'Pirates of the Caribbean' belongs to Disney.
xxx
Jack hummed snatches of tune as he snapped dead boughs from the trees, those being the only dry timbers in this low forest. The Hebrides were pretty islands, albeit thoroughly damp. With every step his toes sank deep into wet moss- he found that infinitely preferable to tiled concrete.
The ex-pirate was reaching for a glistening gray branch, protruding from around a conifer, when he realized it was actually a deer-antler in velvet. A step to the side confirmed it was, in fact, still attached to the deer; a shaggy reddish stag. The animal studied him calmly, through liquid eyes as brown as his own, it's jaw moving horizontally to munch a leafy twig.
Sparrow raised a hand to tip an imaginary hat brim. "Hello, beastie."
The animal shook it's ears in an amiable manner, snorting politely. Having delivered that salutation, the stag turned and strode regally away, quickly vanishing among evergreen boughs.
Sparrow resumed harvesting firewood until he had an ample double arm load. He then collected three straightish green sticks, before gathering it all up and retraced his path to the beach.
Emerging from the forest eves, he paused to take in the seaside view. It was dusk; the mostly-cloudy sky had taken on a bronze tone, bestowing a metallic glitter on the waters below. A round mottled head broke the water's surface- a seal, regarding Jack in a friendly manner.
To his right came the clattering of a little brook, mostly hidden among chunky rocks. Several unseen birds called melodic greetings over the glowing-green strip of seaside vegetation. A gentle breeze caressed his face, bearing a fragrant offering of scents: salt spray, pine needles, a sweet whiff of wildflowers.
It seemed everything in or near the ocean was conveying it's gladness at seeing him free again.
Smiling, Jack continued to the campsite, on the gravel-strewn bank near the brook's intersection with the sea. Meredith was there, bending to remove something from their beached skiff. A meter-wide circle had been cleared on the sandy ground, outlined with stones. Sparrow set the firewood down beside this.
Mare approached with her own load: bagged foodstuffs, three ponchos to sit on, a packet of waxed matches and a red Swiss Army knife. She gave the sizable stack of branches an approving nod. "That's probably all we'll need."
The two squatted to start breaking up the fuel and arranging it in the circle's center. Small twigs for kindling made the base, with medium twigs atop those. The largest pieces were stacked to one side, to be added once the kindling was ablaze.
Jack noted in passing, it'd been a while since he'd kept company with a (non-aged) wench whom he was willing, and able, to regard as simply a friend. 'Twas a relaxing change.
They both grinned at the sounds of enthusiastic splashing beyond the stream side boulders. That was where the brook widened into a rocky basin, suitable for bathing. Sparrow had made use of it earlier, Mare had gone in second, now James was taking his turn.
"He must've had success shaving with the scalpels," Mare remarked. Both his friends had noted Norrington's glum mood earlier; it was good to hear him feeling better.
"No surprise it improved his disposition. We've been deprived of proper grooming facilities fer a soreful long time." Jack's smile drooped. "That whole dismal experience would've been exponentially worse, if I'd had to endure it on my onesies. I've considered telling him I'm glad he was there too. But I thought that might sound..."
"Go ahead and tell him- he'll know what you mean! It'll gratify him to know he could help," Mare urged. "James is an uncommonly altruistic man. I sensed that the first time I ever saw him, at the helm of the Lady Buccaneer. He was standing so straight in that uniform and wig, looking so... upright. A person you could entrust with your very soul."
Jack's mouth twitched. / Ol' Norrington did have that one sizable lapse, deliverin' the heart to Beckett. Though, in his defense, James had no idea what direful use His Shortness was plannin' ta put it to. An' it should count fer somethin' that James gave his all in penance. /
"Fer the most part, yes. A most trustworthy gent. 'Bit different from yer previous fiancé, I take it?"
"The very antithesis. That insidious bastard was... I don't want to get started on it." Mare cracked a few twigs with special ferocity, though she positioned them with her usual care. "That's enough kindling to light. Could I see those green sticks?"
As he handed them over, Jack remarked, "We're agreed that James Norrington is an admirable bloke. You may've also discerned he's the marryin' kind."
Mare, sharpening the end of a stick with the Swiss knife, gave him an alert but unoffended glance. "I have indeed discerned that."
"What he might not've made as clear, but what you should know, is that he's also yearnin' ta be a father."
Her expression twisted. "So I should ready myself to punch out a lot of kids?"
"No, luv. I'm bringin' it up because, if you've no willingness to take on parenthood, 'twould be a courtesy to let him know that now."
"While he still has time to look elsewhere."
"Or ta reconsider what he really wants most."
Her glare softened. Setting the completed skewer aside, she got to work on a second stick. "I suppose that is fair. 'No willingness' is an overstatement; I just don't want to feel like I'm being pressured into it. I'd want to be certain I was ready to give proper attention to a child." She glanced in the direction of the bathing area. "And since I've absolutely no desire to be a single mother, I'd have to be dead sure the father was a man who took his responsibilities seriously. Admittedly, I foresee no problems of that sort with James."
"We're of one opinion there, lass."
Mare examined the second skewer's point. "I will think about it. And I promise I'll straightforward with him."
"'Tis what he'd want, even if you can't give him the answer he'd prefer." Sparrow drew his knees against his chest. "The man's had his heart rent in two before, by a wench who weren't entirely honest with him. 'Twould hardly be my first choice ta see him go through that again."
"I have gotten the impression he's been hurt- he's so guarded at times. Did he... that is, is there anything I should know about it?"
"This occurred back in his natural time. James gave his devotion away prematurely, to a lass who weren't really right for him. Theer's somethin' else you must understand about our Mr. Norrington; overall he's uncommonly sharp, but he's got a blind spot when it comes ta matters of the heart. 'Tis a common failing!
"Still, I doubt he'd want you ta think badly of Liz... Elizabeth. They'd forgiven each other's trespasses by the time they parted. He understood she'd not been deliberately cruel- jus' thought she had ta keep a few things from him, to protect the whelp she did love. Liz could be bloody ruthless that way."
Mare paused in her whittling, regarding him keenly. "I take it she did something to you, too."
"She did. An' theer's a matter I don't want to get started on." Jack mirrored her look. "Tell me, Ms Chaucer, are you always able ta deduce so much more 'en what's been said plain?"
"Not always, but I seem to be a lot better than average at it. That 'special perception' played a role in the series of events which necessitated my relocation. But as I said, now's not the best time to relate it."
Sparrow elected to lighten the mood. "I know an admirable way ta do that, luv. When we reach Ullapool, we should locate some raucously cheerful tavern, order generous rounds of our favorite beverages, an' spill our stories in full."
Mare's lips quirked. "I'm amenable to doing so. But what about James? He's mentioned he's had some previous problems with alcoholism."
"Aye. He did fer a spell." Jack half-scowled, recalling the 'rumpot deckhand.' "Actually, he seems able ta keep it under control so long as he has a sense of purpose. 'Tis the elixir of life fer him."
"I've noticed that, also." Mare put down the completed third skewer, extracted a match from the tube, started picking the wax off. "It's why he's worked so hard, training for the Coast Guard. I've seen for myself how much that means to him. He'd endure any penalty for lateness- reduced rank, docked pay, public reprimand, whatever- before he'd give it up."
Jack looked away, eyeing the dimming sea. Mare scraped the match against a rock, cupped her hand to light the kindling.
"Think about this carefully, Jack: it might not be necessary for both you and James to disappear. What you might do instead, is slip away after we reach port. If James can honestly report the kidnappers were primarily interested in you, and that he doesn't know your current whereabouts, the questioning might stop there. He could resume his life where he left off, leaving you safe from those undesirable interrogations."
"Go underground on my own," Jack murmured, staring as the twigs caught fire. He would very much prefer to have Norrington's companionship in exile, but if it wasn't essential, it would be selfish to insist on it. Sparrow massaged his temples- had he learned to be a good enough friend, to give a friend up? 'If you love someone, set them free...'
"This won't mean you'll never see each other again," Mare assured. "You can manage to pay James a visit now and then, I'm sure. I'll assist with that, any way I'm able."
/ An' she'll probably be in a position to do so. / Jack was certain it was just a matter of time now, before James popped the question. Sparrow focused on adding larger sticks to the blaze, not wanting to think that far into the future.
Norrington chose that moment to reappear. The navyman- shaved, shampooed, and fully dressed- was still drying his hair with a small towel. Obviously feeling a lot better.
"I see the fire's ready- I hope the skewers are too! I haven't felt this hungry in years!"
James' happy mood was contagious. The three set to roasting strips of jerky; their only food items which were amenable to being impaled on sticks. But those were sufficient, since everything else tasted better accompanied by hot meat. Jack separated some M&Ms from the trail mix, let them melt atop a freshly barbecued jerky strip, and proclaimed the result to be delicious. James, after risking a taste, declared himself in agreement. Mare declined to offer a third opinion.
It was much easier to feel optimistic after the meal, watching the soft-edged gloaming dim the colors of the beautiful beach. / The important thing is we both got away, well an' whole. We'll find some satisfactory way ta deal w' the rest, / Jack resolved.
As night closed in, the three remained beside the fire, telling amusing anecdotes and teaching each other favorite songs. With some abruptness, James realized Mare was leaning against him, and his arm was encircling her shoulders. It had happened so naturally he'd barely noticed.
They all knew the firelight might attract a patrol boat, to inform them they couldn't camp in a nature preserve. No one was terribly disappointed when this failed to happen.
The fire gradually waned, letting the chill creep in. James decreed the sleeping arrangements: Meredith would use the beached skiff, while he and Jack bedded down under canvas on the beach. Sparrow teasingly protested this would make Mare jealous (of whom, he didn't specify.)
The embers gradually died as they all settled down, far more comfortably than the previous night. The overcast thinned a bit, letting a few stars peek through.
Jack asserted, the sky was also welcoming them back to the outside world.
xx
At sunrise the three packed up and disembarked, through a fog that persisted through midmorning. Mare navigated while James and Jack studied the map, picking a place to get off before Mare returned the skiff. As James pointed out, their aristocratic captors must have determined by now that their prisoners had escaped the island- obviously with outside aid. They could well be making phone calls to the mainland, inquiring about boats recently leased to outsiders. It would be prudent for Mare to show up at the Ullapool marina with no more people than she'd left with.
But it all threatened to become academic, when their outboard motor started to make noises which Jack likened to "a race horse with a wooden leg." Within an hour, both motor and skiff came to a halt. Three things were soon established: that none of them had any special expertise at this kind of repair, that the cell phone batteries hadn't recovered from their dunking, and that Mare, given adequate provocation, could curse as vividly as any pirate.
They dragged the motor into the helm bench, where James set to tinkering with it, hoping his studies of full-sized ship engines had some application here. Mare, who knew more about higher-tech devices, hovered to assist him as needed. Sparrow, who'd never had much affinity for machinery of any sort, retreated to the bow. He straddled the bench there, staring discontentedly into the mist... until he suddenly recoiled, gaping westward with alarm.
"Mates, if you can't fix that thing soon, we'd better set to rowing. There's a storm headin' this way!"
Mare eyed the calm, foggy water with skepticism. But Norrington had witnessed Jack's weather sense on previous journeys.
"Meredith, this is one ability of Jack's you can trust even if you don't understand it. He can detect the approach of a shark or dolphin before there's any visible sign. He can smell sea water a mile away and through a stone wall. And he always knows when a storm's approaching."
James redoubled his efforts to get some response from the treacherous outboard. The clanging of his manipulations disguised the new sound until it was quite close.
Mare heard it first. "James, stop! Listen to that!"
It was the chugging of another boat motor, approaching through the fog. The three stranded seafarers cut eyes, revealing mixed feelings. Undesirable as recapture was, it might be more survivable than facing a squall in the tiny skiff.
"Be ready for anything," Norrington instructed, as the newcomer gradually solidified in the mist. It appeared to be a fishing boat, with a coiled trawl net. Maybe twenty-five feet in length, faded blue in color. No crew visible other than the lone figure in the pilot house.
They watched, with both hope and trepidation, as the vessel drew near. James experienced a moment of déjà vu, as the pilot cut the engine and steered alongside. They could now read the name on the weathered bow; the Weena.
The skipper- a short man in a rumpled yellow mackintosh- stepped from the helm to the starboard railing, regarding them mildly.
"Hello, you lot." They all recognized that voice.
Jack answered first. "Hello, Mr. Murphy. Long time no see."
TBC...