Chapter 38 Complications

The reaction started almost as soon as they regained the sands, though Jack did not realise that any thing was truly wrong for some time, thinking that the strange sensation was nothing more than the tingling of cold water warming on his skin.

He had resumed his boots, sash and belts in silence and had not looked at her when she had handed him his baldric, though he had managed to mutter a brief 'thank you' that sounded ungracious even to his own ears. As they made their way back up the beach to the bulk of the jutting rock, where he had left his back pack, he was aware of being strangely cold despite the heat of the air. But as he sank down on the pale grey sand and buried his head in his hands he had shrugged off the thought, believing it to be nothing more than a reaction to the inventions and tortures of this place, and being unwilling to raise it with her, or to ask for time to recover. He was Jack Sparrow, he reminded himself as they set off again towards the next rock spar, he would be fine.

That did not mean that he was comfortable though, he was soaked and the heavy humidity of the air meant that his clothes would not dry, but then they had both been damp for some time and survived it. He'd soon forget the discomfort, for he had other things on his mind.

First and foremost of which was the Pearl.

He had striven to avoid thinking about his ship from the moment he had convinced Elanor to come in search of the fountain, knowing that the decision meant recovering the Pearl would have to wait. He knew that there was nothing to be gained by worrying about that which could not be changed, for there never wam and yet all the time since the thought of her in Barbossa's hand had eaten at him. This place had just reminded him of that in full measure.

He had chosen to come after the fountain now because he could not be certain how much of the chart Barbossa recalled; in fact he couldn't be sure that his rival had not made a copy, it was after all exactly what he would have done had their roles been reversed. But then Barbossa had never done things that Jack considered to be obvious. It was also true that the woman beside him might have been less willing to risk damage to herself and her ship chasing the Pearl than she was to come and find the fountain. In the weeks he had been in her company he had said little about his ship or his losing of her, and not much of what he had said had been strictly.......accurate. Now, of course, she would want to know all of it, inquisitive female that she was. Aye she would want chapter and verse if he gave her the opening! He could only hope she would wait until they were away from here before she began her inquisition, given that he wasn't sure that this place would not force him to tell her things that he had no wish for her to know. It wasn't as if she were that easy to lie to at the best of times, and this place was not the best of times

If only she were a little more gullible, less likely to see what he was about, slower to follow his drift. More like Will.... or Elizabeth.

That thought brought him to a standstill for a moment as he wondered if this place still counted as the sea. If he were to die here would he go to the locker? Could the Dutchman collect those who died here? 'Why not' he thought 'after all these waters are well below the sea.' He wasn't sure quite how he felt about facing Will again, they had not spoken since that last stand off on the spit of sand before the battle. But being collected by Will had got to be better than the locker... hadn't it?

Another thought stirred and he scowled to himself, 'I'll have a word or two to say to young Mr Turner if I see him,' he thought savagely, 'fancy him handin' his heart to Elizabeth in that way. Who is goin' to have to save the day again I ask? It's goin' to cause me a fair piece of trouble to bring us all safely through this time.''
Then he was suddenly reminded that if he saw Will again he wouldn't be seeing anyone through anything.

But Elanor did not begin the expected inquisition, in fact she was behaving in a most unfemale manner in his view, for she had said nothing since he had turned away from her after she had pulled him to his feet. She had let him shake off her hand and accepted the rebuff with grace, standing away from him as if understanding that he needed time to accept this latest loss. Understanding too that he did not want to be seen while he did it. Instead of berating him or pestering him with questions she had strode back to the beach, drying her hands on her shirt as she waded, as if she couldn't wait to be rid of the water. She had stayed close to the edge of the sand while he had slogged back to the shelter of the rock and dropped down with his back against it, his head sunk in his hands. He hadn't stayed there long but even so she had shown no desire to interrupt his thoughts, just waiting patiently until he got to his feet and strode passed her, grabbing his sword from its sandy anvil and setting off towards the next rock spar without further word. If his angry silence bothered her she said nothing about it, just followed behind him, far enough behind for him not to have to look at her. She didn't even ask why they were continuing to skirt the lake, apparently accepting that there was nothing to be done until they were sure that it was all there was here to see. Not even the dimming of the silver blue light brought any comment from her. Jack was trying to pretend he hadn't noticed.

The light had turned to purple now and they had both switched on their lanterns. They kept to the sands, staying away from the rocks, and the ambush they might allow, as much as far as was possible but at each section of the shore there was another rocky barrier that had to be crossed. By the time they reached the second one Jack was aware that the skin of his neck, chest and groin were itching so much he wanted nothing more than to tear at the skin with his nails, and it took some effort to ignore the irritation and keep on.

For close on an hour they skirted the lake in silence, only the dancing lights of the lantern betraying that the other was still close to hand.

As they climbed the fifth or sixth rocky spine Elanor spoke for the first time since she had hauled him from the lake.
"There it is."
Jack stopped abruptly and spun around to face her, his expression one of irritation,
"There's what? I'm not in the mood for riddles."
Elanor ignored the pique and drew closer to him, pointing out towards the centre of the lake,
"Back there, when you saw the Pearl I saw a column of rock. I wasn't sure at the time if it was a mirage, a trick of the light, or something it wanted me to see, but it seems that it was real after all. Unless I'm imagining it again now."
Jack turned and stared in the direction of her pointing. In the shadows of the lake he thought he could see a more solid shape. He gave a small nod, ignoring a stab of pain as he did so,
"I think I can see it too. Not that it means it's there you understand."
"No, nothing can be taken to be real here it seems. But it looks as real as anything."
"True enough."

Jack edged closer to the lake edge, changing the angle of his viewing. Out in the centre of the still waters was a tall pillar of something, black and sharp against the soft lilac shadows. He tilted his head and narrowed his eyes trying to focus the thing, it looked as if it had something attached to it, something that ran towards the shore, something that looked almost like a bridge.
"Think I can see a causeway too, between the shore and that tower, if that's what it is."
Elanor looked at him curiously,
"Why do you say tower Jack? That would imply that someone made it. Why not just rock?"
"Don't know now that you come to ask. Why do you.... ask I mean?"
"Because I'd had the same impression, and I can't say why."

Jack was silent for a while, his eyes screwed up in concentration then finally he shrugged the waved an airy hand.
"I say we head out to it. Only thing of any note we've seen down here so far," he turned round and gave his first grin in several hours, "maybe it's home to the fountain!"
Elanor sighed,
"Maybe, or maybe the home of more nasty dreams!"
She saw the haunted look flit across his face then disappear into nonchalance, he opened his mouth to protest but she cut in before he could speak,
"But I agree that if we are still going after this thing then that, whatever it is, warrants investigation."
Jack pursed his lips in consideration for a moment then spun around and began to climb higher,
"What are you doing?" she hissed after him.
"Trying to get a better look. Stay there and I'll be back soon."
"Jack it's too dark for climbing!"
He paused and looked back at her,
"I'll be fine, " he reassured, "Climbed many a cliff in no better light. Remember? Pirate!" then he resumed his climb.
Elanor shook her head in resignation and settled down to wait.

***

As he climbed Jack wondered if this had been a good idea, but at least it gave him a chance to be unseen for a moment. The itching was even worse now and he wanted a chance to explore his possible hurts away from her prying eyes.

On a smooth platform some twenty feet above her, the overhang obstructing her view, he stopped and pushed back his shirt sleeve, shining the lantern at his arm. He swore quietly, the skin was spotted with small wheals, each a circle of red surrounding the hairs that seemed to bristle with cold despite the heat of the air. He chewed on his lip for a moment then pulled the water bottle from his pack and splashed his forearms liberally with water. The fire of the spots cooled as it washed over them and he sighed with relief and after a moment of revelling in it he pulled his shirt from his sash and inspected his torso, his heart sinking as he saw more of the spots spreading up from beneath the band of his breeches and out across his belly. He splashed more water down his chest, drawing a deep breath as these fires too were damped down. Finally he poured water into his hands and splashed it across his neck letting it trickle its way down the heat of his back, then with a deep sigh he pushed the water bottle away and turned to look out towards the lake.

She had been right, and so had he. Three, maybe four, more rock outcrops down the beach there was a ledge that ran out across the water to join a tall spire of rock, that was what she had seen for it showed proud above the water like the mast of a newly sunken ship. Yet it was not so slender, this was not a silver of rock rising to the sky though its circumference could only be guessed in the poor light. A most singular sight it was to be sure. If there was a place down here that might play home to the fountain then that seemed a likely candidate.

In which case there was only one place for them to go. Wasn't there?

***

Their lodging house was on one of the half way alleys of the port, half way that was between respectability and penury, or between morality and depravity, depending on your perspective. There were no flares in the doorways here, nor lanterns under the eaves, and the occasional tallow candle smoking in a window was the only man made light to be seen. Now the he clouds had put out the natural lights the alley a dark and shadowed and dangerous place. Yet no more dangerous than any other than they had walked and perhaps that made them careless, that or the ale they had consumed.

Neither had intended to drink so much but there had seemed to be no way around it. Not if they were to escape being noticed because in Tortuga not drinking was a sure way to attract attention. It had been their intention to return to their lodgings several hours earlier but they had found themselves caught up in one in one of the minor dramas of Tortuga. In fact it had landed at, almost on, their feet as they had approached the dockside.

The two men looked no different to the drunken throng around them, but for some reason, or maybe no reason, they had fallen foul of one of the town's lower grade madams and been thrown into the dusty street, to the amusement of a clutch of skinny, skimpily dressed and grinning whores. One of the two fell heavily, landing not half a foot from Hathaway's boots in a shower of reddish dust. Like any good Tortuga citizen Hathaway had merely moved to step over the sudden obstruction, but as they wandered away the eloquent curses cast in the direction of the now barred doorway from which they had been ejected left all those within hearing in little doubt about the origin of the men yelling them. If there had been any doubt of it the muttered oaths of a man lounging against the rotten timbers of yet another dingy hovel claiming to be an alehouse convinced them. He spat into the dirt, missing Grove's leg by little more than an inch,
"Spanish," he growled to no one in particular, "Can't abide the Spanish." Then he buried his nose in his tankard.

Hathaway exchanged a warning look with his companion then turned as if surprised. For a moment he stared back towards the staggering and cursing seamen, then he nodded slowly,
"Sound to be, or maybe just sails with 'em, though 'tis true they seems to be fair fluent in the lingo. If Spanish is what it be."
The man grunted and waved his mug in their direction,
"It's that alright. Got sunk by the Spanish. Cost me a leg." He spat at the ground again, "can't abide them. Time was when there was nary a Spanish tongue heard here, these days they seems to be everywhere."
"That so?" Hathaway prompted slowly, "Not noticed meself. Why's would that be are you thinkin'?
The man shook his head,
"No sayin', worlds gone mad these days. But there seems to be far more of them around these parts than there used to be."
He took a slow swallow and belched thoughtfully,
"Were a whole crew of 'em here nigh on a month ago. Lookin' for Jack Sparrow, or so they says." He swore eloquently but it was unclear whether it was the Spanish he was cursing or Sparrow for being sought by them.
"Were they?" Hathaway tried to sound disinterested.
"Ay but then so were lots of other people." He casually scratched a flea bite and frowned. "Wonder what he's been up to now?

Hathaway jerked his head at Groves indicating that he should go and find them some ale, and lounged in the shadow on the other side of the doorway.
"Jack Sparrow you says? Now theres a name to conjour, heard a lot about him but never that he sailed with the Spanish. Why would the Spanish be alookin' for him then?"
That brought a snort of something that might have been laughter or might have been disgust,
"Who knows? Maybe he stole their ship." The man's face contorted in the smoky light of the door fare and Hathaway assumed that he had grinned his approval of the idea. The man belched again then looked in Hathaway's direction and tapped his nose. "More'n likely that is, took one from his majesty's navy once he did. Brought it here, 'tis true for many saw it."
Hathaway grunted,
"Why'd he do that then?"

The man shrugged and took another long drink.
"Who's to say. Sparrow's a strange sort. Flash, if you take my meanin' and more ready than most to have a man take him as a fool. Long enough to get what it is he's after at least, no sluggard is Sparrow if the truth be tol'."
"You know him then?"
"Whole town knows him, in a manner of speakin'. More stories about him than the rest of them put together.
"Them bein'?" not that Hathaway had any real doubt.
"Pirates o'course! Sparrow's a pirate." He shrugged and looked down into his mug, "Warrants for him everywhere so they says. Can't read so I don't know." He scratched his chin then grinned again, "Must have stolen a powerful amount of gold in his time to be wanted that bad. But ya can never tell with Sparrow."
The man gave Hathaway a long hard stare then sidled closer and lowered his voice,
"They say he fought some of the Spanish in an alley not far from here," he looked around as if afraid to be overheard, "had a she devil by his side so says."
Hathaway noted the presence of the woman again, though it seems she was a devil not an angel this time, and nodded thoughtfully at that,
"Maybe so, then again the authorities don't much like pirates and there aren't so many left in these parts these days. Real pirates I mean, not fishermen who takes their chance with a flounderin' ship or merchants who don't want to pay to tie up."

He let the silence hang for a moment easing his shoulder against the rotten door and doing his best to look like a man bored and settling to while away the time in some gossip. As Groves returned with the ale he squinted across at the other man.
"So why would the Spanish be looking for pirates?"
"Not pirates, just Sparrow. Got good reason it seems."
"Has they now? Well we was looking for a ship and had been told that Sparrow might take us. If you knows why we should not sail with him then we would be glad to hear it."
The man looked meaningfully at his mug and Hathaway stifled a sigh and indicated that they should proceed indoors.

So they had spent another hour or more drinking sour ale and rotgut spirit, but the tale had been worth the hearing. Sparrow it seemed had indeed returned to Tortuga looking for the man Gibbs, though it was less than clear why. He had been seen cavorting himself with the wenches in a tavern that would not normally expect to enjoy his patronage, Groves swore silently as he realised it must have been around the same time as he had made his first abortive visit to this hellish place and that he had missed his man by so little. Sparrow had made no attempt to hide as far as they could judge but he had left at some point during the evening, for some unspecified reason, and had vanished into the night. A woman had come looking for him, one who fitted the description they had already heard and she had left with the landlord and some young sprig in pursuit of him.

At some point they had found Sparrow and they had all ended up in a fight with a large group of Spanish sailors in an alley, the woman taking her part with a blade just like the men folk, for all that she had not looked to be a pirate. But they had been outnumbered and almost overborne until, so the story went, the woman had shown herself for the devil that she was by blasting their opponents with invisible fire and leaving them writhing in the fumes of hell on the alley floor. Their informant was a cooper it seemed and had heard it from one of the tavern wenches who had heard it from the friend of the landlord himself. Certainly the landlord, a man called Sampson with a reputation as a fair but hard man, had returned to his inn some hours later with cuts and bruises a plenty and in a foul temper, swearing long and inventively about the Spanish. But the landlord had not stinted in telling the tale, warning all who heard it that none should cross Jack Sparrow or co-operate with his enemies now for fear of what his demon companion might do.
"Seems the tales were right enough." The man had said. "Jack Sparrow came back from the dead and he did not come alone. Nor empty handed for he brought something of great value that the Spanish want."

Hathaway had spent another half hour spinning a yarn about their arrival in Tortuga and their need of a berth, he'd even hinted that he had known Josh Gibbs yet without actually saying so. But he had screwed his mouth up and expressed a disinclination sail with, or even to meet Sparrow in light of the she devil, and requested information about another ship likely to sail. By this time their informant had consumed several glasses of ale at their expense and seemed inclined to repay in kind, providing them with information about a Dutch merchant just docked to make repairs, and who would no doubt be looking for hands when the time came to sail. Then he had got shakily to his feet and accompanied them to the door. The last they had seen of him he was staggering into an alley that ran towards the marketplace. Hathaway had watched the alley entrance for a while, a thoughtful frown on his face, before heading back towards their own lodging.

He had been silent for the first few minutes, and then he sighed,
"We leave at first light."
"Why? We have another day before we need to return."
"Because my instinct tells me that we have asked one question too many. Time we were gone."
Groves stared at him in surprise but before he could ask what that question was he heard the scrape of steel behind them and then the hiss of indrawn breath and an oath from his companion. Over Hathaway's shoulder Groves saw two pieces of darkness detach themselves from the shadows, a sliver of grey light all that betrayed the steel in their hands. There was no time for thought, or fear, Hathaway already had his long knife in his hand and was pulling the second from his boot; Groves did the same without a second thought. Four by his reckoning, two behind then and two in front; not impossible odds then, depending on the quality of the opposition, but not good. But as he and Hathaway prepared to battle for their lives two more men arrived in front of them, one with a cutlass in one hand and a flare in the other, the other man large and stocky but carrying no weapon. The large man stood with the flare at his back, thrown into shadow by its light, balanced on the balls of his feet like a fighter as he tucked his hands into his belt. Behind them Groves heard the sounds of two more men arriving and his heart sank.

But their assailents made no move towards then just waiting as the man in shadow nodded in their direction,
"So tell me gentlemen, why be ye searching so assiduously for Jack Sparra?"

***

They had resumed their trek around the lake moveing carefully closer to the one place they might get access to that spire of rock. But long before they made the next rock spar Jack knew that his impromptu ablutions had not solved his problem, whatever it was. His eyes were becoming sore, as if rimed with sand, the itching had returned with a vengeance. To make matters worse the skin of his armpits and groin was tight and uncomfortable. He gritted his teeth and told himself that it was his wet shirt and breeches chafing, but as the discomfort extended to his scalp and thighs he knew that it was more than that. Jack gnawed at his lip and stifled the desire to explore his hurts again, instead striding out in the hope that movement would pull the wet fabric from his skin and ease the discomfort.

They arrived at the base of the causeway, if that was what it was, in silence. Looking up the tumbled rock appeared remarkably close to a stair way, and while it would not be a hard climb they had no way of knowing what waited for them on the put out a hand and caught at his arm,
"We have to stop Jack, the light is getting too poor to do anything more. Even if there is something to see we run the risk of missing it. Or falling off that into the water."

Angry words had started a rushed towards his tongue, because at that moment he wanted nothing more than to find what ever there was to be found and head back to the comfort of the ship, but the truth of that observation stamped on them. Falling into that water was not something he had any desire to do. However he had brought them here, and he was not going to admit any error, and he was certainly not going to own up to the horror of this place that he was beginning to develop. So he drew a deep breath, wincing as the skin across his chest pulled tight in the movement, then turned the grimace into a smile.
"Aye, it is. A rest might be in order." He gave her the best grin that he could manage, "get some sleep maybe, before the light returns."
Elanor nodded, but both of them were thinking of the last time one of them had tried to sleep.
"I'll take first watch." He saw her widening eyes and glared at her, "unless mi'lady doesn't trust me to do the necessary any more?"
"I slept last time, its your turn now," was all she said and her tone was mild enough.
The rising anger died as quickly as it had stirred and he nodded,
"So you did," he admitted, "very well, you take first watch and wake me when it seems best to you. The light must come back sooner or later, perhaps it's linked to the sun after all."

Elanor shrugged,
"Maybe, that might be how it works. I'm going to try and talk to Ariadne again, maybe she will have some answers."
Jack inclined his head graciously,
"A fine idea, " he made shooing movements with his fingers, " as long as you be off doing it somewhere I don't hear you. Precious little sleep I'll get with you and your ghost chattering like a couple of tavern wenches."
Elanor cast him a suspicious look but he met it with raised eyebrows and a wide-eyed gaze of bland innocence. She egarded him searchingly for a moment longer then turned away and moved a little way back across the sands. Jack watched her first few steps then he slipped into the shadow of the rock, sinking down onto the dry sand with a gasp, gripping his hands into fists against the pain that was beginning to spread from his groin, spilling a sensation like hot ash between his legs and down his thighs. Fumbling a little he pulled out his water bottle and liberally splashed those parts of himself that he could reach, letting out his breath in a hiss as the pain surged higher before falling back. Finally he let his head loll against the rocks and tried to sleep.

But he had little success and his fitful dose was disturbed by images of fire, images that became more intrusive as the discomfort worsened. When the dreams became of branding irons he woke and reached for the water bottle, spilling some as he hurried to uncork it. Though the water cooled the blaze on his skin for a few seconds the heat began again all too soon, and much more quickly than before. Jack tried to settle himself more comfortably but the infero raging on his skin seemed to be sinking down into his body, down into his blood and bones.

"What is wrong Jack?"
Elanor's voice broke through his attempts to squash the pain. He turned his head quickly and winced, his neck felt stiff and the movement set a far off bell ringing in his head. Worse than that the there was a noose about his cods that was slowly strangling them. But he'd be damned before he'd tell her of it. He kept his eyes closed and tried to relax,
"Nothin' why should there be?" he growled instead.
"You've not been still for more than a minute in the last hour, it's as if you can't get comfortable."
He opened one eye and gazed at her balefully,
"I'm sittin' against a bloody rock in darkness that's not darkness and in a world that seems to want to send me mad. Which bit of that am I supposed to find comfortable if you please?" He closed his eye and wriggled his shoulders trying to find a more restful position, raising a languid hand in a dismissive gesture, "and I don't need to be told it was my choice to be here, I think we've agreed on that."

She was silent for a moment then he felt her hand upon his forehead,
"But you are more than uncomfortable and you are very hot. What is it?"
He cursed her below his breath for he knew this tone of her voice, she was not going to let it go. Drawing a deep breath he strove for a light and easy reply,
"'Tis nothing luv, just that the water was cold and this fug means that I've not dried out."
"I'm pretty wet too but I'm not as uncomfortable as you obviously are."
Jack summoned his strength and rolled his head around to look at her with a devil baiting grin,
"Aye love but there are differences in the bits of us that are wet." His voice softened and became confiding, "I'll wager there is less of you to chafe, where it matters," he cocked an eyebrow at her, "or have they changed that too?"
But it seemed that she was not to be distracted.
"No, you were wet earlier and it didn't bother you so much then. It's only since you took a dip in that." She nodded in the direction of the lake.
He shrugged and with some effort swallowed the cry that rose to his lips at the movement,
"Told you, it were cold. That's all. Now, can I get some rest? Eh."

For a moment she said nothing then, without warning, she reached forward and caught at his arm, pushing his shirtsleeve up above his elbow. He couldn't hold in the hiss of pain that brought, but it didn't matter because it was drowned out by her curse,
"Bloody hell Jack! Why didn't you say something?"
Her eyes were locked on his arm and he looked down to see that the pinpricks of earlier had become red spiders, their legs spreading across the tanned skin of his forearm, the marks standing out like small corded veins and extending tendrils up into the paler skin of his upper arm. With another curse she caught hold of his other arm and pushed that shirtsleeve up too, the marks were just the same.

She said something under her breath then ran her hands over him, fingers pressing into his neck then his chest then edging down below his belly. With an indrawn breath he slapped her hand away,
"Oi" he cocked his head and looked at her sideways, "easy on the goods! I know this place does strange things but if you've decided to come down from your lofty angelic heights you've chosen the wrong time, darlin' I'm not in the mood."
Her worried frown faded for a moment and she grinned at him,
"And there can't be many people who have heard you say that!"
He scowled at her, but in the face of her un-offended amusement the anger faded and he felt the corners of his mouth lift,
"Almost none at all luv."
"Almost?" she said provocatively, "you mean I'm not in a club of one?"
He squinted at her in mock outrage,
"I have me standards I'll have you know. More than one I've refused such freedoms to in the past."
She stared at him for a moment,
"Beckett?"
The word was a question and for a moment he was taken aback, trying to recall what he'd told her of that business. Still there seemed no harm to speak of it to one who hadn't known him, not now...
"Aye, he were one."
"How long ago was that?" she was suddenly serious.
"Nearly... . " he thought about it for a moment, "fifteen year ago, allowin' for me time dead you understand."

She stared at him for a long moment, her eyes appraising but kind,
"Fifteen years.. You must have been.... quite something Jack Sparrow, then, at the beginning."
He looked at her in confusion for a moment, trying to understand her meaning, then he gave her a strangely sad smile,
"I was young, and untried and stupid. That's all it takes luv. For the Beckett's of this world."
For a moment her eyes seemed to slide away from him and a cloud of sadness passed across her face,
"It is indeed." She drew a deep breath and her eyes came back to his, "but these, " she indicated the welts, "these, and the fact that all your glands are up, means something is going on."
He gave her a smile, sickly sweet in its mockery,
"I'd realised that. Nor do I need you to tell me it was that, " he flicked a hand towards the lake, "For I'd worked that out for meself."
"Not your fault. You didn't know you were going into it. But it looks as if this place might win after all, whatever its reasons."

That seemed to galvanise him and he surged to his feet as if there was nothing in the world wrong with him,
"I'm not giving it the satisfaction luv. Did you speak to your ghost?"
"No, I don't understand why, but I can't reach her."
"Then there is only one course of action to follow."
Elanor sighed and looked up. Jack nodded,
"Aye we try again, this time up there."