Rowdy laughter echoed from the tavern, and men stumbled alone or in the company of gaudily dressed women out into the dirt streets. Some flew from the windows while other fought their way out, ending in a drunken heap upon the dirty roads of Tortuga. A group of five men tripped and stumbled through one of the large doorways, nearly trampling a man going in. He stared at them with a slightly wide-eyed look of disbelief and disgust before sauntering the rest of his way into the building, peering around with mild curiosity. Now, where was the man with the rum?
"Ah, Jack!" a voice cried with a bit of a merry drunken slur from a shadowed booth in the far corner, where a rather dirty man held a tankard of rum in the air, sloshing it over the brim. The man stopped, and then turned in the direction of the voice, a knowing smiling coming to his face.
As he slid into the booth, he asked in a low tone, "What of my ship?"
The sailor looked back at Jack with a slightly stupefied expression. "What… ship, Jack?" he drank heavily from the tankard before slamming it down unsteadily upon the wooden table. "You don't have a ship."
"What of the Black Pearl?" he asked with an annoyed groan and roll of his kohl-lined eyes.
"That cursed thing? For the love of mother and child; Jack, why d'you want to know of 'er?" inquired the salt and pepper-haired man with something of a squint. Jack must be a little too sober, for he was asking the most peculiar questions. The Pearl was gone for good. "I tell you it's gone for good," he suddenly added, leaning forward.
"Gibbs, nothing is gone until it's no longer worth looking for; now, what news of my beloved Pearl?" The man called Jack, formerly known as Captain Sparrow, leaned forward over the table also, grabbing the tankard and snitching a swallow from it.
"Well, y'know all about the last piece they be lookin' for, so I'd say that be of no use to you," Gibbs mumbled a bit, eyes narrowing and brow furrowing as he tried to force his drink-addled brain to dredge up some interesting piece of news. "And you know that the Turners are still after it… That Will lad– Jack, he's determined, I'm warnin' you," he remarked warily, looking back at his companion.
"I care not for useless whelps bent on propitiating revenge. Especially that young Turner; he's only got what, a year – two? – left before he's problems are going to be largely his immortal soul and swabbing equally eternally wet decks," Jack waved off the concern with a many-ringed hand. "Let him think he's going somewhere when he's really going nowhere, so that when he's going nowhere he can think he got somewhere," he added. Gibbs' frown deepened at Jack's confounding locution, but he shrugged it off.
"You know it's not just that, Jack. You know he's –"
"Gibbs! We're not talking about Bootstrap's little pirate brat, we're talking about the Pearl and any news of her, so tell me what I've asked and I'll be on my way," Jack suddenly demanded. "After a, small drink– or two," he added offhandedly.
"Well, after they ransacked St. Kitts, a little whisper got to me that they be headed back to what cursed port they come from. When I heard, I knew that you'd be wantin' to hear, so's I kept quiet and waited here, got me off from my rankin', but all's the same, I'd rather be here with rum than trimmin' the sheets for Captain Norrington; he's a straight one, Jack, mark me, and he don't abide pirates in any shape or form. He won't turn a blind eye," Gibbs declared, draining the tankard. Jack leaned back from the table, staring thoughtfully in Gibb's direction.
After some silence, he suddenly spoke, "I must have meself a ship, Gibbs. Where about might I commandeer one?" He leaned forward conspiratorially-like, knowing it would perk the older seaman up a bit, thinking this was confidential.
"Up at the Port they got two, the Dauntless and the Interceptor. Fine British naval ships if ever, Jack." Gibbs leaned back, waving his tankard high until a barmaid came round and topped it off once again.
"What port, Gibbs?" Jack's head tilted to one side slightly, and his dark eyes gleamed with interest.
"Ah, that'd be Port Royal, of which Captain Norrington resides, y'know. Actually, now that I dwell on it some, he's soon to be named commodore. I wouldn't go there meself, not right now, at any rate; you'd have to be mad, Jack!" Gibbs protested, noticing through bleary eyes the strange gleam in his companion's.
"Aye, and some have called me that before," the pirate whispered back, a strange little smile on his face, as if he were annoyed but also pleased.
"Jack!" Gibbs stood, but quickly reeled back into the booth, too uncoordinated from the rum to stand. All he could do was watch as his old friend – was he really even that? – as he slipped off through the haze toward the doorway, bound for Port Royal and two ships that just might be his key to reclaiming his beloved ship.
A/N:
So sorry this chapter came out so short! But I wanted to establish Jack into the character cast before going on to Port Royal and the years Elizabeth grows up. Which will take about a chapter. I hope I got Jack and Gibbs down into a semblance of recognizable! Sometimes I feel that I can't do Jack justice, and that's a crying shame...
Thanks so much for reading this,
WH
