Disclaimer: Hello, I'm back, and despite having worked realy hard to gain a lot of money and buy - even only a little bit of mustache - Jack Sparrow. Alas, here I come, Jack-Sparrow-less.
The action is getting on, next chapter is really hard to write because of the confrontation with Barbossa, and I s**** at writing action.
For now, have fun.
Tozi.
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Getting back the Pearl, chapter 3
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The first thing Jack noticed when meeting his new crew was that they were all poor enough to take on any job, and had probably a hangover strong enough to make their surroundings fuzzy – they probably did not know what they were up to. Jack distractedly listened to Gibbs' presentation while silently counting how many men he had against the fifty cursed pirates Barbossa had under his command. Twelve. Not bad, but it could have been better. The whelp, as always, was complaining. Kurt, surprisingly, was silent.
It was not that Kurt was a particularly chatty lad, but the hiring of a crew was a rare enough occasion that Jack expected him to comment. He stole a look at his subordinate and noticed how Kurt was inspecting someone at the bottom of the line. Well, at least he was not looking out at the sea, north-west, thinking of his little brother or sister to be. Kurt was a mommy's boy, but he was not ridiculous.
The pirate with the parrot seemed interesting, in the old weather battered sailor way. Maybe Jack should get a parrot. He could train him to say all kinds of funny things – including 'Captain, Captain Jack Sparrow' since it seemed as he was repeating those very words much too often. To have a parrot do that for him would be a relief. Or he could ask Kurt. But Kurt was a nasty name for a parrot, so Jack resolved to reconsider the acquisition of a talking pet later, when he was not about to be reinstated in his possessions – namely the Pearl.
Still, if Kurt was to sail on the Interceptor, and Jack on the Pearl, they could use a parrot to exchange messages.
Jack realised he was internally babbling and decided to get back to the matter at hand quickly. He was hiring a crew to go after the Pearl. He had to make sure it was a good one. And the whelp was complaining. Parrot-pirate would do the trick.
« Mister..er …erm…
- Cotton, provided Gibbs.
- Mister Cotton. Are you, or are you not, ready to fight, kill, dispense and receive injury and eventually die for the sole purpose of making your Captain happy ? »
Then, the parrot spoke. It was grand. « Wind in da sails, Wind in da sails ! » Brilliant. Jack had to get one.
No. Later. First, the Pearl.
« He's got 'is tongue cut off, so he train'd the parrot to speak in'is place. No one's quite sure 'ow. » Explained Gibbs. « Mostly, we figure dat means yes. »
Ta! Now, that was all the confirmation the whelp needed that pirates were, in fact, much more reliable than law-abiding sailors. Jack could not help but turn around and puff out his chest a little, once more proud to be whom and what he was. But, before he could make his opinion known to smart-mouthed eunuch, another voice rose and asked, which he recognised reluctantly and with dread. « An'what is to be ou' interest ? »
He made his way down the line and lifted the wide hat covering Anamaria's head. « Aah…Anamaria. »
Her face was always a sight for sore eyes. Anamaria was a refreshing sort of lady. The kind that could hit your face and make you cherish her like a cute little sister at the same time. A particular kind of sister. So, despite the impending violence that was bound to take place in any moment of time, he was happy to see Anamaria again. And, as he suspected, she slapped him, hard.
« And I don't suppose you did anything to deserve that ? » Asked the whelp. Well. He thought he was fast learning, but he would soon understand pirates did sometimes have to act un-gentlemanlike in order to accomplish their mission. Make the world a more agreeable place for pirates, and less agreeable for honest people. Hence, for once, Anamaria did have a reason to slap him. In fact, had he been in her place, he might just have killed himself – take Barbossa for example.
« Actually, no. This one I did deserve. » He saw Kurt wave happily at Anamaria, and squinted. The lad had always been much too comfortable around the dark-skinned woman. « You stole ma ship, Jack Sparra' ! » she screeched. « Where is ma ship ?
- Calm down Ana, we'll get you a new ship. said Kurt.
- A new ship ?
- This ship. » The whelp may know how to stay out of one's way, and not be as oblivious as he seemed, but he still could not keep his mouth shut. He would learn the hard way.
There went Kurt's captaincy. Jack eyed him shortly, checking if the boy was disappointed. He was. Nothing obvious, but he was disappointed he could not go back to his mother for the first time in ten years with his own ship. The whelp had better be careful were he slept this night. Jack sighed and agreed, forced and unwilling. « That ship. »
Anamaria observed the Interceptor, then Jack, to see if he could be trying to joke his way around that one disagreement. But Jack was deadly serious and asked in return of her glare. « What say you ? She did not consult her shipmates before answering a thunderous :
- Aye ! »
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If William had thought the Interceptor an honorable ship while she was steered by two pirates worth their salt, then it was nothing compared to what she could do when loaded with a whole crew of those pirates. They did not seem like much, he realised, but they were the most effective and disciplined sailors he'd ever seen. There was almost no indication exchanged – only orders to get faster. It was as if – even having never set foot on the Interceptor before – they knew perfectly well how she responded to any kind of sailing ship and where everything should go. It was easy to understand how these men could be unhappy ashore when they lost all their clumsiness and vulgarity when just tying a knot aboard a ship. Kurt was by far the tallest of the crew, and had the widest shoulders. It was a wonder to see him standing beside Jack, when the captain was barely reaching his shoulder and stood completely in his shadow.
They were standing at the wheel, both of them. Kurt was making notes on a small book, while gazing at the broken compass Jack was handing out to him. Jack was holding the wheel and smiling widely. For some reason, the captain's companion was strangely silent and somber since they had left the harbor of Tortuga Island, not addressing a word to any of the new crew members save Mr Gibbs. Maybe it had to do with him being unable to visit his mother.
The weather was still generous, nothing as breathtaking as Commodore Norrington's promotion day – where the sky had been deep blue and the air dry and hot – but the wind was fresh and steady and the sky was white with thin clouds. A perfect day to make sail.
The living quarters on the Interceptor were dark and narrow, and surprisingly dry. The galley was minimalist, but nothing the crew could not deal with. Jack went down and sat at the small table in the Captain's cabin. He stretched his back and arms above his head. He felt both giddy with excitation and dulled down by nerves. He could not fail. Not another time. Loosing the Pearl again when being so close to end a ten year search would kill him. There only was so much enthusiasm and stubbornness one could throw in a hopeless quest. Kurt would help, he was sure of it. The boy would stay by his side, as he had promised to, because there was still so much Jack could teach him. He would push and prod until Jack went on again to destroy himself longing after a freedom he could not obtain anymore.
Was the Pearl worth so much pain? Was suffering his way through seven seas and three oceans the only bargain that could get him his beloved ship back? Jack hoped it was, because he was about to sell another human being to what some would call a worthless bit of wood and sail. He took a deep breath, and a gulp of that delightful rum he had brought back from Tortuga. There was some good in being the captain.
The Interceptor gave a powerful jerk to the starboard side, and Jack barely caught himself before he fell out of his chair. He remained carefully aware of his surroundings, counting jerks until he was assured he had been right in warning Kurt about an oncoming storm. Slight breeze, really, but since it was their first time on this ship, they had better be careful. It would be rather ridiculous to land on some kind of reef. When he was sure Kurt had noticed the change in the waves and would make sure to avoid them, he opened one of the drawers and got one of the maps out. It seemed like this small table was also meant to be the captain's desk. He snooped around a bit, and found a small clock inside one of the cupboards. It seemed like it had been well taken care of, and since it said three in the afternoon, which it was likely to be, Jack decided to go with it and calculated their course using it.
They were not very far. Another night at this speed – and with the wind picking up, it was even more likely – and they would finally reach the Isla de la Muerta. Jack dreaded and longed for that moment. He had never really set foot on the Island. He had dreamed so many times of actually getting there. As if the mutiny had never happened. He got up and out onto the deck to give Kurt directions – he would not trust anybody else with those. Kurt was his creation, he would never betray him.
He went back up to the deck. There was no window in the captain's cabin, and he had missed the hour where the sky had gone from milky white to steely grey. Kurt was still standing at the wheel, pointing out an azimuth to Anamaria. She nodded, and went on shouting orders to those on the main mast. He climbed up next to him and patted his arm. « Go make sure they're all settl'd afore. And go check the speed too. This'll last a few hours, I'd like you to go rest and take over tonight after this lil' shower. » Kurt nodded and made a move to leave. « An' when you're done, come back t' get this! You'll need to set your course for t'night. » He waved his compass around.
Kurt was back in minutes – Jack was suddenly so proud of himself. He had made a perfect pirate and sailor. Almost as good as he was. There still was the little matter of his mother – and those related to her – and the fact that he was not Jack. He could not of course be what Jack thought to be perfection in piracy, but he could very well imitate it.
« You're going to have a nice eight hours here, Jack. Just go on south and I'll make the eastern way tonight. Here's the compass. Keep an eye out for th'whelp. It's his first bit of rough weather on a ship, we'd better make sure he lasts out the night. »
Jack did not gratify this with an answer, focusing instead on seeming absorbed in the feeling of the wheel in his hand. He was going to sell the boy. Of course he was going to make sure nothing happened to him during the night.
After Kurt left, he asked Gibbs to lift up some more sails before the ship started rocking too much for the men to be safe in the rigging – it was not a large crew, there would be no point in losing some during a small bout of wind. The gruff Irishman eyed him funnily, glanced up at the steely sky and gritted his teeth. Jack spread his feet slightly more apart, and breathed in deeply the cold and salty air. The wood of the deck and of the wheel felt solid and heavy in his hand and below his feet, and the Interceptor gave a singing whine when she surfed down one of the highest wave yet. It was going to be a nice afternoon.
Jack was positively drenched when he made it to the captain's cabin after nightfall. It was freezing cold, and pitch black. He took off his boots to empty them before entering the cabin, and threw them under the table before closing the door. He next took off his coat and hat, and hung them up after taking Kurt's clothes off the hooks on the wall. His apprentice's effects in hand, he made it to the bunk where the boy was sound asleep. He poked him in the shoulder, dripping salty water onto the bedsheets.
Kurt grunted and snug his disproportionately tall being more deeply into the squeaky mattress – it had to be the only real bed on the entire ship. Jack poked harder. Kurt woke and sat before stretching his torso, with his arms nearly brushing the ceiling. He emitted a deep rumble from within his chest, shook his head and spread his legs. Then, he stood up suddenly, banging his cranium violently against the ceiling. Jack winced in sympathy. Kurt whined, swore and stomped his foot in agony.
Jack waited patiently until Kurt had finished lamenting on his injured head – in several languages – and handed him his coat and his hat in a theatrical move. Kurt shrugged his coat on and took his hat – a wide brimmed black battered felt hat. « Oh please. It's the middle of the night. I don't need that. » Jack smiled devilishly and tutted. « Ye know what Mommy said, Momma's boy. Never out without a hat…
- Because a hat is always useful in the end. »
Kurt laughed and left the tiny cabin. Jack locked the door, and slipped out of his soaked shirt and trousers. He lay naked on the bed and wrapped himself in the covers. They were still warm and smelled lightly of a man's sweat. He wiggled his nose and snorted. Then, he buried his head in the cushion, turned on his side and bent his knees, and went to sleep.
The ship went on.
Jack slept only for a few hours, as when sober, he did not need extended sleep. He figured it was still dark outside since he heard Kurt shout for a man to light one of the lanterns again. Quietly, he lay on his back with his knees bent and his arms behind his head, and thought.
It had been some time since he had last had a ship to call his own. In ten years of sailing around the world, he could perhaps count on his ten fingers the number of times he and Kurt had had a cabin with a real bed. He brought the covers up to his shin and smelled them. They were still clean – only he and Kurt had slept in them for barely four nights – and not as scratchy as he remembered bed sheets to be. All in all, the Interceptor was a good ship. Some things had been overlooked to enhance the speed – the lacking of livestock for example – that could be missed on long outings, yet for a pirate ship, she was everything a young captain could wish for. Too bad for Kurt.
No wonder the boy had not sent Turner down with the afternoon shift.
Jack closed his eyes and pictured the large cabin he had on the Pearl. The large bay windows, the heavy table and shining candelabras, the varnished inlaid desk with the decorated map closet. The globe and smooth wooden floor. He was about to have everything given back to him, and at what price ? A young man he'd only known for a few days – the son of a man who betrayed him ! – a good deal if he could say so himself.
His burn started to itch. He rubbed it pensively and thought about what Kurt had said of his mother's letter. If they were turning their back on their occasional privateers, then something was bound to happen soon, and Jack would not be caught without a ship in those waters. Not to mention that Chen and the EITC did sometimes work hand in hand against the French.
Jack sat and stretched his hands toward the ceiling. He could hear Kurt thunder against some man's laziness in the rigging. Barely a few seconds later, the ship gave a pull. Jack smiled and fetched his clothes. His shirt and pants were dry. His coat was still damp as was the bleached scarf he wore under his leather belt. His boots were still wet also. He winced as he put them on and waved his arms around to get a good feel of the stiff cloth.
He went down to the galley and took some cheese, a bit of the lesser stale bread and a few gulps of water. Then he went upstairs.
The night was just waning off, with a very thin line of pale blue in the east. A few stars remained, through the moon had long since gone away. The pirates that had stayed up during the night had been some of those that had also served in the afternoon, and they were barely standing on their feet. Behind the wheel, Kurt was tapping his fingers against the wood to keep them from getting numb with the cold wind and icy water he had been subjected to all night. Jack breathed in deeply and looked around the horizon.
West was clear, a deep indigo blue with a few dots of star, but East was slowly eaten away by heavy clouds of mist coming from the South. He took note that he should ask of somebody to refill the lamps with oil, since the morning was bound to be dark.
He went to the main mast and he felt the men rise up their heads in hope. He could almost hear their relief when he hit the bell five times while shouting « Nigh' shift get down, day shift rise up, lug heads! » He banged his boots against the wooden deck and when he felt the satisfactory rumble of several men reluctantly waking up beneath his feet, he made his way toward Kurt.
Finish for today!
until next time!
Reviews, please!