Title: Pirate Blood
Author: SparrowLass
Summary: Jack's little known past catches up with him in the form of a brother.
Disclaimer: Pirates of the Caribbean and all the characters therein do not belong to me. Believe me, if I owned Johnny Depp in eyeliner . . . . Gah. That man is hot.
A/N: Feedback is to me what rum is to Jack.
The young boy leaned precariously over the sill of the window, staring down in awe at the storm tossed sea. The rain fell from the sky in torrents, an impenetrable gray sheet, broken only by the occasional jagged flash of lightning. The boy's dark hair was plastered wetly to his head and the rain beat a steady tattoo on the floor of the ship's cabin as it came through the open window.
The creak of rusty door hinges sounded as the door to the cabin was pushed open, but the boy paid it no heed, too engrossed in the scene outside his window.
"Jack!" a baritone voice called to him sharply. "Get away from that window this instant!"
The boy turned around, his eyes alight. "But Father, it's so wonderful outside! Look at how high the waves are!"
"That's precisely why you should not be leaning out that window," the man said, striding over and firmly shutting the window despite the protests of his young son.
The boy sulked for a few moments but soon recovered from his disappointment and sat down quite happily to play with his model ships.
"Take that you Spanish dog!" he cried, making mock cannon fire noises and causing the ship flying the Spanish flag to list onto its side.
"The British navy is triumphant! Captain Jack has saved the day once again!"
His father smiled indulgently from his seat in the plush chair on the other side of their small cabin, an open book on his lap.
"Jack," he called to his son, "why don't you come over here and read this Latin text to me. Show me how far you've progressed in your lessons."
"Father," the boy huffed in annoyance, "I can read almost anything. My tutors have all said that I've progressed beyond other boys my age. Can't I go to Mother's cabin next door and play with Robin?"
"Another time," his father said patiently. "Right now I want you to show me your progress."
Giving a sigh of long suffering, the boy carefully placed his ships on their stands and took them over to the desk, looking at them admiringly for a moment before going over to stand by his father.
Fiddling with a shilling he found in his pocket the boy announced suddenly, "I'm going to be the captain of my very own ship when I grow up, the best one ever."
"Jack you know that's not possible," his father said gently. "The Lancasters do not run a line of merchant ships nor would any of us join something as common as the navy. You and Robert are to inherit my estate and business and run those jointly."
"But I don't want to," the boy said plaintively. "I want to be on the high seas, fighting pirates and Spaniards."
His father gave him a stern look. "We've been over this before, son. It's not possible, so you had best accept it and concentrate on your studies. You've a lot to learn before you are ready to accept the responsibilities I carry now."
The boy pouted, but dutifully accepted the book from his father and began to read aloud. It was a history book, and his father had opened it to the section on the Plantagenets. The boy rolled his eyes. His family was very proud of their pedigree. He had heard numerous times the story of how the Lancasters fought against the Yorks in the War of the Roses back in the late half of the 15th century and how their family was a branch of the royal Plantagenets. Not that the Lancasters really had that much political control nowadays, and the boy was actually first cousin to the current head of the House of Lancaster.
The boy forced himself to concentrate on the tediously dull words, but his mind inevitably wandered to daydreams of his beloved ships. As he was fantasizing about a battle between himself and a band of pirates, the ship gave a terrific lurch to starboard, sending many of the unsecured items in the cabin crashing in that direction.
"What the--" the man stood up hurriedly, book forgotten.
The ship groaned as if in mortal pain and the boy's father ran to the cabin door.
"Is it a pirate attack?" the boy asked eagerly.
He followed his father to the doorway, intending to go with him, but the man placed a hand on his offspring's shoulder, halting the lad in his steps.
"Stay here, Jack," his father warned, pushing the boy back into the cabin. "I'm going to go see what is wrong."
The boy waited a few seconds and then crept out of the cabin after his father, climbing up the stairs to the main deck. Outside it was chaos. Sailors ran to and fro, shouting and gesticulating wildly while the ship listed hard to starboard, sending the barrels on deck overboard into the raging sea.
"We've hit the shoals, sir!" one of the sailors near the boy bawled to the captain. "We're takin' in too much water!"
The captain's jaw clenched, loathe to forsake his ship, but he nodded his head in agreement. "Lower the boats! Abandon ship!"
The sailor saluted hurriedly and went to comply with the orders.
In the melee, no one noticed the wide-eyed boy crouched next to a coil of rope. Wincing in sympathy as the ship gave another low groan, the boy darted quickly over to the starboard edge. Leaning over the railing, he whistled in amazement as he saw part of the gaping hole in the side of the ship that was causing all the panic. The white-capped waves pounded the ship unmercifully, driving it hard onto the reef, many of them sweeping across the deck. One such wave came suddenly, catching the boy unawares and sweeping him cleanly over the side.
The boy drew breath to scream for help, but the sea tossed him like a rag doll, filling his mouth with salty water and drowning his voice even more effectively than the shrieking wind. Plunged under the gray depths again and again, the boy's struggles became ever more feeble as the waves dragged him farther and farther away from the ship. Just when it seemed he could stay afloat no longer, Fortune saw fit to send him a small hope in the form of a piece of planking from the foundering ship. The boy clung doggedly to the wood, pressing his cheek to it as the waves and wind buffeted him about, praying to whatever god would listen that he would survive the night. A sudden dip in the water level startled the boy enough for him to raise his head. Looking up, he tightened his grip in terror at the titanic wave that towered above him. Clenching his eyes shut, he waited for death to claim him, and as the wave descended . . .
Jack Sparrow sat up suddenly in his bed breathing hard as if he were still afloat in the storm tossed ocean fighting for his life. Wiping the sweat from his forehead with his hand, the captain of the Black Pearl got to his feet, steadying himself with a hand on the wall. Grabbing the bottle of rum on the table near his bed, he popped the top off and took a healthy swig, frowning a little as he thought of his nightmare. Odd. He hadn't dreamed of that day in years. What could possibly have brought it back now?
Deciding he need some fresh air, the pirate opened the door of his cabin and strode on deck, casually flicking his hand to the side to indicate that the person currently at the helm should leave. Jack sighed in contentment as he took his place behind the wheel, running his hands lovingly over the polished wood. This was where he belonged, behind the wheel of his ship with a stiff breeze and endless horizons stretching before him.
Currently it was that gray time of morning, hovering between night and dawn. The stars were dwindling in the east, the sky fading from black to a light gray. The full moon hung low in the west, a shining pearl in an ebony sea, its light bright enough to cast shadows on the ship's deck. Jack took a deep breath of the crisp air, loving this time when everything seemed so still and quiet. An illusion of peace that was broken as soon as the sun showed her face, bringing another day of fighting, pillaging, and general mayhem. And Jack wouldn't have it any other way.
Within a half-hour, the sun had breached the horizon, its early morning intensity promising another sweltering Caribbean day. Grinning, Jack surveyed his domain, his long, elegant fingers tapping out a rhythm on the wheel. As the crew slowly began to emerge from below-decks, Jack bellowed orders at them, befitting his status as captain of the Pearl.
"Move it you lazy dogs! Full sail! We have a good nor'easter comin' through and I want it put to good use! Faster you pugnacious purloiners!"
At that last one, many of the crew stared at Jack, wondering what in the hells he was talking about, but Jack had his devil-may-care grin firmly in place, his hands gesturing grandly to illustrate his words, and the crew just shrugged. That was their captain. Daft as a loon, but a brilliant pirate nonetheless.
Having set the crew to their tasks, Jack stroked his goatee with his fingers, contemplating what course he should set. He knew they were running low on supplies and the crew hadn't had shore leave in a while, so perhaps today would be a good time to weigh anchor at one of the islands. Maybe one near Port Royal, that way he could go check up on young William. At that thought, Jack shook his head in self-deprecation. He couldn't believe he was worried about the lad's well being. As a rule, pirates generally didn't form attachments to anything outside of their ship. It was too bothersome and most likely to get you killed. But then again, Jack had never played by the rules, and the earnestness and naivete of the lad brought out his protective instincts. He shrugged. Ah well, to Port Royal it is then.
Robert Lancaster stood at the prow of the merchant ship, hands clasped behind his back as he took in his first view of Port Royal. My God it had been a long time. He hadn't been to the Caribbean since he was seventeen, when his parents had decided to move back to England. The tropical Caribbean climate had not agreed with his mother and his father hadn't been too fond of it either, so Mr. Lancaster had tied up a few loose ends in his business and the family had booked passage on a ship to England. His younger brother had been devastated that they were leaving; he could barely remember England and the Caribbean was the only place he thought of as home. Personally, Robert agreed with his parents, but he'd felt sorry for his little brother and bought the boy a toy ship from one of the merchants on the island as a memento.
In fact, his younger brother was the reason Robert had made the voyage back to the British colony. For twenty-four years, the family had believe their youngest to be dead, drowned in a storm, but last week Robert had stumbled upon something that gave him hope his brother lived. He had gone down to Liverpool to visit a friend and while he was there had stopped by the docks to place an order with one of the merchants. When he had signed his name at the bottom of the document, the merchant had noticed and commented on it.
"Lancaster, eh? I knew a Lancaster once. Served with him on the Diarmid."
Robert frowned. "I do not believe anyone from our family is a merchant sailor."
The man looked furtive and leaned closer to Robert. "Well yeh see, it wasn't exactly a merchant ship. It was a pirate ship. I was only on it for a couple years before I managed to acquire enough money to leave the pirate life. My second year on there we picked up a lad from the sea. Name was Jack Lancaster. Captain let 'im stay on as a cabin boy and he took to the pirate's life like the Irish take t' whiskey."
Robert's heart had started pounding and his mouth went dry at the merchant's words. Licking his lips nervously, he said, "Do you remember how long ago this happened?"
The merchant looked up contemplatively. "Hmm, let me see. I think it was about twenty years ago."
"Twenty-four years ago," Robert whispered slowly.
He looked up sharply. "Do you know where Jack Lancaster is now?"
"Of course," the merchant said in surprise. "They've been runnin' stories 'bout 'im in the papers. He goes by Jack Sparrow now, captain of the Black Pearl."
Robert had thanked the man profusely for his help and given him a handsome sum of money that the bewildered merchant accepted with gratitude. As soon as he could, he had bought a copy of the London Times and flipped through it, looking for news of Jack Sparrow. He found it toward the back, the latest installment it seemed, of a running story on the pirate.
Robert knew the newspapers always periodically ran articles on the escapades of the pirates of the Caribbean for the entertainment of the populace, but he had only glanced at them before. Thoroughly reading the article, he had learned of the Black Pearl and the daring exploits of her captain, Jack Sparrow. This could be him! Robert had thought excitedly. The time frame is right and the circumstances fit! He had excitedly broached the subject of Jack's possible survival with his father, stating that he believed Jack Sparrow was really his brother. But by the time he was finished presenting his findings, the older man was shaking his head.
"Robert, it's just not possible. The chances of this pirate being your brother are extremely small, and you are basing your hope on the information of a pirate turned merchant. No, Jack is dead. He has been for twenty-four years. We must let the dead rest in peace."
Robert's mouth had settled into a stubborn line and he had refused to listen to his father. No matter how slim the chance, Robert was going to investigate it. That was how he had ended up aboard a merchant ship bound for the Caribbean.
As soon as the ship had been secured at the port, Robert made his way to the fort and asked to be taken directly to the commanding officer. Within a few minutes, Robert was ushered into the office of Commodore Norrington.
"Ah, come in Mr. Lancaster," the commodore invited, gesturing Robert to sit in one of the cushioned chairs in front of his desk.
Robert took the offered chair, looking appraisingly around the spacious room. Several maps hung on one of the walls and on another was an extensive sword collection. A few landscape paintings softened the military air of the office and the huge window behind the commodore's desk gave a spectacular view of the harbor.
"Tea?" the commodore offered.
"Yes, thank you," Robert said, taking the white china cup the commodore handed him.
"I hope your voyage was pleasant?" the commodore asked courteously.
"Yes it was beautiful," Robert replied, feeling the urge to drum his fingers impatiently on the arm of his chair.
Normally he didn't mind the formalities, but he was eager to begin his search for his brother. Despite their age difference he had been close to Jack, and his brother's apparent death had been very bitter for him.
"May I ask what brings you to Port Royal, Mr. Lancaster?" the commodore finally inquired after a few more inanities.
Robert leaned forward eagerly. "What can you tell me about the pirate Jack Sparrow?"
The Commodore's lip curled. "Ah, yes, Captain Jack Sparrow. I am acquainted with him, unfortunately. More than a year ago I allowed him to escape, a decision I now regret immensely. That man has been a constant thorn in my side."
Robert nodded. "The London Times has been running stories on his exploits. He seems to be quite skilled."
The Commodore's face took on a sour look, his lips pinching into a disapproving line. "So it would seem."
"Do you know anything of his background?" Robert pursued. "Anything of his family, his birthplace?"
The commodore looked bemused at the questions. "Mr. Lancaster, pirates do not have families. They have either killed them or forgotten them. I doubt that vile pirate is any different, and as to his birthplace, I am sure he was born in a brothel to some Tortugan whore."
Robert scowled at that, fighting the urge to comment on the Commodore's own ancestry. Never mind the fact that what the Commodore had said was probably true of many pirates, Robert was not going to have his brother's ancestry besmirched. With that thought, Robert realized he had already begun to think of the pirate as his brother. You do realize that if he turns out not to be, you are going to be severely disappointed, one part of Robert's mind told him. I don't care, Robert growled. I have thought him dead for twenty-four years. Nothing can be worse than that.
"Why exactly are you so interested in Sparrow?" the Commodore asked, staring in puzzlement at Robert.
"Personal reasons," Robert said, smoothing his face back to neutrality.
The Commodore raised an eyebrow. "Hmm, I see. In that case, I suggest you to talk to William Turner."
"Why?"
Was this another pirate? Robert wondered.
The Commodore steepled his fingers. "The young Master Turner has had dealings with the pirate, and I believe even feels a certain friendship for the criminal, don't ask me how. He will most likely know more than anyone else."
"Where do I find him?" Robert asked, already half-risen from his chair.
"In the blacksmith shop of Mr. Brown."
"Thank you," Robert said, standing fully and giving a short bow to the Commodore. "I will take my leave of you now and not disturb you any longer."
Before the Commodore could reply, Robert was out the door, leaving the frowning man behind him. A strange idea was surfacing in the back of the Commodore's mind and it was rather disturbing. Robert Lancaster had looked similar to Jack Sparrow. The Commodore almost immediately dismissed the thought. No, it was impossible.
Robert swiftly made his way to the blacksmith shop of Mr. Brown, pausing only to ask directions. Finding the shop with a hammer and anvil sign hanging above it, Robert pushed open the door and stepped into a dusty, dimly lit room. The clear ringing of hammer and anvil sounded rhythmically through the room and Robert saw a black-haired young man in the middle of the room pounding on a glowing piece of metal with a hammer, sparks flying. The young man apparently noticed him, for he stopped working and straightened up, untying his soot smeared apron as he came over. The young man looked to be somewhere in his twenties, with curly black hair, a sparse goatee and soft, dark brown eyes. He didn't know what it was about the lad, but Robert felt an almost immediate liking for him.
"Can I help you, sir?" the young man asked, a smile on his face.
"If you are William Turner then yes you can," Robert said without preamble.
"I am he," William acknowledged. "What can I do for you?"
Robert moved further into the shop, his hands clasped behind him. "I need information on the pirate, Jack Sparrow."
At the mention of the name, William's eyes narrowed suspiciously and his expression became guarded. "Why are you asking me? What would I know of pirates?"
"Commodore Norrington informed me that you have had dealings with Jack Sparrow," Robert replied, observing William's reactions.
When he heard Norrington's name, William began to subtly edge closer toward a rack that Robert noticed contained a number of swords.
"Who are you?" William demanded. "Do you belong to the military or are you some kind of bounty hunter?"
Robert looked amused. "No, young master, I am neither. As to your first question, I am Robert Lancaster."
William relaxed a little, but he still stood within easy reach of a sword, body tensed in readiness.
"And what exactly is your interest in Jack Sparrow?" William asked cautiously.
The young blacksmith seemed to be an honest sort of fellow, so Robert decided to tell him the truth.
"I have reason to believe that Jack Sparrow is my brother."
William's expression immediately shifted from suspicious to incredulous. "Your brother? You expect me to believe that?"
The disbelief was not entirely unexpected, so Robert gave William a brief summary of his reasons for believing Jack was his brother and at the end of it, William stroked his chin thoughtfully.
"I suppose it is possible. Jack's never told me anything about his family and I always assumed that . . . well, that he was the son of a prostitute or pirate."
William looked a little embarrassed and Robert laughed at him. "No need to be embarrassed, lad. That's probably true of most pirates."
"Jack's definitely not most pirates, though. He's . . ." William searched for a word, " . . .something. Unique I suppose would be the closest you could come to describing him. You'll have to see him for yourself to see what I mean. Jack defies description."
"So you'll take me to him?" Robert asked in anticipation.
Now it was William's turn to look amused. "I can't take you to him. I wouldn't know where to look. Jack could be anywhere on the seas right now. The only place I can think of where he might go ashore for any length of time would be Tortuga."
"Tortuga, the pirate haven." Robert sighed in frustration. This was going to be a difficult venture.
"If you do decide to go there," William warned, "I advise you not to bring anything of value with you. You will quickly lose it." The young man paused for a moment to survey Robert's clothing. "And try to wear something a little less high class, it makes you too conspicuous. Also if I were you I would ask Norrington to lend me a couple soldiers to come along for protection, out of uniform of course."
Robert nodded judiciously, cataloging the advice in his head for future reference.
"Are you eager to be on your way immediately," William asked hopefully, "or would you like to come to a tavern with me to get a drink? I could tell you a few more things about Jack."
Robert considered it for a moment, but decided he had better begin his search since he had a limited amount of time before his ship left for England.
"Thank you for the offer," Robert said, "but I believe I should begin my journey as I only have three weeks before my ship leaves for England."
William looked slightly disappointed, but smiled and shook hands with Robert.
"I wish you luck on your quest, then. If I ever see Jack I'll tell him you are looking for him."
"Thank you for your help," Robert said warmly, bidding William goodbye before stepping out of the blacksmith shop.
Standing for a moment on the street, he looked out over the bay, arms crossed. Breathing the salty air in deeply, he straightened his coat and began walking purposefully toward the harbor. To Tortuga.