Chance Encounter V: Fountain of Youth
Disclaimer: I don't own anything that you recognize; I'm just borrowing them without permission but with every intention of returning them once I'm done.
Chapter 10: Deception
The plan sounded simple, but it was really quite difficult to execute. "Well, it's just the overall idea," said William when Jack pointed out everything that was wrong with his plan. He knew he sounded a bit defensive, like a petulant child being told that perhaps his suggestion was not the best one, and he almost winced at his own tone. It wasn't that he was not used to rebuttal; indeed, Norrington did it all the time. However, being rebutted by someone who looked like Sparrow took some getting used to. He even had a hard time liking Jack simply because of the way he looked. It wasn't fair of him, he knew, but it wasn't something that could be helped. He was trying.
"Hey, you didn't elaborate, mate," said Jack. "How was I supposed to know?"
"Peace," said the medieval French baron. William wasn't sure what to make of him, but he seemed to be a decent sort. Legolas and Will, he liked, and he was intimidated by Elizabeth. Paris, the alleged Prince of Troy, was still a bit of an enigma, and Achilles was terrifying. They were a strange bunch, these men...and this elf and dwarf. He wasn't even sure how they could tolerate one another, let alone be friends, but here they were, almost like brothers despite having been born in completely different worlds. Of course, all of this rested on the assumption that their tale was true, but William believed them, against all good judgement. "All plans have flaws."
"Not mine," said Jack.
"You don't have plans," retorted Balian. "You simply make things up as you go along!"
"Only most of the time! Not always!"
"Ye be a hypocrite, Jack Sparra," said a smirking Barbossa. Here was another mystery. Barbossa and Jack obviously did not like each other, and yet they had not gone at each other's throats yet. "Ye be the one who makes things up as ye go along, and yet ye be criticizin' someone's plan!"
"How curious." James Sparrow sat on the wide leather chair behind the heavy ornate desk of mahogany. He was resting his elbows on the desk top with his fingertips touching, the very image of a man who had complete confidence in his own capabilities. He tapped his fingertips together and Jonathan flinched; what was he thinking? More importantly, would he like what Sparrow was thinking about? He got the distinct feeling that he was standing in front of his father, too afraid to even look up. "You say that this man, Jack Sparrow, looks exactly like me and is your cousin?"
"Yes sir," said Jonathan, fighting to keep the tremor out of his voice. Cutler would not have batted an eyelid in this situation and Jack would have danced out of here with a bottle of rum in one hand and a trinket —courtesy of this Sparrow— in the other. He could hear his father's voice inside his head again, comparing him to Cutler, and even to their bastard cousin! God, it had been humiliating. He had always come up short in his father's eyes. Jack and Cutler could always do everything better than he could. The old man had probably wished that Jack had been his son instead of Jonathan. He'd had more than enough of Jack Sparrow!
"You've had enough of Jack Sparrow, you say?" asked James. That was when Jonathan realized that he had uttered that last thought out loud. Cold sweat beaded on his brow. Had James Sparrow taken offense to that?
"Forgive me, milord," he said. Yes, his voice was shaking and he did not particularly care. "I meant the other Jack Sparrow."
"Oh, I have not been 'Jack' Sparrow for quite some time, Jonathan," said Sparrow. "And how fortuitous it is that you have had enough of this Jack Sparrow, for I have also had enough of him."
"You know of my cousin, sir?" asked Jonathan. Had Jack already made a name for himself here, despite everything being upside down and inside out?
"It's only a guess," said Sparrow, "but I believe that he impersonated me just the other night and helped a wanted fugitive to escape. Perhaps you have heard of one William Turner?" He looked at Jonathan expectantly with piercing dark eyes that seemed to see everything, even down to the very last secret inside Jonathan's head. This was a test. He was sure of it.
"Is he a friend or an enemy?" asked Jonathan cautiously, risking a glance up at the other man's face, searching for any clue that might betray his opinion of Turner and thus help Jonathan prepare for his answers. James Sparrow's expression remained one of passive interest and smug calm. Nothing could be discerned.
"You tell me, Jonathan," said James. Jonathan hesitated, but only for a moment. Cutler and Jack had been successes because they had been willing to take risks. Perhaps it was time for him to learn from them.
"I loathe him," he spat. "If there is one man in the world I loathe as much as I do my cousin, then it's Turner."
"We are of an accord, then, Jonathan Beckett," said Sparrow. He rose from his seat the way a king would rise from his throne. It occurred to Jonathan that Sparrow was king in all but name. He certainly behaved as if he were a sovereign in his own right. It would definitely be an advantage to have such a man on his side, although, come to think of it, a man like Sparrow was on no one's side save for his own.
Jack tugged at the horrific lacy collar. It was scratching his neck and strangling him at the same time. He had almost been hanged once; this did not feel so different.
"Stop fidgeting!" said Elizabeth. "You're pulling the collar out of shape!"
"It ain't me fault that it's made fer a smaller man!" said Jack. He grimaced as he regarded his reflection in the grimy mirror that had a crack down the middle. He looked awful, like some prim and pompous English gentleman with no money to his name and trying to pass off for someone well off. "You've already trimmed me beard and me hair! What else do you want to do to me?!"
"Teeth," said Elizabeth. "They need to be cleaned."
"Wot on earth are you on about, Lizzie? Had too much of the Whelp's absinthe? Me teeth are just fine, savvy?"
"Well, you ain't gettin' no kisses from me if you don't clean 'em, Jack Sparra," said Anamaria, coming in with a tray. On it were a few birch twigs that had been stripped of their bark, and chalk, as well as a cup of water.
"Really, Ana?" asked Jack in a pained expression. "If you really want me to clean me teeth, jus' give me some of the Whelp's absinthe! I can rinse me mouth wif that, what say ye, eh?"
"Will does not have any absinthe," said Will, coming in. He took one look at his friend and then burst out into laughter, wheezing for breath and clutching his stomach as he doubled over. "My God, Jack! If only the ladies of Minas Tirith could see you now!"
"They already liked me well enough without the moth-eaten ruffles!"
"Yes, but now they will flock to you like moths to a flame," said Elizabeth as she batted Jack's hands away from his collar. "I pity the poor souls."
Jack glared at the reflection of himself and the laughing Will in the mirror. "Don't laugh so quickly yet, Whelp. Wait till she dresses you up."
"I don't need to be dressed up," said Will smugly. "William wears neither lace nor ruffles. In fact, the only thing I have had to do was lose the bandanna."
"But he does wear tight hose," said another voice from the doorway. They turned to look at the other 'William'. Balian looked so much younger than they had ever remembered seeing him. He had finally submitted to the razor and allowed them to shave away much of his beard, which he had worn with the same pride as the Muslims wore their beards. His unruly hair, which usually went uncombed and untamed, had been tied back. The scar stood out starkly, giving him a decidedly roguish air. Jack decided that out of all of them, he had the worst costume, and thought about getting rid of the collar as soon as he was out of Elizabeth's reach.
"The hose is very... distracting," said Elizabeth, looking him up and down, clearly impressed with the transformation.
"I'll say," said Anamaria. "Ah, cheer up, Balian. You are goin' ta make the ladies of Port Saint James swoon."
William could not help but feel a pang of longing as Will kissed Elizabeth farewell, and in front of everyone too! Clearly, they were not shy about their relationship. He envied Will; he really did. He envied Will; he really did. In another life —Will's life— William Turner had married Miss Elizabeth Swann and was raising a family with her. He hadn't known them for long, but already, he had heard about Willie Turner and the beautiful little Jane, who, much to her mother's regret, was showing the tendencies of becoming a proper lady instead of a pirate princess or something rather. Whereas, in his reality, Miss Swann had chosen to remain a lady and married Lord James Sparrow, as her father had wished. How could there be two such different realities? What had changed? As far as he knew, he and Will had more or less the same childhood as a blacksmith's apprentice. Will's father had also been a pirate; the only difference was that he was still alive.
What would he give to trade lives with Will? He was also often hunted, yes, but he had many friends to help him, and no one expected him to right all the wrongs in the world. He might have had his heart cut out, but he'd gotten that back, hadn't he? He pushed aside these pointless thoughts. It wasn't fair of him to begrudge the other man his happiness. A real man took what fate threw at him and made the best of it, and William intended to somehow find happiness in the end.
"Stay safe," Elizabeth murmured to Will as she cupped his face with the strong hand of a woman who was accustomed to doing her own work.
"I will," said Will.
"I wish you'd let me come with you," she said.
"I would, but Sparrow would notice something odd if he saw you with me. His wife, after all, does have your face," said Will. "Don't worry. I have Barbossa with me."
"Is that supposed to make me feel better? Because I really don't feel any better."
Barbossa, who was standing to one side impatiently, rolled his eyes and began to polish a green apple on his jacket, which appeared to be dirtier than the apple itself. "I thank ye fer yer vote o' confidence, Mrs. Turner," said Barbossa.
"I'm sorry, Captain Barbossa, but you haven't been particularly interested in Will's safety in the past."
"Don't worry, Elizabeth," said Will. "I'm sure Captain Barbossa has learned from his mistakes and become a better man. You wouldn't have let him be Willie's godfather otherwise, would you?"
"I didn't exactly have a lot of options back then," said Elizabeth. "Fine. Go, but if you die, by God, I'll kill you myself!"
Will peered at Port Saint James through his spyglass. It was quiet and calm; perhaps just a little too quiet for his liking. After all, the port had just been raided a few nights ago and it hadn't exactly been a tidy little raid. In fact, from what he could remember of it, it had been rather ugly. However, he could only see a few naval ships, and they weren't doing anything. He didn't know what it meant, but it simply wasn't normal. What about heightened security? Was Sparrow so certain that he could deal with any future attacks that he had not bothered?
No matter. Will wasn't looking to get inside the fort; that was up to Jack and Balian to put on a convincing show later. Right now, he needed to get someone out of there. "Admiral Turner," said Norrington. It was odd, having Norrington address him by his title. Not so long ago, he had been the one calling Norrington 'Commodore'. Then again, that was a different Norrington. "Do we attack?"
"No," said Will. "We wait until nightfall, just like a real raid. If we do not behave as if we mean to raze the port, Sparrow will grow suspicious, and I don't want that."
"Very good, Admiral," said Norrington.
"You know, you don't have to call me Admiral," said Will. "I'm not an Admiral here, technically."
"It's to differentiate between you and Captain Turner," said Norrington. "And since you are leading us, it would not be right to call you by your Christian name, particularly not a shortened form. I'm a naval man, Admiral. Old habits are hard to be rid of, especially since there is no reason to get rid of them. Respect is important."
"Perhaps you're not as different from the other James Norrington, then," said Will, partly to himself and partly to his, or rather, William's, First Mate. "He was also a stickler for protocol, which is perhaps he is such a valued crew member on the Dutchman now."
"I have another self out there? On the Flying Dutchman?" Norrington sounded as if he didn't know how to react. Who could blame him? It was beyond weird, this whole business of having two of everyone.
Night rolled in silently, with no disturbance. The only noise came from the waves lapping against the sides of the ship, and the occasional cough or two from the men. Still, William waited until the alien stars were a little brighter in the sky. The full moon was beginning to wane, but it still gave more than enough light to see by. No one had lit the lanterns. To do so would be to give away their position, and pirates who were intent on raiding a port would never do that. Will sailed the ship closer to the shore. The Buccaneer sliced through the water, perhaps not as cleanly or quickly as the Black Pearl would have, but it was certainly not a poor vessel. Better than Jack's dinghy, at any rate.
Mist had gathered over the surface of the sea near the shore, forming a broiling shifting blanket of paleness. Will was glad, for it shielded them from the sentries on the walls of the fort until they were within firing range. He motioned to the men, who were ready. The first boom shattered the silence of the night. Smoke curled up from the cannon's mouth, like a man breathing out after having taken a draught from his pipe. The cannon cut through the night air, the shrill whistle fading away until Will heard a dull thud in the distance. He was too far away to hear the shouts of the men, but no doubt they will be shouting.
"Closer!" he cried.
"Admiral, that's dangerous!" shouted Norrington.
"Pretend this is a real raid, gentlemen! And call me Captain from now on; you don't want anyone to overhear you."
"Aye aye!" called Fisher. "It always felt a bit funny callin' you Admiral anyway, 'specially since y'only got one ship, and it ain't yours."
James had expected Turner to be back, but so soon? That was...uncharacteristic of him. Too risky. Turner was not a man who took a great many risks, preferring security over a quick victory. That was the reason why they were locked in this uneasy stalemate, and had been for so long. Was Turner as sick of that stalemate as he was? Perhaps, after all these years, he finally wanted a resolution. Well, unfortunately for him, it wasn't going to be a resolution that would be very beneficial to him. James Sparrow never lost at anything anymore. He had lost once, and that was more than enough.
And whilst it had surprised him that Turner would attack so soon after the previous failed raid, James was never disadvantaged by the element of surprise. Everything was already prepared; he had only had to say the word. It would have been easy to set Mercer on Turner, but what would be the amusement in that? He wanted to be there when his greatest adversary fell.
He hoped that they were coming out to meet him. Dammit, he needed Sparrow to come out, or everything would go to pot! He told the crew to fire another volley, and another. As the distant thuds reached his ears, he felt a pang of guilt; surely the townspeople did not deserve this, but what could he do? They needed to know what secret James Sparrow was harbouring, in case it threatened the lives of more people. 'That doesn't make it right,' said an irritating voice inside his head. Here they were, attacking someone simply because there was the threat of a threat. Come to think of it, it was a little ridiculous, but there was no turning back now. Besides, he reasoned, James Sparrow wasn't just a threat of a threat. He was very threatening. If someone didn't get rid of him, he would raze all of Harbour Island to the ground. He had made his intentions very clear.
"Ad—Captain! They're coming out! Should we turn around?" The men's excitement was palpable. Sparrow was falling for their plan, as unlikely as it sounded! It would be a first; usually, they were the ones falling for Sparrow's plans.
"Wait a while longer!" shouted Will. "Or else he'll be suspicious!"
"We can't win if we engage him in a battle, Captain!" shouted Norrington. "He has too many ships!"
"We only have to put up some sort of fight, and then we can turn!" It was a huge risk, but it was the only way to convince Sparrow that he really was here to raid the town, and not just divert his attention from things of more importance. There was a high whistle, and then fire exploded as a cannon ball struck the Buccaneer, dangerously close to where Will was. He was thrown back by the power of the blast. Someone helped him up.
"Captain Turner, we have to turn back now, or it will be too late!" cried Norrington. With his ears still ringing from the blast, Will nodded.
"Go!" he said. They couldn't return to Harbour Island just yet. Sparrow didn't know where it was, and to lead him there would be to doom everyone living there. The plan had been for them to lose Sparrow's ships along a series of shoals about thirty miles west of Harbour Island, extending from this place's version of Tortuga —which was also called Tortuga, but was actually not a haven of depravity— and then sail back after having taken a huge detour. The Buccaneer was a faster ship than all of Sparrow's. At least, Will hoped that was true.
They looked ridiculous. They all looked ridiculous. No one would mistake a pirate vessel —albeit William's second finest— for a naval ship, surely. Jack could tell the differences with his eyes closed. However, no one seemed to notice that this Lord Sparrow could not ride very well, or that the redcoats were actually a bunch of pirates dressed up in stolen uniforms that sometimes did not fit quite right. No; they were all too busy shouting abuse at 'William Turner'.
Jack decided that there were worse fates than having to wear scratchy lacy collars, such as having rotten vegetables thrown at oneself. Poor Balian; somehow, he always ended up having the worst tasks, not that Jack would ever think of alleviating his suffering by swapping places with him. It wouldn't work anyway. Besides, he had volunteered for the task. He could have let Paris take it, not that Paris would have been stupid enough to do it. It was a universal truth that all honourable men had something wrong with their heads.
There was also a lot of cheering for Jack, although it was really meant for James Sparrow. Jack didn't mind that either. There was something to be said about the satisfaction of knowing that he had fooled not one person, or even a dozen, but an entire town. Of course, he'd almost fooled the pope once, when he'd been younger and before he'd met Will and lost some of his skill as an overall deceiver. Ah, those days had been good days. Perhaps he could repeat them again in this world, and leave them with the legend of Captain Jack Sparrow...
They came to a stop in front of a giant mansion unlike any that Jack had ever seen before. Sure, it wasn't as grand as Minas Tirith, or the Papal Palace in Rome, or the cathedral that he and Barbossa had blown up, but this wasn't supposed to be a palace. This was a house. It wasn't even Sparrow's main residence, as he obviously had holdings in England, being someone of such great importance. Cutler Beckett had had extensive properties in England as well, and Jack couldn't see why James Sparrow would be any different. Hell, if he had been Lord Jack Sparrow —and not just a penniless pirate lord— he would have had at least ten residences like this scattered all over the world, as well as a magnificent vessel that could serve as a floating mansion. However, for now, he would have to satisfy himself with pretending that he owned this place.
What he hadn't prepared for, however, was the appearance of Lady Sparrow. Jack gulped involuntarily. It wasn't that he didn't find Elizabeth attractive —she was very attractive— but she intimidated him in her own way. She was the personification of tyranny, really. Of course, there was every chance in the world that this version of Elizabeth Swann, or Elizabeth Sparrow or whatever the hell her name was, would be quite different from the Lizzie he knew, but he couldn't help feeling just a little bit daunted. Especially when she tried to kiss him, albeit on the cheek. The last time Elizabeth had kissed him, he hadn't liked the aftermath. The kiss had been good though.
"I came down as soon as I heard, James," said Elizabeth, or rather, Eliza. William had said that everyone had called her Miss Eliza. It was handy; otherwise he would have gotten very confused with all the Elizabeths running around. "Is it true? Have you really caught William Turner?"
"Do you think I would be back if I hadn't, darling?" said Jack, trying to brush her aside. James Sparrow didn't sound like he would be a charming or loving husband.
"Of course not," murmured Eliza, immediately contrite. Poor thing; she was obviously terrified of her husband. For a moment, Jack played with the idea of kidnapping her and taking her back to William, who obviously had a thing for her. He wasn't sure if William still had a thing for her, but any life would be better than this one. He knew all about gilded cages; how could he not, when he associated with the likes of Lady Éowyn, and of course, his dear friend Lizzie and Anamaria and just about every single other woman that he could call a friend? Balian, to his credit, had put up a decent show of being a defiant prisoner. The women had a done a good job with the chicken blood and the smudged soot. He actually looked rather battered. Right at that moment, the Frenchman stepped on one of his 'captor's' toes, causing the man to yelp in pain and then curse. The man struck the 'prisoner'. That was Jack's cue. He pushed aside the thoughts of kidnapping Eliza —although those were to be revisited, of course— and turned back to the matter at hand.
"No one is to disturb me," he said. "I shall be interrogating the prisoner in my study."
"In your study, James? Are you sure?"
"Is there anything wrong with my study?" asked Jack.
"No, of course not, my dear. I am surprised that you did not take him to the gaol, that is all."
"Why would you even expect to be able to know what I would do?" asked Jack, summoning as much disdain into his voice as he could.
"I wouldn't," said Eliza, looking more and more frightened by the moment. Did James hurt her? If he hurt her, Jack would make sure that the bastard would have hell to pay. It wasn't that he was particularly attached to Eliza or her other self —all right, he would be upset if Elizabeth got hurt, not that he would ever admit it— but despite all his failings as a proper gentleman, he would never ever hurt a lady. He might break the hearts of wenches who fell in and out of love easily, but never that of a lady, and he would certainly never strike a woman, not that he hadn't been tempted when Elizabeth had burned his rum. "But James, will you not take refreshments first? The cook has prepared duck in wine sauce."
"No," said Jack, although it sounded absolutely delicious. However, he had a study to rifle through and then a bunch of redcoats to escape. "This is of utmost importance. You go ahead."
"Very well, then," said Eliza. "I have been feeling rather nervous of late so I think I shall retire early so as to not disturb you."
Now, they only had one problem. Where was James Sparrow's study? Jack stepped through the front door and was greeted by a grand foyer with two staircases on either side. Both staircases looked identical, with steps carved out of speckled marble of the palest pink and gold-plated rails. How opulent. It was more than a little distasteful after the effortless elegance of Minas Tirith that Jack had grown accustomed to.
'Think like a bastard. Think like a bastard,' he thought to himself. If he were James Sparrow, which side would his study be on? He was right-handed, and it was safe to assume that James would be as well. Well, it wasn't safe, but one had to take risks if one was to get anywhere. He headed for the right staircase. Guards and soldiers, both real and false, followed him, with the latter escorting the prisoner. He came to the second level of the house, where there were a great many closed doors, all painted white. It was lucky for him that one of the servants stepped in front of one of the doors and then bowed. "Sir," he said. "Everything has been prepared, just the way you like it."
"Thank you," said Jack, and the man gave him a look of shock. Right, so James Sparrow never thanked his servants. Jack could live with that. The servant opened the door and bowed again. Jack strode in without giving him a second glance. They wanted a pompous lord? Well, they had one. 'William Turner' was shoved in behind him, and then the door was closed.
"Are we safe?" whispered one of the false guards.
"For the moment, although we won't be for long, gentlemen, so start searching," said Jack. "Chop chop! We haven't got all day. Balian, I gotta tell Anamaria that she did a wonderful job with the bruises. That one there on your cheek looks really real."
"It is real," said Balian with a grimace. "Overly enthusiastic dame with a turnip gave it to me. You know, Jack, if this doesn't work, I am going to be a bit annoyed, particularly after that humiliating episode."
"Ah, why concern yourself with it?" said Jack with a dismissive wave of his hand as he began sifting through the items on James Sparrow's desk. An amber paperweight with a dragonfly inside it, a gold inkwell, and a pile of papers with a familiar scrawl on it. Jack pocketed the paperweight, left the inkwell because it looked ghastly and, more importantly, was full of ink, and then started examining the papers. Most of the writing on it pertained to trade and monopolies. Sparrow alone controlled the spice trade from the East to England, and he also controlled a large share of the sugar trade. He was rich, but he had no taste. "I'm sure that wasn't your most humiliating experience, knowing you. Hey, what about that time when you were paraded in front of crowds in Rome? I wasn't there to see it, but—all right, you don't want to talk about it."
"I can't read any of this," said Balian, flipping through a book. "It's all in English, with malformed letters."
"Mate, the language evolved," said Jack. "Just learn to live with it. Hmm...now this is interesting. He mentions a fountain, a capitalized Fountain, and a map and a key and somethin' about a stargazer."
"James Sparrow knows about Legolas?" asked Balian. "How?"
"I doubt it's our elf," said Jack. "It says that the stargazer is to be used in conjunction with the map and something else that is only coded by the term 'heart's desire'...hey, sextants are used for measurin' the angles between celestial bodies, and me compass shows people what they want, and these are all mentioned in conjunction with a capitalized Fountain—damn, we need the map!"
"Do you think he would have left it here?" said Balian, looking around the room, which was being ransacked at the moment. Everything had been turned upside down. Pages had been torn out of books, the linings of chairs had been ripped out, but so far, there was no sign of a special map. There was a large map of the world hanging on the wall of course, and it was a fascinating map because it was unlike the maps that Balian was used to, but he doubted that it would lead to the Fountain of Youth. Such important documents were unlikely to be shown off.
"If I were him, I'd carry the map with me at all times," said Jack. "Which means we need to grab this Sparrow if we're gonna actually find the Fountain—at least, that's my guess. Hey, don't look so gloomy! At least we now know what we're after specifically."
A/N: There was a lot of dialogue in this chapter, and I'm not sure if I'm entirely happy with it, but there seems to be nothing I can do. I hope you enjoyed it anyway.
So...I'm really busy in the next couple of weeks with course work, so the updates might be either be a day late or a bit short. Just giving you guys a heads-up! I haven't abandoned the tale!