Chapter 2
"Kyra?" Jack shook her shoulder as gently as possible.
"Hmm. . ." she snuggled even lower into the covers to escape the bitter early morning chill. Jack was loathe to wake her, she was just a child. She didn't need to hunt for money today. He had three shillings for her already, it was better that she stay in protective world of dreams. Jack didn't want her to become like him, cold, cynical, she deserved better than that.
It would take naught but a few hours to get another three. If he was lucky he could get another couple of pennies for a loaf of bread and maybe a jug of milk. He hated that he could never scrounge enough money together to feed them. She was far too thin and oft at night he could hear her stomach growling.
He ignored his own hunger giving her his share when he could. It took everything he had, sometimes, to pretend he'd eaten already so she'd feel the pleasure of a full stomach. He couldn't give her anything else. Their good-for- naught father wasn't worth his salt and did nothing but wenches in the tavern.
His threadbare shawl was lying on the ground still wet, it would be no use at all. He sighed as he hung it up on a peg hoping it would dry quickly. He savored the slight warmth of the house before stepping outside and quickly closing the door behind him.
Shivers and trembling started in his muscles. He grit his teeth at the sensation and forced himself to keep walking. It was always this way, so bad to the point he couldn't walk without shivering violentl,y but soon he would be too numb to care.
The wind soothed the small healing scratches on his back. It was lucky Brahm had only a light bull whip, if it had been a real one. . . Jack had seen the damage they could do.
A middle aged man walked up the street. Jack walked past, but before he could reach for coins the man delivered a crushing blow to his cheek.
"None of your antics, boy. I've seen you whelps stealing money, if I see it again I'll send the authorities for you.
Jack struggled against his rage, after his fathers abuse he'd take no abuse from anyone. The man walked on and Jack focused on the cold rather than his burning anger. He pressed his hand to his cheek and felt the skin swelling. Bloody hell, another bruise to add to the many he had already.
The next town was three miles over, could he walk that far? Six miles altogether, but he needed another three shillings before he could even think of going back home.
He pulled his shirt closer to his body to try and retain body heat. Walking down the dismal cobble-stone street he opened the door to his imagination. He liked to think up stories and new ways of concealing what he was. He did that a lot, took on different personalities for amusement.
It was a rare talent to have, he could change his voice and accent at will. Jack leaned by simply observing people and their mannerisms. As for the stories, they served as a way to escape this godforsaken city, the cold, and the heartbreak of desperation.
Often when he had enough money for the day, a trip to the docks was taken. Kayrna went with him often, but he knew that the ocean didn't hold the same appeal for her as it did him. The water stretched for miles and miles only broken by the horizon.
He would watch ships pull into port, the men come off board balancing jugs and barrels on their shoulders, in fascination. Others led animals or tugged crates of foreign objects the like of which he'd never seen before.
Jack vowed to have a ship of his own one day. It would be a grand vessel, one of the best in the world. He understood ships on a deeper level than most. They 'spoke' to him telling him of their voyages, he could tell by the way wood was inlaid and how the sails hung. Some of them sang to him, called to him, each song was different and caused the ache in his soul to grow.
Yes, one day he would have his very own to command, its song would be the brightest and most melodic heard on the ocean.
The miles passed quickly as the thoughts in his mind took shape. The ship would have, not white, but black sails so that anyone who saw them would know whom she belonged to. He didn't know of a name yet, that would come when he found the ship. Names represented the soul of them and she would have to tell him.
He would be her captain and no one would ever tell him where to go or what to do. The ship would be his pride and freedom, none would take it from him and none would dare cross him for it. Captain Jack Elstran, no, he didn't ever want his fathers name.
What had been his mothers maiden name? A bird of some kind, he could remember Brahm taunting her because of it. A bird with its wings clipped or some nonsense like that. What was the birds name? A. . . Sparrow! Captain Jack Sparrow, it sounded right and his mother would be immortalized in his name. A sense of justice was served. He would commandeer his ship true and free as a Sparrow in flight.
The cold wind changed to a pleasant rustle of breeze, the white puffs of air crystallized from his breath was fog rolling in from the west. The people walking about were potential crew. He would ignore the superstition of women onboard meaning bad luck. His sister and mother had more courage and fortitude to face danger than most men he knew. There would be at least one aboard his ship.
He wouldn't need luck, he was Captain Jack Sparrow and he made his own luck.