Chapter 21
Their arrangement proved to be a success; William returned from school each day, buzzing with the boisterous joy of youth straight to his favourite room of the house—Jack's room. He'd throw the door open wide, his hand clutching a crinkled piece of parchment that contained the latest exercises in Latin torture from Master Pinch's devious mind. Without so much as a second thought, Jack dictated the solutions while William sat on his small stool, stooped over the parchment, his pen frantically scratching across the page to catch every crisp syllable, breathless in silent awe of the elder pirate's mental prowess. They moved as one, swift as the swallows that dove from the sea cliffs, each of them anticipating the pleasant aspect of their afternoons together.
With his teeth digging into his bottom lip to prevent a full smile, William handed Jack his daily and much appreciated ration of rum. Guzzling until he hit the end of the bottle, Jack put a single index finger to indicate his lack of preparation. Impatient to begin, William unleashed a hearty and unhappy sigh as Jack licked his lips, savouring every last drop of his favoured elixir, his eyes closed with pleasure. "A particularly fine vintage today, Master Turner—excellent choice…" Jack always praised, shifting back his bed clothes.
Eager as a pup, William scrambled off his stool, taking hold of Jack's arm with a firm grip to help him rise from the bed and take a few fledgling steps. Their little walking trips never crossed the border of the doorframe, but each day was marked with small feats of new found strength. Twice, Jack managed to walk far enough without getting winded to ask William for a bowl of water and some time alone so that he might "wash away his many and varied sins".
William's mind burned with questions, each one springing forth as he reviewed in detail his previous meetings with Jack, all of which had ended with some sort of outrageous tale either pertaining to the infamous Captain Kayman, and on rarer occasions, the often hair-raising adventures of Jack Sparrow and his humble parents. William had always thought himself well-versed in the basic facts of his parent's lives despite the careful avoidance of the subject by his mother, whom he could hardly picture as a true pirate captain. After his return, his father had added a few details; his parents had married in the midst of a great battle against cursed pirates, but those minor particulars hardly completed a portrait comprised mostly of gaps.
With fascination, he listened with eager ears to Jack's accounting of how he and his mother had first met. Fleeing from her brutal fiancé, his mother had thrown herself off the cliffs of Port Royal, and probably would have drowned if it hadn't been for Captain Jack's tremendous courage. Risking his life, he fought the Royal Navy's bravest soldiers, jumped into the sea, and killed two sharks with his bare hands to rescue her. The spectacular tale was so epic in proportion that William had rushed to the school yard to share it with his equally astounded school companions, all of whom, he knew, secretly envied his luck in sharing quarters with a notorious invalid.
William desperately wanted to ask his mother about the events Jack had related to him, but he sensed that it was best for him and his pirate friend to keep their meetings secret. Once, not long after Jack had woken, his mother had warned him to stay away from Jack, implying that this was what his father would want him to do. His questions in regards to why his father wouldn't want him to talk to their guest, who according to the stories, had not only been his friend but also his saviour, had been answered not at all or with her most unconvincing of all her snarled replies: Captain Jack Sparrow was not the sort of man with whom a child ought to keep company.
If he hadn't seen evidence to the contrary, he might have assumed that something horrible must have happened between Jack and his mother. He hadn't completely abandoned the suspicion that some sort of tragedy had befallen the friendship between Jack and his father---the latter of whom had never once mentioned the name Captain Jack Sparrow.
In the end, he abandoned his attempts to understand the many eccentricities of adults—all of whom dishonourably invented strange rules to inhibit the inquiring minds of young pirates. There were many people his mother thought no company for a child; Billy the Butcher, the men who frequented Blind Man's Bluff, Shipwreck City's most disreputable quarter, but as far as William could judge, Captain Sparrow was unlike any of them.
xxx
Jack sat in his bed, eagerly anticipating William's arrival from school. His fingers traced pensive lines over the thick stitching of the time-worn quilt that rested over his knees. There was something in the lad's company he enjoyed but he'd never outwardly admit it, particularly not to the headstrong boy. Perhaps young William reminded him of himself when he was a child, but the lie was too big for even him to swallow. Jack had been a lively child, but his youthful self lacked young William Turner's innate slyness and cunning. In many aspects, the lad was quite different from himself - his parents' son, but above anything, an individual in his own right. It was possible; of course, that all children were equally independent—he admittedly hadn't much experience with youths but from his observation of the occasional swab or cabin boy, there was no denying that William was different. Contrary to most people he knew, the lad rarely bored or annoyed him. His company was as refreshing as an afternoon sea breeze and even equally as inspiring at times. The house seemed empty when he wasn't around, and Jack found himself waiting impatiently for the slamming of the door and the sound of footsteps on the stairs, announcing his arrival.
When William finally stormed into the room, completely out of breath, Jack was already sitting on the edge of the mattress, legs swinging freely. He was able to master small movements like sitting or standing up without difficulty, and being used to the uncomfortable life aboard a ship, he found it increasingly comforting to sit for a while without a hundred cushions supporting his back.
"Jack!" William greeted him cheerfully with wide-eyed enthusiasm radiating from his ruddy cheeks. "I ran all the way home from school! We're busy today!"
"We?" Jack furrowed his brow, pretending to be irritated by William's perpetual good cheer.
"Well, you're busy today." He grinned and rummaged through his bag until he'd found what he'd been looking for. Still breathing heavily, he handed Jack a crumpled crème mound.
"What's this?" Jack quizzed, holding the parchment between finger and thumb.
"Master Pinch dictated us the Latin lines and we're supposed to translate them into the King's English."
Jack's eyes ran across the cramped handwriting until they crossed with confusion. He supposed that a translation given by a crashing bore like Pinch wouldn't make sense, but what the lad had written down was an assimilation of thoroughly incorrect Latin orthography.
"Are you certain Master Pinch dictated THAT? You do know, that "responsititium" is by no means a Latin word, do you?"
"No," William replied, his eyes shining with obvious relief. "But that's why I have you—stop dallying and finish up; I want to hear more about Captain Kayman."
Jack shook his head and held the parchment closer to his face, in case he had misinterpreted the scrawling text. The effect remained the same. Hardly one word was written correctly, telling him in no uncertain terms that the lad was in bigger trouble than he'd first recognized. Jack thought him intelligent, but lazy; now, however, it seemed that as far as Latin was concerned, he hardly had any basics at all.
William gazed at him expectantly; he felt the guilt crowd his stomach before he could fight it. The arrangement he'd talked him into was anything but profitable for both sides; indeed, when he left again in a few weeks time, the lad's situation with Latin would be worse than before.
"Is something wrong? Are you feeling ill again?" William asked when he saw the thoughtful expression on Jack's face.
"William, tell me something, or there's no use in continuing: Are you quite certain I should do this for you?" The alarming seriousness sat etched on his features, and William shrugged in surprise. Jack could see the disappointment in his eyes; clearly, the lad thought he was backing away from their accord.
"Take what you can and give nothing back!" he reminded him reproachfully, throwing Jack's own words back at him.
"Agreed; except for those rare unfortunately reoccurring situations in which we're required to look toward the future. I won't be here forever, lad."
"So?"
"So long as you're asking a question, why not say: 'Well yes, Captain Sparrow, and what happens then?' Answer me this, Master Turner: What happens to your Latin work when I depart in a few weeks time?"
"I don't know." Visibly alarmed, William attempted to maintain his outward composure, though it was clear he hadn't ever considered the question. "I suppose everything will be as it was before. Pinch complains to my mother, she complains to me … and sometimes, Father or Captain Teague will agree with her. And then, they'll leave me in peace until next time." He shrugged his shoulders in silent resignation, facing an unchangeable truth.
"What would you say if I showed you an almost fool-proof way to escape this vicious cycle?" Like so many times in his dealings with the Turners' son, he didn't know where he was heading to, but felt it was the right direction.
Will's eyes began to shine. "You'll stay?"
"Hmmmm, tempting…" Jack smiled. "Let me think about it for a while…" He pretended to ponder the matter before he exclaimed: "No!"
"Oh …" William was disappointed, but then, his features brightened. "Oh, I know! You'll give me your address and then I can send you my schoolwork!"
Jack studied the awestruck gratefulness in the lad's eyes, and he almost felt sorry at having to disappoint him when it came to his own selflessness.
"Alas," he began, "the solution I have to offer has less to do with me than it has to do with the inevitable. The long and the short of it: You will learn Latin!"
A shadow drew across William's features like a cloudy veil.
"None of my friends speak Latin good!" he cried sulkily, mimicking his mother's pout. "You lied to me when you said that every pirate has to know Latin, didn't you?"
"Well," Jack corrected with a deep frown. "They don't speak it well--King's English indeed; and I deeply resent the word 'lied'. As it stands, I told you a not so well-known version of the truth." William gave him a puzzled look, he continued: "The gist of my words ring true: Some day, you will find yourself in a situation which requires the knowledge of Latin. Moreover: In some cases, Latin can be effectively entertaining. Most of the exciting stories are written in Latin." He thought and realized tardily that the authors he admired most were Homer and Herodotus, but quickly added: "Well, some of them might be written in Ancient Greek, be that as it may, the Romans – the founders of Latin– are reason enough to learn the language."
"I already know about the Romans," William replied without enthusiasm.
"You do?"
"Pinch has already told us everything about them. Their king was called Caesar and a man with a dog's name killed him. Though I reckon, he died of boredom after studying Latin."
"And that's all your illustrious schoolmaster told you?" Jack asked in disbelief.
"I don't recall every word, but from what I've seen the Romans were less exciting than Davy Jones' fish-faced crew."
Jack was adequately surprised at the cynicism in William's words. He'd never thought Davy Jones' men –fishes – particularly entertaining.
"That, my dear lad is a gross mischaracterization of the Roman empire and is most obviously a result of your inability to see the actual truth, which, in turn, goes back to your limited knowledge of the Latin language. If you were able to read Latin, you could study all the necessary sources to reach the conviction that the Romans were a veritable bunch of bloodthirsty savages…not at all unlike your Jones' school of fish. In fact, he was a great admirer of the Romans…Maniacs, every last one of them…"
"Really?"
"Oh yes! And the maddest of them all was made Emperor." Not so different from Shipwreck City, Jack thought, but he didn't dare say it loud.
William blinked and looked at Jack quizzically before his features spread with disbelief and disgust. "Captain Jack!" he exclaimed, and Jack felt as though William were lecturing him as though he were a child. "You're cheating."
"Slander!" Jack shouted, feigning indignation, but unable to hide his smile. "When have I ever lied to you?"
William didn't answer. He crossed his arms in front of his chest and cocked his head with a reproachful expression in his eyes, derisively curling the corners of his mouth. Inwardly, Jack acknowledged that the lad was anything but easy prey, something he'd assumed of children and most people in general.
"I prefer a somewhat generous version of the truth," he said hastily, "but you have my word that what I've said about our Roman friends is historically accurate. Take –" Pausing briefly, he searched his astonishingly broad knowledge on Roman antiquity to come up with a fitting episode. "-Caligula! Has that moron of a schoolmaster ever told you about Caligula?"
"No … I suppose not." He sounded insecure, still fighting the remaining bits of scepticism, but Jack was confident he had at last taken the right course.
"I thought not. Apart from a few other unsavoury stories–" All of them not exactly fit for youthful ears, "- he did something so extreme even his equally mad consultants came to the conclusion that he was most positively sixes and sevens. "
"What did he do?"
"He made a horse his consul!" Jack replied proudly, as though it was a story he'd come up with on his own.
Will eyed him suspiciously: "What's a consul?"
"An advisor in Roman administration; like the Keeper of the Code.
"Well, what happened then?"
"The horse made difficult decisions, spent too much gold on oats, and finally, they chased it away until they found a Roman mad enough to murder Caligula."
"Oh!" That Caligula had been killed, too – like Caesar – seemed to impress William more than a governing horse. "Were all Roman Kin – I mean, Emperors – murdered?"
"Pretty much," Jack replied. "But let us show them no quarter. It was their favourite pastime to watch others die. Sometimes their lions had slaves for dinner, with thousands of spectators watching – and believe me, it's not particularly nice to know you're on the menu!" He remembered with horror, his short sojourn as god to the hungry Pelegostos who'd promised him the great service of ridding him of his human form. William, on the other hand, appeared increasingly fascinated by the ancient rulers' atrocities, and Jack used his newly won attention to lead their conversation back to Latin.
"Part of those performances – that's what they called a public execution- were gladiator battles, meaning that specifically trained slaves used the most colourful weapons to hack each other to pieces. Before the killing started, they had to salute the Emperor by saying: Ave Caesar –"
The door was pushed open in an instant and Elizabeth appeared in the doorframe, her face red with fury.
"- morituri te salutant!" Jack finished in shock, but without granting him as much as a single look, she marched towards her son.
"William! To your room – now!" she ordered sternly. "I'll know immediately if you're listening at the door again! I'll deal with you later."
William seemed to shrink half an inch and though Jack didn't think himself the immediate object of her fury, he wished the mattress would take pity on him and swallow him whole. He instinctively reached for the sheets to pull them over his head, only to find they were forming a heap at the end of his bed. Desperate, he bent forward as far as his throbbing wound would allow, but when he heard the sound of a door falling shut, he knew it was too late. Elizabeth had already planted herself at the footboard of his bed, glaring at him angrily.
"Jack Sparrow!" she screeched.
"Captain," he corrected her, lifting a timid finger. His defeat might have been unavoidable, but Captain Jack Sparrow had never been one to give up easily.
In an almost perfect copy of her son, she crossed the arms in front of her chest, and began tapping her foot on the creaking floor. "It might interest you to know that I've had a fascinating conversation--" she said in a frighteningly soft voice.
"It might." Jack replied coolly while inwardly, he scrambled to take her meaning while he waited for the other shoe to drop.
"--With Master Pinch. And do you know what he said?"
"A sack of flour and five Lemon Drops, please?"
His feeble attempt at humour failed miserably. She stepped forward until her shins pressed almost painfully against the bed stead; leaving him with the impression she was trying to stab him with her piercing gaze.
"One pound of peas to be precise but he did so after he'd informed me of my son's remarkable progress in his studies. Phenomenal isn't it? He's a little genius at languages, after all this time of not applying himself …"
She didn't sound particularly amazed, but Jack struggled to understand why it was her son's improved behaviour required such a theatrical entrance in his bedroom.
"Marvellous! My deepest and most heartfelt congratulations!" he proclaimed in an attempt to save the situation. "I think that deserves a toast. Drinks all around!" He reached for the bottle of rum he'd placed on his nightstand. Better to play the fool than for her to know that he'd finally taken her meaning. She'd discovered his arrangement with William! Curse that yellow-hearted school master.
"Shut it!" she bellowed; he was certain that the spittle spraying from her mouth was venomous.
"I've known my son for quite a while," Elizabeth drew breath and Jack seized the silence in one last feeble attempt to make light of what appeared to be a difficult situation.
"From the day he was born, I'd wager." The sardonic irony of Jack's remark and his attempts to distract her fell on deaf ears.
"He's always been an intelligent, lively child—a bit too lively for school and especially for a highly sensitive fellow like Master Pinch. For years, I've been listening to his complaints about Will's lack of presence and scholastic achievement…" She glared at him viciously, then gulped for air and went on with renewed vigour. "Now you expect me to believe that Latin – of all subjects! – has turned into his favourite pastime?"
"There are miracles in every aspect of life, if one knows where to find…"
"Rubbish! They are not a part of mine. I stopped believing in miracles, long ago! But there is one thing I will believe without fail: Jack Sparrow had his dirty hands in this!"
"Preposterous!" Jack exclaimed. "Me, a modest sailor who still fights the pitfalls of the King's English … why that's completely absurd, almost grotesque and…" The wrong choice of words, but when the realization entered his brain, it was already too late. Elizabeth pounced on the confirmation of her suspicions.
"Don't you dare talk yourself out of this. Has your inebriated and soggy skull already forgotten? I caught you in the act."
"Is that so?" Maybe the appropriate strategy lay in the attempt to controvert everything, he mused, but the darkening expression on Elizabeth's face quickly destroyed what hope had been left to him.
"Oh, don't play the innocent invalid! I have no idea where you've found the golden pot containing your language skills, and I am not interested in the slightest in hearing the story. There is something I do want you to tell me: What's sort of devil's bargain have you made with William?"
"I'm terribly sorry to inform you of this but you're misjudging the situation. I'm the victim!"
"Victim! You dare to consider yourself a victim? William is barely ten years old. He'd never …" She fell silent, and it didn't take him long to discover what had stopped her tirade; finally, the bottle of rum on his nightstand had attracted her attention.
"Ha!" she declared, pointing at the fatal piece of evidence with her outstretched finger. She was the image of an ancient vengeance goddess, and for a split-second, in her raging fury he was rendered speechless by the attractive flush to her pale face until he found her nothing short of beautiful. He quickly chased the thought away, helped, no doubt, by her renewed onslaught.
"How like you, Jack Sparrow!" she riled. "Instigating a pack of lies in a completely guileless boy's head, only to earn your daily ration of liquor …" She bit her lip, shaking her head. "If I didn't know you won't do it anyway, I'd tell you that you ought to feel ashamed of yourself!"
Jack felt consumed with fury. He'd neither come here through his own free will, nor had he asked for the special blessing of having to grapple with a ten-year old lad several days a week. Could he really be blamed for trying to make the best of his indisputably bad situation? Apart from that, he felt that he'd deserved an award for his noble attempt to rectify the Turners' failures in their son's education; and what did he get?
"Listen hear…you…" He struggled to find an appropriate insult and rallied with the first that instantly sprang to his lips. "Your majesty!" he began, feeling provoked, but Elizabeth would hear nothing of it.
"No!" she squealed. "YOU will be the one to listen to me! I've watched in silence long enough. You'll not be tainting my son's mindset with your…tomfoolery! I've had enough of your escapades, once and for all! The next time I find you meddling with matters concerning my family, I … I …"
"You'll what, Elizabeth?" Jack asked with all spitefulness he was capable of, his face contorting into a saturnine grimace. "Slay me with your sauce pan? Or mayhap you'll poison me with your dreadful cookery. Ah yes, that be the final act of the once great Captain Swann, served with undercooked peas…"
She looked at him in disgust, unable to miss the low swing he'd taken at her current way of life. Silenced by an almost unendurable rage, she turned her back to him and stormed out, the familiar sound of the door slamming shut as her only retort.
xxx
A/N: Ave Caesar morituri te salutant - Hail, Caesar, those who are about to die salute you.
