Chapter Twenty-One – Round Two

The second round of the QuatriPirate Tournament commenced on a grey and overcast day. It was not unusual for port towns to experience wildly varying weather, and the heat and humidity so close to the water could often make for sudden and powerful storms. The ships moored in the harbor were rocked as the waves swelled and the wind began to gust. The sky was the color of slate. The lack of brilliant sunlight had muted Léogâne's colors, and it might have been a different town.

Dana stood outside the Adjective Noun while lunch was finishing inside. She leaned against the wall, under the awning, and watched the sky. She was interested in the low light and the strong wind, particularly if her event was going to take place outside, and thought it wise to acclimatize before it began. Her stomach was rolling as her breakfast of coffee and sweet rolls rested uneasily. She had woken with the dawn to check and recheck her pistols and shot, not nervous exactly, but anxiously eager to begin. The brevity and potential danger of the tournament events thus far had actually been quite to her liking – in her own line of work, there was no such thing as a second shot, sometimes literally.

Her thoughts were interrupted when the door of the Adjective Noun swung open. Sands had exited the tavern, and he cupped his gloved hands to light a cigarette. He turned his head and saw her standing alone.

"Cigarette?" he asked.

Dana shook her head. "No, thank you."

He ambled over to lean against the wall beside her, and smoked thoughtfully for a few moments. His head tilted upwards as he surveyed the sky. "Do you think it's going to storm?"

"Maybe tonight. It would be nice if it did – it might cool things off for a couple of days."

Sands smiled thinly behind his dark glasses. "I like the heat, myself."

The two gunslingers stood in silence, and watched the thin tendrils of smoke from Sands' clove cigarette rise and twist before they were borne away on the breeze. Dana glanced sideways, but Sands' face was hidden by the screen of his dark hair. From inside the tavern came the sound of chairs scraping backwards as lunch was finished. The events were about to begin.

Sands flicked what remained of his cigarette onto the ground and crushed it out with the toe of his boot. He then turned to open the door and held it open. "After you," he said. Dana went through the door, and in passing close to Sands, caught a whiff of the scent of his cologne mixed with what remained of the clove cigarette. It was a strangely familiar smell. A little shiver ran down her back.

Inside the tavern, Roberts was atop the wooden stage, making sure that the event participants were all present and ready. Dana raised her hand to acknowledge her name when Roberts called it, and Sands did the same. They looked at one another.

"It looks like it's about to get a wee bit dangerous, Sugarbutt," said Sands.

Dana beamed. "I've been waiting three chapters for you to say that."

The first event of the second round did indeed take place outside. Roberts had returned the participants and the pirate troupe to the harbor. This time, however, there was no wooden set-up at which the gunslingers would fire. The harbor was busy as vendors began to pack their wares and sailors worked to prepare their ships to ride out the impending storm. Overhead, the innumerable seagulls fought to keep their positions as the wind blew more fiercely, and the flutter and snap of immense sails was intensely loud.

Roberts leapt up onto a crate, and still had to shout to make himself heard. He unrolled the event parchment. "Welcome again, friends! May I have the two competitors join me?" Dana and Sands extracted themselves from the crowd, which had grown considerably since the day before. Dana and Melanie both smiled, having recognized several of the faces present from the Wailing Widow. These fellows hooted and clapped as Dana went to stand beside Roberts. Sands joined her, and his black shirtsleeves flapped violently in the wind.

"Your task is very simple!" Roberts cried. "Over our heads you see that most telling representative of port civilization, the seagull! Dana Flint and Sheldon Sands, you have each been assigned a colored bead – Dana has red, and Sands blue. This bead has been affixed to the leg of one of the seagulls overhead. Your task is to find it and bring it down!" Dana glanced quickly at the waif Carly, knowing her affinity for animalkind, and saw her frown at Roberts' words. The gunslinger abruptly decided she would not kill her bird. She was about to angle her face to the sky when Roberts raised his voice again.

"You may ready your pistols, but you may not search for your gull until my mark." At that, Dana and Sands turned to face one another with pistols drawn. They met one another's eyes – or tried, as Dana could not place them precisely behind his dark glasses. They smiled slowly at one another. Dana's trigger finger itched, but at the very least, she had a handsome face to regard.

While they stood looking at one another, Roberts continued. "You have two shots each, and two shots only. If you do not retrieve your bead with those shots, you fail. If you both retrieve your bead, the faster is the victor. Are you both ready?" Both gunslingers nodded curtly. Dana took a breath. This was just the way she had wanted the event to be – deadly fast.

"Begin!"

The crowd roared with applause and they both looked up. There were hundreds of seagulls overhead, all of them shrieking and twisting and diving. While the strength of the wind would work against them, the grey, cloudy sky was a benefit in deciphering the chaos of the flock – Dana allowed her eyes to relax slightly, encouraging all similar colors to blur together. Accordingly, the grey of the gull feathers and the sky seemed to merge, and other colors stood out more starkly. Her eyes darted to one side as she saw a shimmer of colour – but it was blue. She noted where Sands' spotted gull flew, and continued to search for her own.

She found it quickly, a tiny glass bead fastened with white string to the leg of a uniformly grey gull, which was engaged in a battle with another almost directly over her head. Without hesitating, she brought her arm up and fired. At the same moment, Sands caught a glimpse of his own gull and snapped his arm up to shoot it down.

In a sudden flash of brilliance, Dana turned her attention from her falling bead to Sands' falling gull. It spun around once in midair, and when her sharp eyes caught the glimmer of blue as it rotated around, she fired her second shot: Sands' glass bead exploded into dust as Dana's landed neatly in the palm of her hand. The crowd bellowed happily, and the beadless corpse of Sands' gull landed heavily on the ground.

As the pirates cheered, Dana turned to Sands and touched the brim of her hat respectively. He smiled and extended his hand, which Dana shook. He pulled her in close so that he could speak into her ear: "Good show, Flint. But if you don't go all the way now, you'd better believe that you're going to have me to answer to. Can you dig it?"

The second event progressed nearly as quickly as its parallel the day before. Once again, the two thieves could not have been more poorly matched – it was not a case of proper or improper dress or demeanor, as had been the case with Carly and Tommy the Unimportant, for James and Melanie were both as striking and charismatic as the most successful thieves tend to be. The difference that set the two thieves miles apart was not in their look. Instead, the deciding factor was the level of their sheer tenacity and gall, for it was no secret that Melanie Cash was absolutely and altogether shameless.

Gathered once more in the plaza, Roberts gave the word that both thieves were to make one circuit of the square. They would each start at one end, and when they returned, the participant who had retrieved the largest number of gold coins would be declared the winner. The plaza was thronged with people who were purchasing supplies before the arrival of the storm, and when the event began and James and Melanie disappeared amongst the crowd, it seemed likely that they would be evenly matched. In Dana's mind, it would be most important to be speedy – one circuit of the plaza did not take long, but it was the point of overlap with the other thief that would be vital. After all, the faster one was emptying the pockets of the oblivious citizens, the more could be emptied before the thieves began to empty pockets where their opponent had already been.

This, however, did not turn out to be the case. Each thief made one circuit as per the rules, but Melanie returned much more quickly than James. While the suave pirate had been dipping his hand into the pockets of the citizens and working hard to collect what had evidently amounted to no more than a paltry sum, Melanie had coolly surveyed the hustle and bustle of the plaza and slipped her nimble fingers into one pocket only.

Pocket might not have been the most accurate word to describe that which was lightened by Melanie Cash. A better word might have been treasury. The armed guard standing watch over the gold coins being transferred from the tax collector and to the royal escort bound for the treasury had no idea that two heavy sacks of coins had been lifted from under his nose. If he had been asked, all he would have remembered was a pretty lady with dark hair who had smiled winningly at him, asked him to check his pocket-watch for the time, and placed a light hand on his shoulder in thanks. Melanie Cash was the undisputed winner.

But amongst the cheers of the pirate spectators, it appeared as though both thieves had won themselves a trophy: when James shook Melanie's hand to congratulate her on her victory, he whispered something into her ear that made her blush and giggle when she replied. As he escorted her back to the Adjective Noun on his arm for the third event, Dana and Jack exchanged a look. It was assumed that neither would wait up for Melanie that night.

The storm that raged outside ensured that there was a veritable horde of pirates crowded into the Adjective Noun to witness the third event. That, and word had spread since the excitement and blood of Carine and Joe's swordfight, and the fact that a virtually unknown farmboy and a relatively nameless blacksmith had secured themselves places as competitors had drawn out a large number of gamblers. Standing on the wooden stage beside Westley and the – current – Dread Pirate Roberts, Will could not help but feel as though he were being scrutinized. Throughout the tavern, there was the unmistakable clink of coins changing hands, and Will wondered whether or not the odds were in his favor. He had not forgotten that he had won his last swordfight with Westley thanks to the nearly well-placed bottle-over-the-head provided by Dana Flint. This was going to be an interesting match.

This match had also drawn a large number of female pirates for the first time. Rouged rogues of every age, shape, and description had turned out for the showdown between the two handsome young men – several had managed to elbow their way to the front of the crowd, and Carine scowled at these before turning her attention back to Will and Westley.

Roberts held his parchment aloft. "The third event!" he cried. "Calls for quiet! Quiet please!" The roar of laughter and conversation in the room died away until there was silence. Roberts cast his smile around and inclined his head. "I thank you. And soon, our competitors will thank you as well. Westley and William, your task is this: disarm your opponent. That is all."

Westley and Will glanced at one another, and a low murmur of displeasure rippled through the crowd – compared to the previous day, and in the context of the lofty title of QuatriPirate Tournament, this was bland indeed. Roberts held up his hand for quiet, and a serving girl hurried forward to hand him a little bundle. He thanked her and raised the two strips of fabric above his ahead. "Gentlemen," he said. "You will also be blindfolded."

This brought a roar of approval from the crowd, and Dana smiled at how apparently easy it was to find favor with gamblers and with pirates – one unexpected element made all the difference. She scanned the crowd, and saw Melanie standing very close to James Craig. Dana looked more closely, and saw that her arm was slung low around the handsome man's waist.

The gunslinger was startled by Jack's voice in her ear and his hand on her hip. "All the better to filch from you, my dear," he said, with a nod towards Melanie. Indeed, as Dana watched, the coquettish Melanie stroked the side of James' face with one hand and deftly emptied his coat pocket with the other. Dana shook her head, and thought, not for the first time, that it might not have been coincidence that had ensured Melanie's last name was Cash.

As she and Jack looked on, Roberts securely fastened a blindfold onto each of the swordsmen, and bade them step backwards until they had reached the edges of the wooden stage. He called again for silence. "Disarm your opponent, gentlemen. But if you fall from this stage, you risk disqualification. And if no one has lost his sword within the space of two minutes –" he produced an hourglass, "– then you are both disqualified, to the detriment of your teammates. Are you ready?" Both Westley and Will nodded, then unsheathed their swords. Dana was surprised to see that they were both smiling, and that they had both unsheathed their sword with their left hand. Roberts waited for the crowd to hush completely, and then turned over the hourglass. "Begin!"

With two smooth and silent movements, Will flipped his boots off and into the air, and caught them in his empty hand. Beside Dana, Jack chuckled. He put his mouth to her ear. "Just when you think that blacksmith is pure as new fallen snow, 'e surprises you." Will paced gingerly along the edge of the stage, his head cocked for noises, and Westley did likewise. From what Dana remembered of the gallant and former Dread Pirate, she correctly assumed that it was not easy for him to stalk his prey silently. The man was unbelievably articulate, but that was due in large part to the fact that he was also unbelievably talkative.

The opponents circled one another while the silent crowd watched breathlessly. Roberts held the running hourglass high, but it was clear that he was as intent on this match as the rest of the audience – the sand might have run out and he would not have spoken. Simultaneously, both Will and Westley took a tentative step towards the middle of the stage. Their blades crossed once, and twice, but both pulled themselves backwards before they could take anything more than the most defensive of positions. The two swordsmen continued to circle silently, and the sand continued to run.

Suddenly, Will halted. He listened with his head lowered as Westley continued his cautious circle, and when the blonde farmboy was nearly beside Will, the blacksmith tossed one of his boots some distance in front of him. Westley lunged forward immediately, sword extended towards the sound, and Will flipped the blade neatly out of his outstretched and exposed hand. It was over.

The final grains of the hourglass ran through as Westley's blade clattered to the floor, and the pirates whooped and clapped as both men pulled off their blindfolds. They shook hands firmly, still grinning, and Roberts moved forward to congratulate them both.

Dana turned to Jack. "And that just leaves you."

"Look me in the eye, and tell me you 'ave a doubt." Jack smiled, and the tavern's candleglow set points of red light into the center of his dark eyes.

"That I cannot do."

The evening was still young when the fourth and final event began. Before dinner was served, the champion of drink was to be decided between Jack Sparrow and Chazz Michael Michaels. They had both been installed at a little table in the corner of the tavern. On the table were two tiny shot glasses and an hourglass. Dana smiled in spite of herself, and Jack found her eyes amongst those of the crowd and waggled his eyebrows. Was this to be a repeat of the escapade with Loretta's potent absinthe? Dana's head started to hurt at the memory.

Beside her, Will was still flushed from his own event. Dana had shaken his hand as he descended from the stage and clapped him on the back. "Looks like we're not so shabby as pirates after all, eh?" His eyes had been dancing, and they remained so. The high of Will's victory was not diminished by the bulk of the man sitting across the table from Jack. There was no question in Will's mind that Jack would emerge as the winner. All that remained was to wait and watch.

Roberts consulted his parchment before turning to the crowd and the contenders. "The final event of the day!" he cried. "Is to be a contest of wills between these champions of drink! Their task is this: one hundred shots in one hundred minutes!" The crowd cheered – large-sounding numbers were dependable crowd-pleasers among bandits – and the noise increased when Roberts produced the bottles that Jack and Chazz would partake from. The liquid inside was absolutely clear. Roberts opened one bottle and passed samples among the crowd. Will and Dana took the barest of sips out of the tiny glass they were handed, and the fluid evaporated off of their tongues before they could swallow it. Potent stuff.

As if reading their thoughts, Roberts raised his hands and his voice. "This is imported stock," he shouted. "And more than one bottle has been known to kill a horse." He turned to meet the eyes of the drinking contenders. "I would prefer it if you did not perish here tonight, but you shall have to take your lives into your own hands." He opened two new bottles and set them on the table. "Are you ready?"

"Bring it," said Chazz. Jack only smiled, and nodded once.

"Begin!" shouted Roberts, and flipped the hourglass.

Shot One: Both competitors are fresh and – relatively – sober. They each pour themselves one small glassful and toss it back. Chazz winces, and asks whether or not the horse died from the taste. Jack remains silent and smiling.

Shot Ten: Both competitors pour themselves another glass, but Chazz is flushed and has to squint at the bottle. Jack remains silent and smiling.

Shot Thirty-Four: Chazz largely misses his glass when he attempts to fill it, forcing Roberts to begin to fill them for him. Chazz mistakes Roberts for a waiter and shouts for him to bring a bottle of red wine, damn it, he didn't order white. Jack drinks, and remains silent and smiling.

Shot Fifty-Nine: Chazz begins to sing a loud and off-key rendition song about a horse with no name, and misses his mouth when he tosses the shot. Subsequently, it does not qualify as shot fifty-nine and he must retake it. He insists that Roberts owes him money. Jack drinks, and remains silent and smiling.

Shot Eighty-One: Chazz shouts, "He who drinks and runs away, lives to bone another day," and falls backwards off of his chair. Jack toasts his snoring bulk with the half-full bottle on the table, and drains the rest in a single swallow. The event ends with his victory. In the congratulatory din, he remains silent and smiling.

Dinner that evening could not have been more delicious. The red wine was tasty, the suckling pig and roasted vegetables were succulent, and the absolute victories seized by Dana, Melanie, Will and Jack were the most delightful of all. In the midst of the happy chaos of Roberts' large dinner table, the four victorious friends would meet one another's eyes again and again, and lift their glasses in silent toasts. As predicted, the Adjective Noun was packed with people, but the atmosphere was slightly different now that a large percentage of the pirate population consisted of women. The ad hoc band from the previous evening had returned by popular request, and a space on the floor had been cleared for dancing.

"So, what happened with James?" Dana asked Melanie. The captain of the Yellow Dart was refilling her own wine glass and any others that she could reach. Will watched with wide eyes as his glass was filled yet again, and wondered how to properly refuse a triple portion from a pirate that would not be refused. He took the barest sip. Beside him, Jack was nursing a coffee and whiskey. His encounter with the mystery liquid had left him in an obvious celebratory mood, but he was still rather bleary-eyed. Will was simply impressed that it had been definitively proven that Jack had a constitution which could compete with a horse's.

"Well," said Melanie. "Let us leave it at saying that while James was a very handsome man and certainly deserving of a chance to compete, it was obvious why he was a thief by profession." Dana raised her eyebrows inquisitively over the rim of her glass. Melanie winked. "It's much easier to slip in and out of places undetected when your tools are as miniscule as his."

Dana exploded into laughter and could barely keep her wine inside her mouth. Melanie dissolved into giggles herself, and Will could only shake his head.

All three jumped as an angry fist was slammed down onto the tabletop. Across the dinner table, a brooding Billy O'Random looked up from his ale to glare at them. There were dark circles under his eyes, and he looked haggard from grief and drink. Tommy the Unimportant sat hunched at the enormous man's elbow. Billy fixed Dana with a venomous stare. "I don't understand," he growled, "how you can all treat this tournament so lightly."

Dana raised an eyebrow. "I think that we deserve to treat this tournament in whatever way we desire. After all, we deserve to be here, don't we?" Billy pushed his mug to the side and made a point of cracking his monstrous knuckles loudly.

"I would watch my tongue, little girl," he said. "We aren't all happy Disney pirates here. I could think of a fair list of things I'd do to the governor's daughter instead o' rescuing her." Tommy guffawed, but Dana smiled thinly and pushed her own glass aside.

"I should think it would be obvious that we aren't in a happy Disney movie." Dana lowered her voice and leaned over the table. "After all, your incompetent brother is dead and gone, now isn't he?" With a bellow of rage, a furious Billy O'Random leapt across the table at Dana Flint and knocked her from her chair.

Melanie and Will jumped to their feet immediately, but Jack held up a hand from where he sat. He had neither turned nor flinched. "Flint can take care of herself," was all he said.

And Flint could. She punched Billy squarely in the jaw and again in the eye when his face was turned to the side. As he groaned in pain, she rolled from under his bulk and punched him in the eye a second time before he had a chance to swing his huge fist at her.

From the head of the table, Roberts watched wordlessly. Will and Melanie turned to him, not asking for him to halt the fight but verifying that no rules were being broken. Roberts' eyes glinted behind his black mask and he shook his head almost imperceptibly. "Well do I understand revenge," he said softly. "Let Billy fight until he is defeated."

It did not seem that Billy would last much longer. It was obvious that the majority of his energy had been simply fury and adrenaline, and the two did not serve him long. He held up a hand in front of his bloodied face, and Dana halted her blows. Her hat had fallen off and she was panting. "No more," Billy croaked. Dana dropped her hands to her sides, and sneered at him. She turned back to her friends at the table. But Melanie and Will felt their hearts leap to their throats when the seemingly defeated Billy drew a dagger from his boot and suddenly advanced.

"Dana!" Melanie cried, and the gunslinger whirled around just as Billy brought his knife down in a furious arc.

Dana was struck in the face, and dropped to her knees.

Shocked, Jack now leapt to his feet, but he was knocked out of the way by a livid Melanie. With a furious cry, she unsheathed her sword and ran Billy completely through. She twisted her blade as she withdrew it, snarling, and Billy crumpled to the ground in a gurgling mess. She turned savagely on Roberts with her sword still dripping. "Can you understand this?" she cried.

Across the table, a furious Carly the Waif unsheathed her own blade and leveled the gleaming point at Tommy's neck. "I suggest you make a gracious exit," she said. She did not need to ask him twice – without a word, the terrified boy was away and gone into the crowd, feverishly pushing his way to the front door. By this time, word of the violence at the champions' table had spread - conversations were ending and heads were turning.

Melanie let her sword slip out of her fingers and to the ground. Her first mate and physician Matthew had shoved his way to her side through the throng and was kneeling beside the fallen Flint. It did not take him long to ascertain the damage.

"Find me some bandages and hot water," he said hoarsely. "I don't know if I can save her eye."