Fate Intervenes


Chapter Two: The Silver Dagger

The sail to Tortuga was uneventful, the weather calm and the sky a clear blue. Elizabeth leaned on the railing, letting the wind run its cool fingers through her hair, sighing in happiness. The fine mist of the sea tickled her face, and she grinned, the first time in a long while. Barbossa, it seemed, had had his own ship, moored on the opposite side of Tia Dalma's island. It moved through the sea easily, swiftly.

Sitting between a barrel of herring and a crate of rope, Will watched her, his eyes heavy, his lips turned down. He struck a small dagger against a piece of drift wood over and over, whittling his anger away. Was it anger? She didn't know. Will was impossible to read now, blank. Impressionable as a newly forged blade, still red-hot. He knew of those things, but what he did not know of was how to properly love someone, she presumed. How to show emotion without feeling foolish, how to let go. Life wasn't a fencing match; he had to learn to let his guard down.

Barbossa approached her, his plumed hat perched perfectly atop his head, his eyes bright with expectation. She could almost see him, calculating the ammunition and supplies, the crew and provisions they would need. " If ye're going to be on my ship," he said suddenly, standing next to her, " ye're going to need to learn how to contribute."

Elizabeth thought for a moment, squinting against the sun. " Teach me how to fire the long nines," she said suddenly.

Barbossa chuckled, a deep rumble of gravel and seaweed in his chest. " Ah, no. That's not for a woman to be swingin' round. We'll get some halfwit from Tortuga who wants naught but an ale and a star to sail by. Can't think for themselves, some pirates, but they can shoot with one eye if need be."

" Why is that?" she asked, as he turned away. He stopped, pivoted, and stared at her.

" Beg yer pardon?"

" Why can pirates never seem to formulate a singular thought alone? Must their lives, their actions…must they be dictated?"

Barbossa straightened, adjusting his belt, upon which hung skeleton keys, a pistol, and an array of sharp, glittering objects that Elizabeth didn't want to gaze too long at. " A pirate crew is like the waves, Miss Swann. There's got to be something to move them, something to keep them on the current course, and something to tell them when to retreat. Waves just sort of…float on, if ye will. They brush against the rocks because it's what they're told to do, they make a mess of things and don't regret it. They have no choice. They can destroy whole ships or make beauty out of driftwood." He jerked a thumb to Will, who stared at the whittled piece sullenly. " If they don't cooperate proper, ye get a storm. And 'tis a fierce one. Jack knows all about it. The mutinies and such."

Elizabeth nodded, seeing this man in a new light. She trusted him, now more than ever, to bring Jack back to her. He was a man of the sea, truly, who had seemed to brave many battles and see many things she never wished to see. Scars crossed his face, and, she saw, his hand. They were old, weather-beaten marks of tragedy, or perhaps valor.

Barbossa coughed. " The winds'll be changing soon," he said gruffly. He pointed to the sky. " See the way those clouds there are a'gathering? The darkness? It creeps over you, like a bad dream, makin' the shadows on the deck long and dark, until you can't see the sun. Waves will wash up." He pounded the deck with his boot. " But this boat's sturdy. She'll take us to Tortuga, and to the ends of the earth, mark it. She's a fine ship. Not quite the Pearl," he said with an uncharacteristic sadness, " But a ship nonetheless." He sniffed. " When we reach Tortuga, which'll be around nightfall, we'll dock in port and raise a crew in the morning."

He walked away, still staring at the sky, humming quietly to himself. He opened the door to the captain's quarters, gave her one last meaningful glance, and then closed them quietly.

Elizabeth's eyes flicked to where Will sat, his head leaning against the side of the ship. His dark hair was stringy and matted, tangled and wet. It hung over his face like a fishing net, obscuring his features. She sighed delicately, barely exhaling. Looking up, she saw that Barbossa had not closed the doors to his quarters all the way. Carefully unbuttoning the top clasp of her vest, and rolling up her sleeves, she walked closer, edging the door open with her foot. " Captain?"

The room was sparse, dim, not at all decorated as richly as the Pearl's captain's quarters. The main space was occupied by a desk, littered with parchments, lighted candles, and ink-spotted quills. Large bowls, full of ripened apples, were scattered about, and at the end of this table Barbossa sat, his hat on the back of his plush chair. He had his hair pulled back with a thick black ribbon, and his fingers were played over the table, sliding a compass over a map. He looked up as she entered. " Mind the door."

Elizabeth closed it behind her, ensuring that it clicked softly. " Captain, are we truly sailing for Tortuga, or is this a diversion?"

Barbossa laughed, raspy and wet. " If ye think this is a trap, Miss Swann, ye've taken me for the wrong sort of pirate. I seek to find Jack as much as you do. Though, admittedly," he added, flashing a smile, "not for the same reasons."

Elizabeth's lips tightened. " If you intend to mock me, Captain, I shall leave."

Barbossa stood, circling to a candelabra and lighting it. The orange flames flickered pathetically in the perpetual damp and dim of the quarters. Barbossa, however, seemed rather satisfied. " I've not come to make a fool of you, Miss Swann. ' Tis not my intent to defile a lady's character. But there are matters regarding Tortuga that need to be discussed openly." He reached for an apple. " Care for one?"

Elizabeth shook her head. " No, thank you."

He took a bite, the juice sluicing down his face. " There's nothin' more satisfyin' on this earth than to taste, Miss Swann. To finally have the tangible, the real feelin' of something…pure. Without it, there's an ache in your bones that won't go away. It eats at you before you can eat at it." He took another savage bite. " ' Tis a horrible way to be livin'….or dyin'."

Elizabeth felt her heart constrict, and she gripped the nearest chair for balance.

Barbossa shook his head. " Oh, now, Miss Swann. The sea's but a calm piece of glass today." But she could tell by his tone that he had perceived her pain. He pulled a seat closer to his own and offered it to her. She sat slowly, staring at the map.

" What's this?"

Barbossa grinned. " This is how we're goin' to find Jack."

Elizabeth squinted, trying to decipher the spidery writing on the brown parchment, ignoring the blood stains and ripped edges. " And what about Davy Jones?" she asked slowly.

Barbossa looked, for a moment, surprised that she knew of the infamous pirate, but also troubled. " We'll deal with that problem should it arise. Davy believes Jack's dead, and with that on our side we shouldn't have any cause for alarm."

Elizabeth reached over and touched Barbossa's wrist. He looked up. " Tell me of Jones," she said quietly. " Why he….why he cut his own heart out. Surely the pain of his loss was not that terrible."

Barbossa bit his lip. " ' Tis a story not to be told when the weather's as bleak as it is, Miss Swann." He gestured to the aft windows, yawning on the back of the ship. Heavy black curtains hung on either side. Dark clouded swirled. " Tales of Davy Jones are best told when the weather's fair."

Elizabeth's voice was soft. " Pirate superstitions." Barbossa snapped his head back to look at her.

Barbossa stared deep into her eyes, his own, dark and chilly, suddenly softening. " When there's a feeling in your very soul you can't control, Miss Swann, a cravin' for what you cannot have, it becomes as natural as the air ye breathe to feel the sorrow every waking moment. I know what it's like, perpetual death. To long for skin and warmth. Imagine bein' as close as Davy was to that kind of happiness, and losin' it all. Imagine that kind of terror. He can't die now, he's one with the sea, he and his blasted crew. I'd put 'em all in the hellfire if only to save them from the misery they're doomed to suffer."

Elizabeth was taken aback by this passionate discourse. " But, to be that lonely? To love that deeply…Could he not see that, perhaps, things weren't--"

Barbossa chuckled. " 'Meant to be'?" he finished sourly. " That sort of thing exists in naught but stories, Miss. Everyone loses their happy ending, it's just when the book ends that makes it a tragedy or a simple fact of livin'." A deep sadness settled on his features. His eyes became darker, his mouth relaxed and more solemn. His shoulders slumped ever so slightly. " Pirates, now. We make our own tales and our own legends. A man makes a myth of himself so that when everything goes wrong, when he feels that cold, cold blade in his belly for the last time, he knows he can't die. No matter how many he's killed or how low he gets, he'll never die, himself."

" Are you saying Davy didn't lose a woman he loved?" Elizabeth asked.

" No. I'm sayin' that Jack Sparrow may not be all you believe him to be. He may have secrets of his own, stories he tells you while the brandy's still warm that make you believe somethin' you've no need to believe."

Elizabeth stood. " Jack is not a liar."

Barbossa shook his head. " No, he's not, Miss Swann. But the tales of him are not all true. The Kraken's got him, and I'm only hopin' that the legends last until we find him."

--

The island of Tortuga was glittering with candlelight and torch flame when they arrived in port. Barbossa, dressed to the fullest, looking more a captain than ever with his frilled lace cuffs and shined silver buttons, walked down the gangplank first. The rhythm of his leather boots tapping on the wood, commanding, heavy, set all surrounding eyes to looking up. One man crossed himself as the Captain, an image of black, strode by.

The nearest inn, The Rotten Barnacle, had its doors flung open, music and laughter seeping into the street like its ales. Barbossa took one look inside, sighed heavily, and walked through. As soon as he crossed the threshold, the music died abruptly, the clinking of tankards stopped, and the room fell silent.

" If any of ye intend to live a life of drudgery, moral rectitude, and service to the King," he said loudly, arching his back and throwing his voice about, " remain where ye sit and die a coward." He took a step, his pistol swinging at his hip. " However, if ye feel the sea in yer blood, let any man willing to lay his life upon the mast come forward."

Several men, tanned, oiled, and glittering dangerously with various weapons, stood, removing their hats. Three men in the back, in rumpled coats and dirty boots, shuffled to their feet. Slowly, as Barbossa turned his head, watching every man, locking gazes with every one, thirty men stood. Each was strong and able, muscles bulging beneath shirtsleeves. Tattoos and markings, piercing and scars traced their bodies like trading routes on an unfurled map.

Barbossa nodded once, turning to Elizabeth, who had once more disguised herself as a man, though not as convincingly this time. If she was to come upon Jack, she wanted him to recognize her. " We've got ourselves a crew, then." He reached into his coat and opened a scroll, tied with a black ribbon. " Make your mark here on this roster, and welcome aboard The Silver Dagger."