don't let me die not knowing if you led with the left!"
"I didn't lead with anything."
"What?" Hector sat up.
"Nick didn't fight back." Seamus shook his head.
"What?" Hector repeated.
"Just stood there trying to talk to him."
"What?"
"Oh and Teach called you a filthy Jew and said your mum was an Irish whore," Paul offered, "again."
"Damn, that's getting old. If I weren't scared of me mum, I'd go looking for him for a change." Hector cracked his knuckles and pulled an interesting piece of brass out of his pocket. Holding his hand up for his friends to see and pausing to smile boldly at the barmaids, he slipped his fingers through the four rings molded into the brass and displayed the weight that rested against his palm. He concluded his demonstration by closing his fist and hitting Seamus squarely in the arm.
Seamus swore violently and tried to hit his cousin back.
"Gents," he paused, "and ladies, this little gem comes from the Orient and is very popular amongst brawlers in the former Spanish Netherlands now called the Dutch Republic. Given how a broken fist might imped me scholarly pursuits, me father had this one made special for me delicate little hands." He beamed proudly as he showed off the impressive weapon. "Fair is foul and foul is fair. I figure Teach expects me to fight dirty considering his regular pronouncements about me father's family." He slipped the brass knuckles off his hand and passed them to Teague. "I'm feeling a bit like reenacting a scene from the scripture…King David versus Goliath."
"Hector, as hard as you hit you could kill him with this." Teague passed the weapon to Seamus. "You don't need any extra advantage. I think if you would just ignore him—"
"You say that now," Seamus slipped his fingers through the rings and examined his fist, "but, Nick, it's only a matter of time before he picks up a knife and then what? He's evil."
"But we ought to abide by some sort of rules or we end up as bad as him."
"My aren't you the legalist?" Hector smirked. "I'm tired of having to fight him every time he besmirches me father's name or calls me mum a whore. It's getting a bit old and I have better things to do with my time."
"Then stop fighting him."
"What?" The four boys exclaimed in unison.
"Sorry, Nick, but that 'turn the other cheek' bit ain't in the book we use at my house." Hector sneered. "He ought to be stopped before he does hurt someone."
"We ain't got no books in our house." Paul shook his head. "But, I wish we did so I could drop one down the back of me trousers so next time that fiend puts his boot to me rump it won't hurt half as bad to sit down."
"Me mum's Irish," Seamus folded his arms, "and me dad's a Scotsman. We fight plain and simple. If he's looking for a fight, I'm going to give it to him every opportunity I get."
"Yeah, especially, when you've got Hector to back you up." Paul accused.
"Look, Nick, we're not a bunch of ruffians out looking for trouble. You know that, but you saw firsthand what happened when you tried to have a chat with him. You weren't here to see what he did to Mrs. Kemple's cat or hear what he supposedly did to her daughter." James spoke rationally. "There something seriously wrong with that boy. Think about it this way, Hector's going to hell anyway, so might as well let him take out Eddie Teach."
"What?" Hector's voice went up an octave. "Since when I am I going to Hell?"
"My grandfather is a minister in the Church of England. You really should convert or least pretend a little better."
"You bastard!" Hector lunged at James and Seamus struggled to hold him back.
"Take it back, James. We don't discuss religion or girls. That's one of our rules." Seamus strained to hold Hector.
"Wait," Paul interrupted, "why don't we discuss girls? I didn't vote for that. I want to talk about girls."
James danced inches out of Hector's reach. "Yeah, why don't we discuss girls? I can probably understand religion and politics, but not girls."
"We don't discuss girls out of pity for the eunuch." Hector spat still trying to claw his way past his cousin to get at the other boy. "If I get me hands on you, James, I'll sell you to a Turk. Snippy, snippy!"
"Stop it! Stop it, you two!" Paul stood up on the bench and cupped his ear as he listened. "You can't fight whilst someone's getting married. It's disrespectful."
"What the hell are you talking about?" Seamus demanded.
"You don't hear the church bells?"
"Those ain't church bells, you heathen—"
"Good grief, James, you're sure as hell no scion of religious tolerance today." Hector pointed his finger. "Don't see me trampling on the little fellow just because he's a heathen. Take note of that, all of you! I don't trample heathens!"
"What's a heathen? Is it like a Catholic?" Paul demanded. "Do I get extra holidays for that?"
"Shut up! All of you just shut up!" Teague roared. "What the hell are those bells?"
"Fire." Seamus shrugged. "Something's burning."
Suddenly, Teague was consumed by a horrible premonition. He dropped the tankard and started to run down King Street. The four other boys stopped their squabbling and followed. Teague's long legs took him through the winding side streets northwest of King Street toward the drawbridge and Frome River. As the smoke stung his eyes and he began to make sense of some of the gruesome details relayed by the voices, he began to slow down. The other boys caught up to him where he stopped around the corner from the conflagration. One of the volunteers rushed by with a bucket and called to another to bring the hooks to pull down the walls to keep the fire from spreading. Nicholas Teague simply turned around and started to walk away.
"Holy shit, Nick, is that your house?" Paul called as he walked past. "Is your house on fire, Nick? What about ye mum, ye said she was bedridden. Do you think—"
Teague remembered pushing both James and Hector aside and brushing past Seamus. He remembered retching. He remembered the pain in his stomach that wouldn't go away. And he would never forget the last words Edward Teach spoke to him that day, "I'm going to burn you…"
The following days, weeks, months were little more than a blur. Hector and Seamus's mothers attended to the details of the funerals. Paul's mother provided him with a room and made certain that he ate. James' family gave him money and his father along with Hector's wrote him letters of introduction and helped him find an apprenticeship abroad a good ship under a respectable captain. He would never forget their kindness that spring nor would he forget the evil that necessitated it.
.
OCRACOKE, NORTH CAROLINA
21 NOVEMBER 1718
"Cap'n Teague, ain't worth it. Maynard's coming." His first mate pulled him back from the unconscious man. "Maynard will treat us no different than Teach's sorry lot. He'll meet his maker today."
Teague looked from the villain laid out at his feet to the plaintive eyes of his devoted crew. They had followed him all this way to best the devil and he owed it to them to not reward their loyalties with death. He nodded to James Darling who gave the signal to the pilot of the long boat and his began their retreat. As far as he was concerned, his business with Teach was finished when he left him in the hands of an equally vicious man capable of meting out the justice he deserved.
Edward Teach died on 22 November 1718 or at least that was the rumor…