JMJ

The Barbossa Exchange

By Fiona Fargazer

Note: This fic is based on a series of in-person role plays I did with two other people, but I rounded it out and turned into a story. Its based on the movies only. I had no idea until I went to the wikia to get some names of people and places right how big of a deal the expanded universe is in PotC. It's also important the assumption that Pintel was in his 40s (minus the ten-year-curse in which we assume nobody's aged) in the original 3 movies. The fic is also heavily influenced by movie 5. Oh, and I guess, just one more thing, maybe it'll be obvious but not everything in the flashbacks are what it actually be told to Ellis.

ONE: A REAL CREW

Melodramatic perhaps, but it was a dark and stormy night. The Edmée would not have made it to the port of its true destination in such a tempest. This small fishing town was a fortunate thing as it was; though Captain Praxton said that he had stopped here once before in a storm not too much different than this one. The first mate whispered that such déjà vu was an ominous sign but the captain ignored him.

Déjà vu or not, Ellis could not help but feel that the night certainly felt ominous even after coming to the warmth of the inn's tavern he came to. Most of the crew had gone to the only other inn in town, but it had been overflowed as the Edmée had not been the only ship to seek refuge in the village. Thus Ellis and a few of his fellows were forced into this one. This one might have looked ominous had the sun been shining and a good wind blowing, but Ellis was more intrigued than daunted.

Having ordered a drink he sat down by himself and looked around the dim orange glow. No older than seventeen with a face that showed naivety and gentle spirit from across the bar, he was practically a young finch among crows even with the fine gulls of his crew keeping together on the other side of the bar. Some brief sinister leers passed Ellis by but otherwise none of the crows paid the least bit attention to him, nor did he particularly pay heed to any one crow in particular until he heard not far away from him, one very ancient crow mention a certain "Sparrow."

Now certainly there was tales of a certain Jack Sparrow in plenty, and Ellis had heard them all his life. What seaman had not? It roused the finch's ear every time he heard his name, nonetheless. They seemed never ending, his escapades and fortunes. A pirate, true, but a creature of no time or place or even trade, for he was more than a pirate, they said. Not as ruthless but very cunning and beyond life itself. Indeed, beyond life itself, for many said he still sailed the seas to this day, but Ellis knew that such a possibility was unlikely. Jack had to be as old as that shriveled old bird who spoke of him now if he was not dead already, and that man looked as though he was on his last thread as it was, and the tale he spoke of was one Ellis had heard before.

The finch would have gone back to his drink and forgotten the mention. He might have flocked over to the gulls, but just as he was shutting the croaky groan of the old man out, he heard another name which roused his ear far more, "Barbossa."

Ellis smiled wryly and turned to the old man who claimed to have known him personally to his audience, and quite proudly with a withered hand to his chest and the remaining rotting teeth in his mouth forming into what might be called a grin.

"Ah, you say it, but you ain't no pirate, y'ol' dog, not to wind up in a hole like this!" laughed a far younger cohort.

Ellis shook his head, still smiling and returned to his mug.

"So whatcha know about Captain Barbossa, boy?"

Ellis jumped and turned to the old withered face, more skull than flesh who leered with beady eyes that seemed to pierce the boy right through his skull and out the other side. His body may have been threadbare, but his eyes were as alive as fire coals.

"Yeah, you," growled the man thrusting a knotted finger towards him. "C'mere, I dare ya."

A few seconds Ellis remained still and staring wide eyes at the man that he could certainly believe to have been a pirate at one time even if he had not known Barbossa.

"He ain't gunna bite, boy," laughed one of the other cohorts. "His teeth can barely bite his bread and his finger can barely hold his mug much less a trigger."

"He'll only talk you to death is all till y'r ears hear nothin' but skeleton dreams for days t'come."

Ellis made a face. He was not afraid of him. Standing up he moved closer, taking a seat offered him after the old man violently shooed one of the others away, so that he almost lost balance in his own seat.

The old man grinned again almost as vilely as the foulness of his breath. His forehead was broad and flat and only a very small bit of gray strands of hair wisped behind his crooked ears. His small flat nose made him look almost like some deranged monkey. Now that Ellis was near too, he could see easily that his short and broad-boned frame had hid from a distance how very thin he was beneath his ragged cloak; but like an old knotted oak he was not going anywhere at that moment, somehow. Life, though twisted this individual, remained strong enough in his bones, and his grin was by no means senile. A pride, a humor, and even just a touch of anger hid behind it, and he spoke again.

"What you think you know about Captain Barbossa?" he demanded, his smile fading and his wide eyed leer remaining. "He's nothing to laugh about."

"I didn't think you mentioning Barbossa was funny," remarked Ellis surprisingly candidly even if he did lean back to avoid the old man's breath, "I thought you knowing him was."

He took a drink from his mug. "Well, somebody had to know 'im!"

"Not you at a personal level though, I bet," said Ellis.

"What? You callin' me a liar, boy?" said the old man tersely. "You prob'ly never even met a pirate afore!"

"Have you?" asked the boy.

The other two men laughed.

"I been at sea m' whole life," retorted the man, "and you ain't prob'ly seen nothin' but bright seas till this storm out on the sea, and a tame sea it really is out there now. Who doya think you are?"

"Be easy on the boy, blighter," laughed one of the cohorts.

"Let me be while I'm keepin' the mood!" growled the old man, dropping his mug roughly on the counter.

In good humor, though they still commented a bit more and one swore a curse under his breath, they withdrew and looked back at the boy mockingly.

The old man ignored them once they left though Ellis followed them a moment with the turn of his head.

"You still didn't answer the question," rumbled the man.

Ellis turned back. "What question?"

"Who are you?"

"Ellis," said Ellis. He had been told from a young age to keep one's surname to oneself in dark places even if this old man seemed harmless enough.

The man snorted, but did not press.

"So did you?" asked Ellis.

"Did I what, Ellis?" He spat out his name with utter disdain.

"Know Barbossa."

"Did I know Barbossa?" the man snorted again. "Did I know Barbossa?"

"Well, it's what you were bragging about up to this point," Ellis pointed out.

"Of course I knew Barbossa!" hissed the man suddenly dangerously close to Ellis' face.

Ellis cleared his throat. "How exactly?"

"I was one of his best men," said the man leaning back as well as he could on his hunched shoulders, and he took up his mug again.

"So you were a pirate?"

"Funny that ol' Jack was right about people not b'lievin' it when you actchuly tell people," muttered the man and he took a slug of rum.

"And you knew Jack Sparrow now too, huh?"

"Sure, I did."

"And was it as wild and cursed as they say hanging around the infamous Jack Sparrow?"

"But you don't care about Jack Sparrow," muttered the man.

"Don't I?" asked Ellis.

"No. You said you know about Barbossa," said the man banging his mug again. "What you know about Barbossa?"

"That he was an infamous privateer for the English government. That he owned a fleet of ships that were the scourge of the seas. That he was cold, ruthless, and unbeatable, and that he was more a real pirate than Jack Sparrow."

"Humph! You c'n say that again," muttered the man, "but he wasn't always a privateer. There's much more to Captain Barbossa than privateerin'. I'm still s'prised he did it, but then things were mighty different after the night we lost the Pearl and he lost his leg not to mention most of the crew. It was only me an' Ragetti who survived it with the captain sides those two wannabe pirates that I got no notion how they managed. But it wouldn'ta been the captain neither if it weren't for us."

"So now you saved Captain Barbossa," said Ellis smiling again.

"You think I'm lyin'," said the man darkly and atmospherically; he might have made a good play actor with how much melodrama he oozed. "I'll tell ya 'bout Barbossa, boy. I'll tell ya more than you ever wanted to know. He was more than some privateer sittin' on his butt. I can tell ya. Outwitted Jack Sparrow more than once, and that's somethin' to talk about. You think you can handle it with a pamby name like Ellis? Cursed men, cursed treasure, and cursed ships, the lot. Barbossa's tales can match Jack's by anythin'." He paused, the atmosphere paused with him as he shrugged thoughtfully a moment, "Though they were together often enough."

"You mean because they both got involved with the curse of the Flying Dutchman?" asked Ellis.

"Oh, b'fore that. The gold. The Aztec gold. You ever hear of that?"

"Not much," Ellis admitted. "And not in direct connection with Barbossa."

"Ha!" snorted the old man again. "Then you don't know nothin'."

"I'll make you a deal, uh…" Ellis paused before he held out his hand, not so much because he did not want to touch him (though the man's hand was pretty grimy), but because he didn't know what to call him.

"Pintel. What sorta deal? I tell you what you want to know and you'll try to beat it, is that it?"

Ellis shrugged. "Yeah. Something like that."

Pintel rubbed his chin and leered at Ellis distrustfully. Then suddenly he grabbed the boy's hand; though it shook slightly, the old man's grip was tighter than Ellis thought it would be.

"Deal! The Barbossa exchange it is!"

"The Barbossa exchange it is," agreed the boy.

"I'll go first!" growled Pintel. "Mine's better by anythin' you got by a long shot. I know it full more than anything you know. I lived through it. I lived through it all."

"Well, go on."

"A'right! Hang on a moment! I'm older than I look! Older by ten years!" Pintel snapped. He took a drink and wet his throat. He smacked his lips moistly and clicked his rotting teeth before slamming (or dropping really, for his strength was a waning thing) his mug down a third time. Then after a thoughtful pause Pintel said, "It began with these words 'an island as what cannot be found…'"

#

—about 60 years earlier.

"…'save those who know where it is,'" finished Jack with a grin.

Just barely old enough to be considered more than a lad, Jack was one that sometimes Bootstrap himself had to wonder why he followed him. If that was not enough he often looked younger, or ageless, perhaps might be the word, almost pixie-like. He would have made a good faun at that time in his life, but though clever and roguish and having wisdom in some areas, he was in the end just a lad, even if luck seemed to follow him wherever he went. For those who knew him least and most knew he was as naïve about some things as though he were still a cabin boy. It was those in between who thought him all-knowing.

No one knew him better than Bootstrap Bill at that time; though even to Bootstrap his beginnings were mysterious as though he may have been just about spawned by fairies for all he knew, but that did not stop him from his surprise as he stopped midway down the gangplank.

He had told the crew the tale of the Isla de Meurta not long after they were originally recruited. Where Jack had heard it, none asked, but it had been a good enough tale to keep one's mind off a day's stale wind. Curses, Spaniards, Aztecs, treasure, but to hear that was what they were going after took Bootstrap by surprise for a moment. Though, he quickly knew that he should have known better than to be surprised by a venture of Jack Sparrow's.

Jack strutted down a few more steps as though he did not notice, but Bootstrap knew otherwise. Jack did it for dramatic measure before he turned around grinned the broader.

"You're for all rights and purposes, a crew member of the once thought to be unsalvageable Black Pearl and you're surprised that her captain can find a place that cannot be found? I can find anything, mate!" he said strutting back up the gangplank to pull the older pirate down after him.

The rest of the crew hurried down too—all four other members, eager to hear the secret now that Jack had to offer. Where he picked them up few knew; though it had been said that all including Bootstrap had at one time paid him tribute for saving a whole crew with his clever daring against a Spanish ship. They're loyalty anyway seemed to warrant that rumor, for they seemed nearly dog-like in faithfulness, and these older scruffier pirates circled around like excited dogs all but barking to eagerly receive their treats (or where they were going to find them) as they descended the gangplank into Tortuga to get what Jack called "a real full-sized shipload."

Even the completely armless Larry pushed past Bootstrap with the brunt of his bare chest to hear what Jack found. The other three were Simbakka, Maximo, and Twigg.

Bootstrap steadied himself with annoyance, but soon hurried down at the rear to hear for himself.

"There's really a treasure there?" exclaimed Twigg.

"Have you seen it?" asked Maximo doubtfully, he was the oldest and shaggiest of the crew and happened to be the first mate.

"How'd you find out?" gasped Larry.

"Did you trick the information out of someone?" asked Simbakka.

"Now, now!" said Jack tutting, and he beamed smugly and knowingly. "It matters not the means. What matters is that, yes, there is a treasure, a hoard of Mexico's finest, and that can be guaranteed, and no island remains hidden from Captain Jack Sparrow."

"I've heard there's rivers of gold on that island!" cried Twig.

"But you only heard of it last month," said Maximo

"We'll be kings!" cried Simbakka.

"But isn't it cursed somehow?" asked Maximo with a quizzical brow.

"I don't believe in curses!" laughed Larry heartily. "And even if I did, there's no curse that would break me! If I managed to keep what's left of me eye and me two firm feet that's good enough for me."

"Good man!" said Jack. "Curses only lay hold on people who fear 'em in my experience."

"And the luck of Jack," teased Bootstrap with finally a smile that had been just a touch slow in coming, "should most likely cancel out anything if not."

The others cheered.

"Right so!" cried Jack. "You, Simbakka, guard my Pearl, mate!"

"Aye, captain!" grinned the one so named under his floppy hat.

"The rest of you gather recruits!"

"Aye, aye, captain!" the crew shouted eagerly hurrying off, but Jack pulled Bootstrap aside just as he was on his way to follow the others.

"You're with me, William. We're getting some work done so we don't wind up with a shipload of… Larrys." He shook his head. "I'm aiming for a real crew."

"Aye, captain," said Bootstrap, always pleasantly surprised when Jack called him by his Christian name, and was even more pleased to know that Jack considered him a worthy member of a "real crew".

Just as they were going into town a rather squinty eyed pirate squinted more after rubbing his eyes and blinking up at Jack's ship as though that sleep in his eyes just wouldn't come out.

"Hoi! Ain't that the spittin' image of—"

"The Black Pearl?" Jack offered.

"Well, aye!" cried the man.

Jack grinned. "It is, mate! Wanna join her crew? We're bound for Aztec treasure."

"What? Are you on the crew of the Black Pearl what sank to the depths of Davy Jones Locker not less than a double score ago?"

Bootstrap smiled in that deep shady manner that introverts can only do. If he knew Jack's secret he never revealed it to anyone, but he often looked as though he did. He may have known about the compass, but whether or not he knew how the ship was pulled from the depths was anyone's guess.

"I'm not just on the crew," retorted Jack. "I make the crew. Captain Jack Sparrow, mate!"

"No really?!" demanded the man.

"Aye!" cried Jack.

"Who's that then?"

Jack's face fell.

"He's him," said Bootstrap cheerfully, "an impossible man just older than a score himself. The founder of lost treasures. The luckiest person alive."

"Him, really?" asked the man as though struggling to remember something that was not there to remember.

"Yes, really!" said Jack with a sniff, "and if you think your sorry, pasty, little sniveling face is worthy of my crew then say so now or forever hold your peace cuz I may just change my mind and look for beefier men, savvy?"

"Well, if that be the case, captain," said the man, "I'm all up to sign up!"

"Welcome aboard!" grinned Jack again. "Tell your friends! Your family! We set sail first thing tomorrow!"

"Aye, aye, captain!"

"I think you hardly need to think about a shipload of Larrys," said Bootstrap eyeing Jack with amusement as the man hurried off.

"Who said anything about a shipload of Larrys?" asked Jack quite surprised.

"You did," Bootstrap remarked.

"I did not!" Jack shook his head and remade his way to the inn.

"Hurry up, Bootstrap!" Jack called cheerfully, and Bootstrap did as bidden trotting up to his side faithfully as a hound. "No, there'll be no trouble getting a crew by the rising sun on that beautiful thing called the morrow! You just wait and see! We'll be sending people away before the night's through!"