Chapter 4 - "Do you fear death?
"

In which there is much thought of death and afterwards

Jack had shown a stubborn streak and refused to go back to bed; she rather suspected this was a fundamental characteristic of the man and had given up trying to persuade him otherwise when what she had assumed was a brave face started to show a spark of real anger. That he was still weak showed in his slow and deliberate movement, and the sheen of sweat on his brow suggested that his recent exertions had brought back some small level of fever. But he was insistent that he was staying on deck.

The look on his face suggested that feared being anywhere else, not so impossible if he was feeling the fever creeping back and if her suspicions were correct. Were death to come for him it would be from the sea and he would want to see it coming.

He had sat himself down, back to the mast, as he had been the morning he first became ill, and refused any further medication. Instead he had asked for rum, pulled a comic face when she reminded him that she didn't carry any, and reluctantly accepted a glass of brandy instead. On this occasion she didn't bring the bottle, something he noticed immediately and looked balefully at her, a look she pretended not to see. She contented herself with coffee, sipping it as she, too, stared out at the falling sun.
"I'm sorry for the scare, it must have looked strange to you."
"That it did." There was a slight hint of accusation in his voice.
She turned to look at his profile,
"I would have explained but when I came down to the cabin you were asleep. I didn't want to wake you and I thought you would sleep longer than you did."
"Sorry to disappoint you luv." The accompanying smile was brittle.
She shrugged,
"No disappointment, but if I'd realised you might wake and come looking for me I would have warned you."
This time he shrugged but he said nothing more, just drank some brandy and went on staring at the sea.

Elanor took a deep swallow of her coffee and followed it with a deeper breath,
"Aridane told me that you were prepared to fight for the ship, thank you for that."
His set and distant expression told her that it was probably better not to mention Ariadne's comments about his concern for her too. As it was her words brought another shrug and that strange shake of the shoulders he used when uncertain or offended, this time she wasn't sure whichof the two it was,
"No worries, my life at stake too." His voice was flat and cold.
"Of course."
He just nodded slightly and drank more brandy, the fingers of one hand toying aimlessly with a rope of the pearls she had recovered earlier. She waited a moment then she raised her coffee cup towards him,
"Thanks anyway."
He turned towards her at that and gave her a wide eyed look that she couldn't read, followed by another one of those complicated shrugs. Then, with a frown, he turned back towards the sea.

***

The Pearl and her crew were waiting, like a cat watching at a mouse hole and as close to a direct line between the wrecked dingy and the general area of the fountain, as her captain recalled it, as was possible and still avoid being sighted by the Navy as it returned to replace the EITC.

Several ships of the commercial fleet had passed them by, heading back towards the east, but none had come within canon range and it was likely that few of them yet knew the degree of the Pearl's involvement in the demise of Beckett, or cared. Beckett was dead and his mad ambitions and private hatreds would die with him. Which sober gentleman, or navy man looking for preferment, would care to tell the king that Beckett had sought to own the seas for himself? Or that he had made a pact with a myth to do it, and using an artefact that no landsman believed in any way?

As for the sailors, well, the few stories they had heard in Tortuga suggested that the tale going around was that Beckett had been killed by Davy Jones when he, Beckett, had tried to stab the heart and take the Dutchman for his own. Jack Sparrow was credited with overpowering Jones, a twist that brought a snarl to Barbossa's face. A few more tellings and any semblance of the truth would be lost. Just as the truth of the legend of Davy Jones himself soon would be, now that the Dutchman had returned to her duties on the seas beyond the map.

But they had been anchored here for three days now and there had been no sign of a ship that might have rescued Sparrow, and Barbossa could only cling to the hope that sooner or later it would come. That Sparrow might be dead he would not accept, if only because his face was not amongst the many now gathering around him. Yet if Sparrow were dead Barbossa was sure that he would be. Given that he was almost sure who the faces were now.

In the great cabin he poured over the charts, trying to determine how soon he could expect Jack to arrive. Little Jack sat on the edge of the chart table, scavenging the peanuts that seemed to appear wherever Barbossa was these days. In the grain of the table's timbers more faces formed, cried for his attention then faded, only to be replaced by new ones. The supply of them seemed to be unending.

He tried not to look at them, for seeing them fired him with a terrible need to remember who they were and how and when they had died; like an itch demanding to be scratched he found it increasingly hard not to remember and grieve when he could not. Not that it mattered for they all shared a common bond, they had died at his hand in one way or another, either at the end of blade or pistol, or in pursuit of his greed, or broken by the deaths of those whose lives he had claimed.

That last one had been the hardest to work out, but it had come to him in the end, sending him to sit at the bow, little Jack's skinny arms about his neck, his keening cries of distress echoed in Barbossa's own mind.

The crew were staying away from him. They jumped to obey his orders with all the readiness of the past, but he could feel the tension in them and he knew they were waiting. Knew too what they were waiting for, Jack Sparrow. When they found him and the chart then Barbossa knew that his course would be run, they would take Jack for captain and hand himself over to his old enemy. He had no doubts about what Jack would do with him, a side trip to a little island of their mutual acquaintance seemed the most likely outcome. Jack would no doubt deign to give him two pistols, one for little Jack, if only to demonstrate the difference between them. Barbossa found a little voice wondering how many of the faces would not be'troubling him if those differences had been less.

'If we find the fountain then I will not need to remember' he told himself. 'If I can escape going back to death then I'll not need to be a'remembering them, I will be beyond their reach and they will leave me in peace.'
Then the laughter would ring in his head,
"Peace Barbossa? Ya think to escape ta reckoning tat easily?" Calypso's voice would taunt him. "Ya cannot return fromt death, nat without bringing it with ya. Ya nat be alive Barbossa, yar merely nat dead. Look andt see."
He would look down to see the skeletal hand upon the chart and curse, but all that would bring was more of her laughter.

Then the doubts would begin, if he was not alive then could the fountain of youth preserve him? If he was dead, yet in the world of the living, could he die here at all? What would it take to free him and hand back the mastery over his own fate he so craved. Life or death?

Yet all he could do was continue down the path he had set, find the charts and seek out the fountain. But as he watched the faces around him he wondered if, maybe, possibly, he wouldn't let Jack Sparrow live after all.

***

Jack had sat in silence for most of the evening, even when clouds obscured the stars and the wind rose he made no move. The rope of pearls lay tidily across his thighs and occasionally he would touch them as if seeking reassurance that they were still there. As Elanor went about her duties she would occasionally pass him but he did not speak, though sometimes she would turn to see him looking at her again with that wary and puzzled half frown. Each time he would turn away quickly, returning his gaze to the dark waters stretching around them.

Eventually she went below to confer with Ariadne about charts and winds and the days haul. The value of it, even here, caused her a moment's stunned disbelief. What the worth of the rest might be was a disturbing thought, but if she had to stay here it would seem that she could live like a queen, even allowing for Jack living like an emperor. It suddenly occurred to her that the thought might already have occurred to him, after all he knew what had been lost down there, and that maybe it caused him some disquiet too. If half his stories were true then who would he be once the struggle for bare survival was taken away from him?

But that was a thought for another time; it seemed there would be rain soon and he was not well enough yet for a wetting, though he had stood the exertions of the afternoon better than she might have expected. Even so she would have to persuade him to come below soon, and that might not be easy given that he had been staring at the sea as if it was the only real thing in his world, the only thing he might rely upon. Perhaps he felt that it was. For some reason the thought stirred the ever-present guilt and made her feel somehow sad for him.

As she locked the recovered treasure, there really was no other word for it, in the strong room her eyes fell upon his sword and pistol, and for a moment she flirted with the idea of returning them to him. But Ariadne's warnings came back to her, this was a violent time and place and he was a product of it, pirate or honourable man, she couldn't afford to trust anyone. Nor did she want to risk him getting hurt by Ariadne for drawing steel near her when something else he didn't understand happened. He was a clever man, more so than she first granted him perhaps, but he was caught in a bubble whose very existence must scare him; why wouldn't it, given that it terrified her!

No, his weapons would have to stay here; but she could return his clothes to him, maybe that would make him feel more himself again. They would be something familiar in this strange world, and perhaps they might form the opening for a conversation about the gaps in his earlier story. The fever had stripped the layers of evasion away and she had seen the truth of his impossible tale laid out before her in his unwary raving; that had been hard enough to see, but the rest...... She could not admit how much the rest had frightened her, not even to Ariadne. What it meant for him she could not imagine, but if she was to go hunting the fountain, or anywhere else, with this man, then she needed to understand the full scope of the scars he carried. Not to do so might kill them both.

Elanor returned to her own cabin and collected the coat. It still bore a few marks of heavy wear but it had been restored to something like its former elegance, the embroidery was repaired and the wide, swirling, skirts were neatly pressed. On a sudden impulse she slipped it on, feeling the weight of it settle on her shoulders as the broad skirts fell into their proper folds. She smiled as she smoothed the elaborate cuffs, 'never thought to see something like this so close, let alone put it on,' she thought, 'still doesn't seem real somehow'. Yet it was real enough, like its owner, just a reminder of the weirdness she had become bound up in.

Smiling to herself she pirouetted, a little self-consciously even in the privacy of her cabin, feeling the coat swish and swirl about her. She could see how easily it might be to think one's self the swashbuckling hero in such a garment, this coat seemed to be designed for pistols at dawn, swaggering strolls, gallant bows and flashing swords. Just how important was it to its owner's mask she found herself wondering, maybe she should have returned it to him before now. She had not thought enough about what it might signify for him given that he seemed to own little else in the world, she admitted to herself; that idea made her sigh, another harm she had caused him, something else to feel guilt for.

But she could make good that error now. She slid the coat from her shoulders, and, on a second thought, picked up the leather hat from its place on the chair. Then she returned to the deck.

***

Jack was sitting where had left him, though the cup beside him told her had gone below at least once in the time she had been gone. She crossed the deck to stand behind him, apparently unnoticed until she slid the coat around his shoulders.
"It's going to be getting cold," she said, "a storm's on the way."
He nodded and pulled the coat closer around him,
"I know, I can see."
"Sorry, of course you can. I'm not used to having another sailor aboard so forgive me for stating the obvious." As she spoke she dropped the hat onto his head.
He reached up and grasped it as if it were a life raft on a empty sea, then he shot her a sideways glance, that frowning uncertain look she had seen before. She wondered, again, what it meant.

"We've done the best we can with your clothes, but I doubt they will ever be the same."
Elanor knew she was talking for the sake of it, but he had retreated from her somehow and she knew that she had make some for of contact between them soon if they were to survive each other's company. In her own time and place it would have been hard enough, but here, and with a man whose life was so unfamiliar, it seemed all but impossible. Those sideways looks suggested that whatever fragile acceptance they had built before his illness had gone. All she could read in his face now was uncertainty, but occasionally she thought she saw hostility too and wondered if she should raised Ariadne's readiness status again. For the moment he was too tired and weak to consider mounting an attack, but he was recovering at impressive speed. The hint of desperation she sometimes caught in his eyes might well push him into doing something foolish sooner rather than later. Somehow she had to avoid that, she needed him and she was responsible for him, and somehow they had to find common ground. But at this moment she was damned if she could see what it might be.

Particularly if she was to talk to him of his death.

***

Jack looked down at the coat now draped around him, familiar but not the same as he had last seen it. The split seams had been mended, something he never seemed to get the time for, the buttons refastened and the broken and trailing threads neatly pulled in and secured. It had an unfamiliar smell too; the tang of salt and lamp oil and tar had gone along with the stains. The last time he had seen it this way was the day he had bought it from a somewhat distressed gentleman in Venice.

He gripped it tighter, it was his coat and yet not his coat, all his history wiped from it, another part of him lost. But perhaps that was no great loss. Pulling it closer around him he ran his fingers over the cuff, it would had taken effort to restore it in this way and the thought caused him some concern, for it made him wonder why she had bothered. There were so many 'why's' about this strange woman that he needed to resolve, and her care of him was one of the most pressing, for it unnerved him and made her so much harder predict. Why should she care for him, penniless flotsam that he was? She had enough to vex her without concerns for him.

During his hours of staring at the sea he had tried to put himself in her place and found it alarmingly hard to do. To have so much power and yet be so vulnerable was a conundrum he couldn't seem to resolve. How would he had treated her had their positions been reversed? He found that he couldn't answer that one either. Yes he could see why she might keep him alive, even why she might physick him when he became ill, but not see why she would care. He was her prisoner, or rather her hostage against the strange world she found herself in, that he understood; he was........her leverage in some ways. But her consideration for him was something apart from that. But what kind of caring it was he could not guess, for there was no loving in her approach to him, nor yet any desire that he could see, a disappointing reflection that one, and their acquaintance was too slight for friendship; yet still there was care, and he was forced to conclude that he had no model for it.

Which made her hard to read, even without the joker in the pack, this Ariadne of hers; this still unseen ghost whose opinion she valued so highly, and whose powers seemed to be unlimited. Jack shivered, telling himself that it was the wind growing colder as the storm approached.

He looked down at the rope of pearls still draped across his thigh, another uncertainty to vex him, for she had brought a fortune up from the sea bed with barely an effort. She had explained what she had done, and he thought he understood, but again the 'how's' eluded him, and he wondered what other inconceivable things she might be able to conceive of. But the pearls were themselves a part of his second problem, she could gather for them a fortune, and he was sure he could persuade her to share enough to give him a life of ease, so what did he do now? Did they still run the risk of chasing the fountain?

Of course they did.

But when he had eternity in his hand what, exactly, did he intend to do with it? When her door opened and she left, as she would, what was he going to do?

***

For a while they sat in silence, the swell breaking against the hull the only sound. Then Elanor felt him shift and looked back towards in him just in time to catch another strange and wary look before he looked away again. He appeared strained and tired, but she preferred having this conversation on deck where he could stare at the sea if he didn't wish to look at her.
"We need to talk, you and I," she began
"Do we now?" he sounded wary.
"Yes."
"Why is that?" Now he sounded hostile too.
It seemed that attack was the only way forward, and it had best be as frontal as possible given his capacity for evasion,
"Because I would like to know whether I hunting this fountain with a man, or an animated corpse."
She felt him stiffen and continued before he could reply,
"Not unreasonable in the circumstances, wouldn't you say?"

He looked at her then and a dark smile curled his mouth and lit his eyes, a smile that was cold at its heart,
"You've had too much sun luv. Should have waited for my help." The smile widened and became more feral, "Or is it that breathing that underwater air curdles the mind?"
She recognised the ploy and returned the smile easily,
"Neither." She leant back a little allowing her shoulder to brush against his, he certainly felt alive, " You talked a lot in that fever Jack, about many things. But most often you talked of death, and of being dead. From personal experience."

He looked back out to sea his smile fading,
"Dreams Elanor, just dreams. These strange little beasties of yours were to blame. Nothing more than that."
She let the silence lengthen for a while, staring out at the sea too before replying.
"Do you fear death?" she made it clear that she was quoting, "or is it just the locker and yourself that you fear Jack?"

He turned to stare at her, terror written large in his eyes but not showing in his face,
"Dreams as I said luv, nothing more."
Something in his voice hinted at the horror he was hiding. She shook her head slowly,
"I don't think so. Nor does Ariadne and she's not given to superstition. You told me a lot, but you left bits out too didn't you? Oh you had no problem spinning tales of sea goddesses and cursed gold and compasses that don't point north, yet you couldn't bring yourself to talk about where your friends left you or where they came and rescued you from."
He said nothing but the gulp of brandy he took seemed deeper and more desperate,
"Let's recap what you told me Jack, shall we?"
He was still now, totally still, but she could feel the tension in him, the desire to move, to run away.
"As you wish darlin, can't stop you now can I." Now he started to get to his feet, "But if you will excuse me I see no profit in hearing it again and I'd rather find me bed."
She reached out and grabbed his wrist and he flinched at the strength in her fingers,
"Sensible idea, it's getting cold and we can talk in your cabin just as easily, I just thought you might feel more comfortable doing it on deck."

The look he threw her would have blistered varnish but she gave no quarter, knowing that if he escaped the questions now she would never get an answer from him. He made no further attempt to pull away.
"You told me about the girl, Elizabeth wasn't it? About pulling her from the water, and saving her from undead pirates with her lad. You told me about that lad coming to look for you when she got herself into difficulties again, about him needing the heart of Davy Jones to trade for her safety with this Beckett. You told me how they betrayed and abandoned you, and about the swamp witch who was really a sea goddess and who bought your old enemy back from the dead because he was a pirate lords and she needed him, and about how they came to find you again because she actually needed nine pirate lords and you were the ninth. You told me about the plan to release the lad's pirate father from Davy Jones and to take the Flying Dutchman and beat Beckett and then sail the seas forever. You told me about the death of Jones and him killing the lad and you handing him the heart so that he could live, and you told me about the fountain that will give you back what you gave away to him."
He smiled a false golden smile,
"Said all that did I? Regular chatterbox I must have been that evening. But as I recall it I'd been drinking a fair bit of your wonderful brandy, powerful stuff it is too." The smile became a smirk, "can't always take a man seriously when he's in his cups luv."
Elanor stared at him coolly,
"Maybe. But I'm not a fool, nor am I a teenage girl Jack, and I know when a man is drunk and when he's not, and when he's embroidering things a little and when he's lying. As you yourself said, what is impossible in a world where there's a door in time and space."

That brought something close to a snarl into his smile and she saw his muscles tense as he prepared to get to his feet. But she held his gaze and he stayed where he was.
"Even when I was forced to accept what you told me as some form of truth I still knew that there was a lot you weren't telling me. Some of what you didn't tell me I can guess at, the man the witch brought back was the man you shot there," she gestured towards the seas now hiding the treasure island, "and the lad came looking for you because they helped you escape at some point in the proceedings and he felt you owed him something, that compass of yours maybe. I can guess too that you told the lad that his father was on the Dutchman. But what you didn't tell me, and what I couldn't guess, was why they betrayed you or where they abandoned you. But I think I know now Jack, the betrayal and abandonment was your death, wasn't it?"
He had stopping trying to rise now and was simply staring at her,
" Whatever happened involved your death, and what happened then fired your desire to control the Dutchman and it feeds your desire for this fountain. Was your afterlife so terrible Jack? What did you do in life that made it so? Is that all you have left after all your tales, a fear of, and a need to escape, death?"
She shook her head slightly,
"You've lived with the probability of it all your life, do you fear death so much now that you will let it become your whole life?"
His eyes were wide and black and his mouth twisted as if the brandy he swallowed with a gulp had become lemon juice,
"You have no idea," was all he said.
"Don't I?" she replied softly.

Now he tried to pull away again, and he was taken aback that he couldn't throw off her hand. He turned his eyes from hers to stare at her fingers clamped around his wrist as if they were sea monsters. Then he reached out and touched his fingers to hers, stroking the backs of them with a thoughtful expression,
"So pretty yet so much strength" he muttered almost to himself, then he looked at her with hard and calculating eyes, "I'm not the only one whose been keeping secrets eh?"

She smiled at him,
"I'll trade you some secrets Jack, your death for my strength. Fair exchange?"