Disclaimer: I own no part of Pirates of the Caribbean. The original plots and characters are owned by me.

A/N: Many thanks to StutleyConstable for reviewing!


The Plundering of the Smiling Katie

It had been nearly three in the morning when Jack and the Brat reached an accord. Therefore, it was unsurprising that the next day found Highcliffe House silent throughout the morning, save for the sedate ticking of the longcase clock tucked into a corner of the Great Hall. There was no sign of the Brat, and the Bitters' housekeeper had gone to the butcher shop in Pencarren. In the library, a young man lay stretched out upon a settle not quite long enough to accommodate him: his booted feet were propped up at one end and his head was supported by a worn cushion at the other. He seemed to be sleeping soundly, with arms folded across his body and chin resting upon his chest. His tricorne hat was tilted over his eyes to keep out the light.

But Jack Sparrow was not asleep; he was reviewing each step of the enterprise he had planned for that evening.

He had dismissed the Brat's romantic idea of transporting the Katie's cargo with pack horses – there was far too much of it. It would take, he reckoned, a caravan of more than one hundred horses to carry that many ankers of brandy, and the Bitters had only five, including the Brat's pony. The cargo would have to be shifted as quickly as possible, and at night to avoid attracting attention. Jack concluded that it would be more practical to rig a hoist and haul the goods up the side of the cliff. He guessed that he should be able to move it all in three nights, using only the Bitters' horses, three lads from the gipsy encampment, and the Brat, who would insist on taking part.

He heard the sound of someone's throat being cleared, and looked out from under his hat to find the Brat standing in the doorway. She was in her usual linen shirt and loose-hanging waistcoat over dark knee-breeches with the strings untied at her knees. She had a pile of rags and twine in her hands, and Jack noticed a lump on one side of the waistcoat. He frowned.

"You're not carryin' a flask, are you?" he asked. "Because you're a bit young yet—" he stopped as she tossed the rags onto her father's desk, and adjusted the waistcoat to reveal a large, sinister-looking folding knife. She pulled it out of her waistband and opened the clasp. The knife was perhaps ten inches long, with a stabbing point, and two different edges; serrated on one side and curved on the other. A number of crude and mysterious engravings decorated the blade, and the handle was oddly crooked.

Jack stared, drawing his eyebrows together. "What the bloody hell are you doin' with that . . . that gelding knife?" he demanded, gesturing at the weapon.

"It's not a gelding knife," said the Brat hotly. "It's a fighting knife! It's called a navaja. And I need it in case of danger. I ought to have something."

Jack instantly sensed the presence of a theme that would draw the conversation towards the scimitar purchase just as an undertow pulls an unwary ship onto dangerous rocks and, like a prudent captain, he steered the discussion back to calmer waters. Sitting up, he patted the settle. The Brat approached with bouncing steps and jumped up beside him. Like a flea, he thought wearily.

"These would be for the horses' hooves, I presume?" he asked, pointing at the bundle of rags. She nodded.

"Well done, love," he smiled, "But I think we'd best be changin' one or two things."

He explained the advantages of rigging the hoist, emphasising the important role she would still play. "You've to lead the horses across the garden when I give the word, so they can pull up the net properly. And don't forget," he added, "I need you to pick the locks on the Katie so's we can get our hands on the brandy to begin with."

At this last remark, her face brightened. "Shall I pick the locks now?" she asked. "Will you take me aboard the snow?"

"You took the words right out of me mouth, love. That is exactly what I had been about t' propose," said Jack, who had not been about to propose any such thing. "Let's have a look, shall we?"

They rowed out to the snow in the Bitters' small shore boat, and Jack directed the Brat to the main hatchway. She crouched over the padlock in silence, and Jack waited as she examined it. At last she took a slender pick from the pocket of her breeches, and used it to carefully extract a bit of wood from the lock. "Look," she said, holding it up for his inspection. "Someone's been at the lock."

Jack's face registered shock and disapproval. "Did they get in?" he asked, feeling quite as outraged as if it were his own cargo.

"You can't tell," she replied. "But I can open it for you." She turned back to the lock, and after a few moments, Jack heard a snick, as it opened.

"Stand back and wait for me," he told her, and pulled the cover off the hatchway. He climbed down the ladder into the hold, which smelt strongly of brandy, and made a rough count of the half-ankers. When he finished, he counted again to make sure. If Tamsin had been correct about there being a thousand of them, then someone had surely broken in and helped themselves, for now there were only seven hundred and forty. Jack narrowed his eyes and tried to think who might have taken the missing brandy.

"What are you doing?" he heard the Brat call through the hatchway. "When can I come down as well?" Jack climbed back up to the deck at once.

"No need, love; I'll show you later," he said. He climbed out and pulled the hatch cover back into place. Looking up at the rigging, he noticed that a hoist had been rigged above the hatch. He was certain that there had been no hoist there on the previous day; the persons responsible for removing the ankers intended to return, by the look of it, and had saved themselves some work by leaving the hoist in place. That's handy, Jack thought. Saves us some work as well, when I get me hands on the rest of it tonight.

He made the Brat wait while he assembled the rest of the nets, lines, and pulleys he would need to rig the hoist at the top of the cliff. "Watch yerself, mouse," he cautioned, as the Brat boarded the boat, stepping over the many coils of rope. As they rowed back to shore, he assigned her more duties. "You've t' get Noah, Sam, an' that cousin of theirs – the really heavy cove –"

"Rob," the Brat interjected.

"Aye, Rob. Perfect name for this line o' work," Jack remarked. "Now don't you name a price – just say Jack'll see 'em right for a fair night's work. We'll all meet in the garden just after sunset. You're t' harness the horses and bring 'em. And make sure we're not disturbed. Can you send Mrs Curtain an' Thomas off for the night?" he asked, naming the housekeeper and groom. The Brat nodded, smiling.

"Wot are you grinnin' about?" Jack teased her.

"This is fun," she answered.

Just after four o'clock that afternoon, Jack himself carefully set up a hoist in an oak tree at the edge of the garden to bring the cargo from the shore up the side of the cliff. The Brat assured Thomas that Jack had permission to do this. "It's to do with father's cutter. I'm not allowed to say more," she told him.

That evening, the small band of novice smugglers met in the garden. The Brat was holding the horses, four of them harnessed with what seemed to be the tack used to draw the Bitters' family coach, whilst the Brat's pony wore the harness used with her cart. The three Smith boys, Noah, Sam, and cousin Rob, with their black hair and large dark eyes, were all standing beside her when Jack arrived.

"Wait here," Jack instructed the Brat, "An' you lot, follow me."

He led the Smith boys down to the shore, and they watched as he secured one end of a very long line by tying it around a huge rock. He unwound the rest, taking it on board the shore boat, and they rowed out to the Katie. The Smiths climbed aboard the Katie whilst Jack tied up the boat's painter and fastened the long line to the ship.

They untied the hoist and lowered the tackle through the main hatch. Jack and Sam went into the hold, spread out the net, and began moving the ankers on to it. When Jack judged it full, he scrambled out and helped Noah and Rob turn the capstan to lift the load through the hatch. He hooked the net with a gaff, swinging it clear of the hatch, and in no time the ankers were standing on the deck, as the empty net was lowered once more. "We'll clear out the hold first, and then move 'em to shore," Jack said.

As they brought up the second load, however, he noticed a change on the horizon that made him swear under his breath; a thick, white line had formed just where the sea and sky should meet.

"We've got sea fog comin' in," he informed Sam. He reckoned they had perhaps four hours in which to ferry the ankers ashore and hoist them up the cliff – not nearly enough time.

Noah had already loaded the boat with as many ankers as it could carry, and was drawing it to shore by pulling it along the line Jack had set. Then he unloaded the boat, while Jack, Sam, and Rob emptied more of the hold.

By the time the fog drew near, it was nearly midnight, the hold was empty, and although a great many ankers had been put ashore, most of the cargo was still on the Katie's deck. Jack and the Smith boys untied the long line, and rowed to shore for the second phase of their work.

"Go give 'er a hand with the horses," Jack said to Rob. "An' we'll load the net. Three pulls on the rope means bring up the load, right? Get the ankers out, and send it back down."

Over the next two hours, Jack, Sam and Noah sent five loads up the side of the cliff. When they finished, the air was beginning to fill with wisps of fog. It would take too long and be too dangerous to hoist any more ankers – but what to do about the cargo still on the Katie's deck?

As Jack pondered this question, his eye was drawn to the cutter, riding peacefully at anchor only one hundred yards away. "Stay here, mates," he told his friends. "Back in a trice," he added over his shoulder as he hastily climbed the stone steps to Highcliffe.

At the top of the steps, Jack was surprised to find that Rob had been joined by Thomas, and the two of them were rolling the ankers towards the house. "Here – what's all this?" he growled at the Brat, who was holding the horses and directing the two boys.

"Thomas is helping," she informed him.

"Thomas is a sly one," Jack remarked. "I don't suppose you offered 'im an anker in exchange?"

"Two," she replied. "You said it wasn't worth much, so I thought—"

"Then think no more, darlin'," he said, imagining Thomas' delight in being offered the equivalent of three month's wages for a single night's work. "I'm in charge of the plunder; you're in charge of the horses, savvy? No more accords unless you speak t' me first, right?" He waved at Thomas and forced himself to grin before dashing back down to the shore.

"Let's go, lads," he said to Sam and Noah. This time, they rowed out to the cutter, Jack taking the long line with him, and tying it as before. "Whatever y' do," he said, "Don't cut this loose – it's the only way we'll find the shore after the fog sets in." He tied off the Bitters' boat, and took Noah and Sam aboard the cutter.

There was almost no air moving, and so the cutter drifted downwind gently as Jack paid out the anchor cable slowly and smoothly. Eventually, he brought the cutter alongside the snow, and cleated off the cable.

Sam and Noah watched respectfully as Jack went from bow to stern, tying the two ships together. "No offense intended, mates, but I've been at this a bit longer than either of you," he remarked over his shoulder, "An' it wouldn't do to have 'em drift apart – not with the work we'll be doin'." Then he nodded towards the gangplanks. "Release those an' lay 'em athwart the vessels amidships."

His two friends made haste to follow Jack's orders, and the three of them began rolling the ankers from the Katie to the cutter. Jack opened the cutter's hatch, and the ankers were stowed in its much smaller hold.

By this time, the fog was heavier, and Jack was glad to have thought of this new plan; it was simpler and even faster than his original scheme. He only had to dispose of the brandy before the cutter was needed, and that seemed an easy enough proposition.

Dawn had broken by the time they finished, and they were exhausted – aching and sweating from their labour. As Sam rolled the last anker across, Jack stopped him by putting a foot on its side. "This one's yours," he told them.

After resting for a short time, Jack threw off the lines that bound the ships together, and carefully winched in the cable until the cutter was back in its original position. They loaded the Smiths' anker into the shore boat, untied the long line from the cutter, and used it to pull their boat to shore.

The Smiths and their anker disappeared silently into the fog, and Jack used his last bit of strength to climb the steps back to Highcliffe. He found no one in the garden, and the hoist had been removed, undoubtedly by Thomas. Jack heaved a grateful sigh. I suppose he earned his two ankers after all, he thought. Then he looked about him at the state of the garden. The ground was torn up and several flower beds trampled, both from the horses and from the ankers being rolled hastily towards the house. And the horses had left other reminders of their presence, he realised, looking at the sole of one of his boots.

He made for the house, anxious to see where the Brat had stored the ankers, which he thought numbered about one hundred and forty. However, the house was dark and the Brat seemed to have retired. Jack poked through every closet and storeroom he knew of, but none contained the brandy. Frustrated, he resolved to awaken her and find out where she had put their plunder.

He knocked softly at her door, and the Brat cracked it open immediately. "I've been waiting all this time," she said reproachfully. "I thought you might want to count them again." She swung the door wide, and Jack groaned.

"You stowed 'em here, of all places?" he asked.

"Of course I did. Where did you think I would put them?" she replied, unperturbed.

"Oh, well, this won't be half obvious, will it!" he said, waving his hand as he strode about the room.

"I shall tell Mrs Curtain that she's not to go into my room," said the Brat serenely.

"The garden looks like the dog's dinner," Jack pointed out.

"I shall say I've been digging in it," she replied. Jack snorted.

"We're lucky the P's aren't here," he retorted. He pointed to his boot. "And what about all this, eh? It's all over the garden as well." The Brat shrugged.

"I've mucked out stalls before," she said. "Thomas and I will rake it up and toss it over the cliff."

Jack considered this briefly, then smiled. "Ah, well, why not? Y'know, Brat, sometimes your schemes are as mad as mine."

"What did you do with the rest of it?" she asked.

"Stowed safely on the cutter, to be sold before the P's return," he told her.

"I want to see," she demanded at once. "We're partners. I've a right."

Jack rolled his eyes. "And so you shall, but not today. Now get some rest and keep your door locked."

She nodded. "If you're tired, you might use Father's room," she offered. "Only take that boot off first."

"Ta, love, but it likely smells better than me feet," he answered with a grin. However, he did retire to Captain Harry's room, and slept soundly through most of the day.

The taproom at the Red Lion was noisy and crowded that night, and Tamsin bustled past Jack several times, bringing food and drink to the Lion's customers. Since he had yet to sell one of the ankers, Jack had no money; he was forced to rely upon the good graces of others who were buying rounds. In the end, this turned out to be a stroke of luck, since one of his benefactors was a farmer celebrating the upcoming wedding of his eldest daughter.

"I love weddings!" Jack said cheerily. "When's it set to go off?"

"Three months from now," replied the farmer. Jack had hoped for a shorter interval, sensing a possible buyer for some of the brandy; nevertheless, it was the best opportunity on offer that night, and so he pursued it.

"Everything set for the weddin' party?" he enquired. "Food, music, tables . . . drink?"

"I was set t' go t' Looe fer a tub o' fine brandy t' share out wi' me brother," the farmer said. Jack brightened at this, and before long a deal had been struck for one half-anker of brandy, finer than any in Looe, according to Jack.

His enthusiasm sagged a bit after he had walked all the way back to Highcliffe to retrieve it, argued the Brat out of accompanying him, and delivered it safe to the farmer – and at the end of it, only four quid was in his pocket.

At this rate, I'll need ten years to move the lot of it, he thought.

He needed to find customers that were interested in buying entire shipments and doing it quickly. And for that, he reasoned, he would need Tamsin.


Next: Jack finds a buyer and success seems assured (but things are seldom what they seem).

A/N: The plausibility of the hoists and the transfer of the barrels was checked by a journeyman millwright with a certification in rigging, and the author hereby extends grateful thanks for this work!