Disclaimer: I don't have permission to use the name Jack Sparrow or his likeness. Yet I do it anyway. Go me!

Author's Note (8/13/06): I'm terribly sorry it's taken me so long to update. Things have been crazy, I haven't been able to put electronic pen to paper, I haven't felt like writing…I've been a large lump, really. And I do apologize. But, I feel the dry spell has lifted and you will now be able to enjoy all sorts of new chapters…probably not as fast I churned them out before, but at least a new one once a week. Once again, I've put the replies to reviews from "anonymous" reviewers on my website…which I plan to change, but we'll see how that goes. Hope you enjoy this one enough to forgive me for taking so long…

Chapter Six: The Brawl

Captain Jack Sparrow was without a ship. The Rêve was gone, at the bottom of the ocean after an epic struggle with some shoals. Jack had given Martha temporary control of the small craft, as he'd been rather hungry at the time and the biscuits in their supplies had been calling his name. The eleven year old did a fine job steering, as she'd finally overcome her bouts with seasickness, but didn't realize that the tide was so low and that the shoals would catch the bottom of the Rêve in a particular straightaway that she and Jack constantly went over. Their fine craft didn't stand much of a chance, even though Jack and Martha had desperately tried to get her free. They had to abandon her as the tide became even lower, rather alarmed to see how many holes there were in the bilge. Jack had never known such an overwhelming sorrow. Watching his brave little boat shrinking into the distance as he helped Martha swim back to shore had affected him in ways he didn't even know he could be hurt. There had been many a salty tear falling into the water. He'd learned so much from the Rêve over the past eight months… He knew more about sailing than he'd ever dreamed possible and was starting to learn all of the stars and their relation to one another in the night sky. Some day, he would become a real captain and ultimately the best pirate in the Caribbean.

"You were such a heroic captain, even then," Pearl said rather dreamily. "The way you saved your sister was very much commendable."

"Tha's good t' know." Jack smiled slightly, shaking his head. "I suppose it's a good deed, eh?"

Pearl nodded before clucking her tongue and wiggling her finger. The small scale reappeared, looking quite a bit heavier on the negative side than it had just a few moments before. Jack figured that was for all the bad things he'd done that they simply didn't have time to go over. A small white pebble was placed on the other side. Even though it was much smaller than the black rocks, it nearly balanced the scales.

"Tha's interesting," Jack commented, pointing towards the small white pebble. "Why's it like that?"

Pearl smiled, looking very enchanting as she glanced towards the pebble as well. "Well, that's the mystery, isn't it? Good counts for quite a lot more than evil does in the grand scheme of things. It's complicated. Good question, though."

"Why is it tha' when people say that they never actually answer the question?"

Pearl laughed softly and shrugged her shoulders. "No one has all the answers, Captain Sparrow. Not even me. I only know what I'm allowed to know. There are things you just have to discover for yourself."

Jack sighed. Maybe this was just one of the great mysteries that couldn't be revealed until after the final judgment… "Right. Thanks for that." He rolled his eyes slightly and fell silent.

Right now, he was trying not to wince as he made his way towards the Golden Lock, one of the seedier taverns on all of Saint Kitts, with a rather sullen expression on his face. He'd just been whipped by Richard for bringing home a drenched Martha. His sister seemed to be coming down with some sort of cold and couldn't stop coughing when they made it back to the house. It was a deep and hacking cough that worried Jack. He knew that Kaya had a poultice that would scare any cough away with its strong scent, but he was still a bit paranoid that she'd die as a result of his carelessness. He'd taken extraordinarily good care of Martha, saving her life and all, yet he'd still been whipped for it. It was getting very old. He was nearly sixteen and could get along very well in the world, even without the prospect of his father's wealth. On one of his solo voyages, he'd managed to steal several crates of spice from a ship making its way into the harbor. They hadn't noticed and he'd made a very nice profit.

"I hate that man," Jack grumbled as he stepped into the Golden Lock. It didn't help that Richard had dismissed Abigail about a month ago. Normally, Jack would spend time with her to regain control of his emotions, but his father had robbed him of her because Martha was to start finishing school next month and apparently didn't need a governess anymore. Jack hadn't been able to properly say goodbye to the lovely woman because she hadn't told him she was leaving. Maybe she didn't know that she was until the morning she'd left and found all of her things packed. Jack didn't know. It just hurt that she was gone. She'd been a lot more fun than all of Martha's previous governesses. When he thought about it, though, he realized that all of Martha's governesses had left in a similar abrupt manner. Richard probably tired of them and sent them packing as a result.

The Golden Lock was incredibly noisy. One could hear it several blocks away. That was mostly because the proprietor, Benjamin Horace, hired a local band to play for his customers as they downed their sorrows or enjoyed themselves with a mug of fine alcohol. A pretty little redhead would sing for the drunkards at five o'clock on Mondays through Thursdays and would give two performances on Friday and Saturday. During that time, the place was packed. She was an expert at making men stare. Horace, as a result, made quite a profit. He was rumored to sell the finest ale, whiskey, and beer in all the Greater Antilles. His rum, well, it was deemed perfect by the urine-soaked denizens of the fine port. All of his alcohol was only ever watered down after those consuming it were too drunk to notice. The mood inside the tavern this particular night was bordering on ugly. The diva hadn't been able to perform due to a sudden onset of laryngitis and the men in port at the time were of the brutish sort in the mood to drink horror stories out of their minds.

Jack inhaled the smell of sweat and alcohol and nearly choked on the tension electrifying the room. Everyone turned to stare at him for a moment, trying to see if he was a threat or not. Ultimately, they decided he wasn't and went back to their bickering and sullen reminiscing.

Jack smiled and nodded to a few of the strumpets staring at him before walking to the bartender. He was a surprisingly clean shaven young man with dark hair and eyes. "'Lo, mate, what can I get you?" the young man asked, once Jack was seated on a stool near the bar. He was the sort of man a drunkard could spill all his secrets to and feel safe about it in the morning. Something about him just seemed trustworthy, even if he did have a business of selling secrets on the side in hopes of doing something other than giving drinks to men barely able to spell their own names for the rest of his life.

Jack hadn't really expected it to be this easy. He'd heard stories about the Golden Lock, to be certain, and had even watched the drunkards make their way back home at night with a few of his friends, but none of them had dared venture inside, afraid that people would know they weren't really old enough to have a need to drink. Fortunately, Jack was blessed with the sort of looks that made his age rather difficult to discern already. He could be mistaken for someone much older than he actually was. "Rum," he answered in as steady a voice as he could muster. "I want rum." His voice cracked slightly and Jack very nearly turned a shade of red. He hated puberty.

Pearl suddenly started giggling. She looked over at the pirate captain and was unable to contain her mirth at all. "You…your voice…it…" she managed to sputter out, between laughs.

"Cracked," Jack finished, looking vaguely annoyed. "I know. Doesn' do that any more, thank you very much." He glared at her until she was able to stop laughing. The thought of the infamous Captain Jack Sparrow going about with a squeaky voice was just too hilarious to not pause and laugh about.

The bartender only quirked a brow slightly at Jack's voice, but refrained from making any comment. The lad was obviously in need of a drink, so he bent over, grabbed a filthy wooden mug, and filled it with the golden liquid distilled from sugar cane and sweetened with molasses. He handed it to the youth before holding out his palm in the universal gesture of payment.

Jack grasped the handle of the mug in one hand and fished out a few shillings with his other, tossing them into the bartender's hands, who immediately went back to his job as listener and consoler for the ill fortuned. Jack watched him for a moment before taking his first sip of what would soon become one of his closest friends. Though there was an incredible burning sensation as the concoction went down, the youth knew immediately that this was something necessary to quench a thirst he'd been feeling for the past few days as he thought of his lamentable circumstances. It was fortunate he enjoyed the drink; rum was a staple aboard any ship as it didn't spoil like water on long voyages. Soldiers in the British Navy were actually given a ration of rum for the day, called a "tot", because of how easily the water stored in barrels in the hold would develop a layer of mold that would render it quite undrinkable. Excited, he eagerly took a large swill of the amber liquid.

"Tha's good stuff," he commented to no one in particular with a broad grin, as he set the mug down on the wooden countertop and looked to his side. There was a man there with a grey and dirty beard staring at his own drink as though trying to will it to be overflowing again. His face was weathered by many years in the sun and he looked just about ready to keel over. He was a regular of the tavern, spending his pittance he earned from hours toiling in the hot Caribbean sun producing the sugar used to create the very drink he was enjoying. He couldn't really believe he hadn't tried to come in here before now to drink the lovely amber liquid.

An hour later, Jack was surprised as he lifted his mug up to take a drink and found it to be empty. He hadn't realized he'd had so much in so little time, as this was his second mug of the stuff. He felt a curious sensation: it was as though his head was no longer attached to his body. He was both happy and melancholy at the same instant. The throbbing from his back had dulled to a mere murmur and he really wanted to burn off some excess anger towards his father. The thought of partaking in a barroom brawl almost seemed to be a good one. He so very much wanted to punch his father, to knock him unconscious or to maybe give him a good whipping and see how he felt about it. Jack couldn't stand the man anymore.

Jack set the empty mug down and turned, intending to go for a walk now that the heat of the day was just a memory, when he practically ran into a man with grey eyes and arms as thick across as a yardarm on a brigantine. He had to have been at least a head taller than the youth. "Can I trouble ye fer a piece o' eight?" he asked, the stench of alcohol overpoweringly strong as a slight smirk spread across his face and he revealed blackened teeth. He recognized Jack, of course, as son of the richest man in the area and was quite eager to take advantage of a little of that spending money.

"I remember him being a bit uglier," Jack remarked before walking around the brute his younger self was facing. He paused, pulling a face as he found a mole with large black hairs growing out of it on the side of the man's face, above one of his chins. "Tha's jus' not right," he commented, sticking his tongue out and stepping away.

"I can't imagine him looking any worse." Pearl shivered slightly. The man was very furry and looked as though he hadn't bathed in years.

"Oh…I can," Jack said with a shrug and a shiver of his own. "Ye know…I think 'e was the overseer at the Tekk plantation."

Pearl looked over at Jack quizzically for a moment, obviously not sure why he'd thrown that tidbit in, but the man seemed lost between the past and the present and the scene shortly started up again.

Jack shook his head, a look of supreme disgust in his dark eyes as he stepped away from the odor. "I don' happen t' have any spare ones on me, mate," he said, his voice falsely apologetic. "Per'aps some other fine gentleman 'ere-"

"Listen, pup, I wan' yer money," the man said nastily, reaching and grabbing the collar of Jack's shirt with his fat fingers. "An' if'n you know wha's good fer ya, you'll give it 'ere." He pulled Jack off his feet so that he was eye level. "Understand?"

Jack smiled very slightly. "Ye know, mate, I jus' so happen t' be in a givin' mood," he said, quickly, as though he had every intention of handing out free money. His smile broadened as the man set him back down on the ground. Jack then reached towards his effects, where a small bag full of coins was tied to his belt. As he reached for the bag, his other hand reached for a small dagger he carried around with him. "I'm in the mood t' give you somethin' you don't expect."

"An' what would tha' be?" the man asked, greed in his eyes as he hungrily watched the hand Jack wanted him to watch.

Jack laughed slightly and then suddenly slashed at his assailant's face. The blade dug deeply into the man's cheek, causing him to scream in agony and flail his arms about, nearly knocking the youth over. "That."

The man's cries stopped and were replaced by grunts of fury as his face reddened like ripening berries. He pummeled Jack a few times before a slightly more maneuvering part of his mind told him to go for something that could cause more damage. He pulled his cutlass from a scabbard hanging from his mammoth hips. "I'm goin' t' slice you up, pup," he said, threateningly, as he jumped towards Jack and slashed his arm.

Jack frowned at the sudden explosion of pain as scarlet stained his shirt, his dark eyes probing any possible part of the situation he could use to his advantage. The only weapon he carried about was the dagger, as it could be useful in his adventures about the town. There was an unconscious man a few feet away that had a sword in plain sight, so Jack rather lithely made his way to it and pulled it out, brandishing it threateningly towards his foe. "I've 'ad a miserable day, mate, like t' see you succeed." Jack smirked slightly, thrusting his blade towards his gigantic foe like a snake attacking its next victim.

The swords clashed together with a mighty clang that made the band stop playing as all eyes fell on what was transpiring. In a place such as the Golden Lock, one fight inevitably led to another, so several more spats started a wildfire and soon the whole place was one mess of testosterone, drunkenness, and general lawlessness as grudges were able to be settled in rather barbaric ways. Jack did not notice, so intent was he on not having his face chopped off by the brute's blade that it seemed there was no one else in the world. He'd often wondered what it would be like, to get into a fight with someone in a way other than verbal, and now he knew bloodlust. He wanted to see blood dripping from every pore of the man who'd tried to rob him because that would somehow make the world right.

The large man certainly had advantages in sheer strength and ability to use a sword, but he by no means matched Jack in agility. As he was larger, it took longer for signals from his brain to travel all the way down to his arms and legs to get his muscles to move than it did for Jack. The lad was picking up the skill rather quickly, as well, and was doing quite a good job at delaying his forthcoming death. Large beads of sweat were on the man's forehead, accompanied by wet spots near the neck of his shirt and armpits as well. He was fast becoming exhausted as the conflict wore on, from years of drinking and from a day of hard labor. If Jack hadn't pricked his pride so badly, he probably would've given up by now and claimed it wasn't worth his time or effort.

Jack was starting to tire as well. His back was screaming with every move he made. It didn't help the fresh wounds to have salty sweat pouring over them and the back of his shirt was no longer the crisp white linen his father had him change into earlier this evening. His head was throbbing, there seemed to be something screaming at him to just end it all, and it was starting to get rather hard to hold his sword. He really wasn't sure how much more he could handle as he continued to get bruised and cut.

As fortune would have it, the brute was in the process of trying to slice Jack in half to end it all when he was hit in the back of the head by a bottle someone had flung intending to hit someone else for cheating at a game of cards. It took him a moment to register what had happened. He dropped the sword and fell face first on top of Jack, who had been preparing to parry the next blow.

They fell down to the floor and Jack soon found he could scarcely breathe with the tremendous weight suddenly on his chest. Gasping and finding no familiar gush or even trickle of something so essential to life, the youth started to panic, releasing his hold on the sword he'd borrowed and trying with all his strength to move the mass of flesh trying to suffocate him. It moved slightly, but he found that he was able to fill his lungs once more and no longer saw his life flash before his eyes.

Grinning with relief, he somehow managed to get the blob off his chest and slid out the rest of the way, rather surprised to see himself covered in blood. Puzzled when he saw no apparent source for so much of it, he turned the massive body over and discovered that he'd skewered the man right through his belly. The sword was now sticking straight up into the air. There was blood all over and the man was now very obviously a corpse.

Horrified, Jack stumbled backwards, his boot slipping on some of the blood as he did so. He very nearly fell face first into the dark pool, but managed to catch himself with his hands before doing so. He struggled back onto his feet and staggered away from the body, staring at his hands. He'd just killed a man.

Aghast at the sudden realization coming through the haze that was his mind, Jack started towards the door, craving fresh air and some water to clean his hands with. The mood in the tavern had changed quite suddenly again and Jack could've sworn they were all staring at him as he rushed out of the door. Brawls ended this way, of course, but it was still very serious to kill a man. Jack had done so in front of dozens of witnesses. If he was found and caught, he would be put in jail and likely hung for the crime. The authorities were probably on their way, as well, to end the disturbance at the noisy place.

Alarmed as that hit him like a barrel full of bricks from a great height, the young man leaned against the wall of the tavern for a brief moment before fleeing into the night. The only thing that was running through his mind was that he needed to get out of here and he needed to go somewhere safe and he needed some money or help. The only place to get that was back at home.

"There was so much blood," Jack said, staring at his hands for a moment before looking at Pearl. "I'd never realized a man could bleed that much."

Pearl smiled sympathetically. "You were young, Jack. I know how much they bleed…I've had a lot of blood stain my decks over the years." She sighed softly, gently putting her hand on his shoulder.

Jack smiled slightly, but didn't say anything. Perhaps it still bothered him, what he'd done.

Shaking her head, Pearl clucked her tongue and wiggled her finger. The scale appeared, along with a very big black rock. "I'm sorry Jack, but…you just killed a man," she said softly.

Jack looked at the scale as it tipped the other direction. "I didn't mean to kill him," he blurted out. "It…happened."

Pearl nodded slightly. "I know, Jack, I know," she affirmed. "Unfortunately…you did kill him. This isn't something that I can overlook." She sounded very apologetic, but Jack could've sworn he saw the scale move the other direction a bit. The scene soon quickly started up again.

It didn't take long for him to get inside the Smith household, though he had paled and was shaking all over. His mind was reeling from what he'd done and all the possible implications of it and his body seemed to be acting mostly from pure instinct. He found himself in Richard's study without much thought at all.

The man was sitting in one of the armchairs, smoking a pipe and perusing a book as he waited for sleep to come. It was always difficult for him to sleep after he punished his son, though he couldn't figure why. He looked up when he heard footsteps, assuming it would be Rosalyn complaining about something or another. He was startled when he saw Jack and stood, dropping the book. "What happened?" he asked, staring at all the blood on Jack's hands and clothes.

"Father…I just killed a man," Jack said in a voice very much unlike his own. "Stabbed him, now he's dead. In the Golden Lock. I need help. They all saw me do it. So much blood…" He looked down at his hands, rubbing them together in an attempt to clean them off.

"Are you hurt, John?" Richard asked sharply, stepping towards his son.

"Not really." Jack continued to rub his hands together as he laughed a very high pitched and unnatural laugh. "I stuck him good. But now he's dead." He looked at Richard anxiously. "They all saw me do it. They'll tell and then I'll be hung."

Richard's eyes narrowed as he realized Jack was right. This changed absolutely everything… "We have to get you out of here," he said firmly, a plan already formulating as to how to solve this mess. "At least, for a while. You have always been interested in sailing…how does India sound? I've a few connections with the Company." Richard continued on about this and that, but Jack couldn't hear anything but the odd ringing in his ears. He'd just killed a man in cold blood and didn't particularly feel any remorse about it. Something about that was horribly wrong.

"You know, I kept the piece of eight he was asking me for," Jack remarked almost numbly a moment later. "Later started wearing it in me hair, to remind me. The price he put on his own life, really…" Jack sighed slightly, his hand moving to a small piece of metal tied at the end of one of his numerous braids. "It was to remind me tha' I shouldn't want to do that again, e'en if things was absolutely miserable for me like they were."

Pearl nodded, not entirely sure what to say. "It was nice of your father to help," she finally commented.

Jack shrugged and shook his head. "Not really. Bu', I imagine we'll find out about that whole sordid affair an' the consequences thereof in jus' a moment, eh?"