~*~
No Heroes Amongst Thieves
A Novel
By: Roux
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Chapter Two:
Le Sable et PassoirCarlos was shoved up against a wall, screaming against the hand that covered his mouth. He thrashed ineffectively against the iron grip that held him in place, kicking at his assaulter, who in turn tightened their hold on his face with an audible snort.
"Took you long enough, peeshwank!" Caro's face loomed into Carlos' own, appearing only mildly annoyed. Carlos sighed with relief, and then huffed indignantly, pushing with both hands at the chest of his amiga. Much to his chagrin, she batted her eyes at him and gave him a honeyed smile.
"Well, Carlos. I didn' know ya cared!"
Carlos' eyes widened. He had just touched her br—
…Actually it was best not to think about it.
Sometimes the fact that Caro was a gi— woman—slipped his mind. She acted too much like one's chum; an acquaintance that you would never introduce to your family. Though her body was most definitely not that of a man's, her supple, curv—
Carlos decided to abandon 'coherent thought' for 'apathy' and turned on his heel, gliding into the dim twilit night, his pointed nose held high in the piquant night air. Caro did not hesitate to laugh when His Majesty tripped on an uneven slice of street, and stepped over him, making sure to 'accidentally' trod upon His Royal Backside.
*~*~*
Le Sable et Passoir was most definitely not the best of the taverns in New Orleans. Nor was it the most vile. But what mattered most is that the authority left it alone. Of course, the only reason for that being was that the bar was actually below ground, out of the unsuspecting townsperson's eye, but business could be conducted betweens any two persons who knew of the place, and neither would be harassed, threatened, or beaten in any way or form.
Inside the bar.
That was the general rule.
Everyone who knew of it knew to obey it, and to respect it, be they sailor, murderer, or thief, else they be hunted down by the tavern's owner: one Monsieur Marchand, former seaman and trapper.
He was gruff, but good-hearted; a fair man. But if his temper flared, all in his path were in danger of being burned, and badly. So the wise stayed on the old man's good side, whilst quietly snickering at the foolish who were trampled time and time again into the dust.
The only group that the aging man was even particularly decent to was the prostitutes. He allowed them to scour his tavern for customers, acting as a rather curious boss; a father, really, for Marchand fed 'Les Filles', as he called them, when they had no food; loaned them money went rents were due and no payment was to be had; gave them jobs as barmaids to rake in extra money to support young families.
Rumor had it that Marchand had once fathered a daughter, but had gone away to sea in her early years. Rumor had it he returned to France years later, only to find his wife dead, and his daughter gone, apparently working the streets in Paris. Rumors led to Paris, always to Paris, winding down the Road of Fate to a House of Ill Repute, a road that Marchand unwittingly discovered himself to be following.
For many weeks he had searched the slums of Paris, refusing offers from all-too-willing women, feeling sick at the idea that one might have been his petite fille.
Rumors.
That was all Marchand searched for.
Rumor led Marchand to the docks of Marseilles once more. The word on the street had been that many of the 'criminals' of Paris were to be sent to the Americas, particularly the French settlements, in order to rid France of its 'lowlifes'.
It was a rumor that made up Marchand's own mind for him, and he sailed the ocean for the last time, in pursuit of the shiploads of criminals and prostitutes that France had injudiciously sent to the New World, hoping perhaps that one day, he might find his beloved daughter. Every morning, he prayed for forgiveness; every night, he prayed that his child might just walk down those twenty-seven steps to the hostelry that he now called home.
And so he befriended the Ladies of the Evening, and welcomed them to his tavern.
Captain Jack Sparrow was most thankful for this.
Rum in one hand, girl on the other, he drank his way into the night, recalling some of his most famous experiences to his attentive audience. It was very lucky for Jack indeed that this town, New Orleans, had not yet heard of Captain Jack Sparrow. He hadn't mentioned anything to do with the Black Pearl, though, seeing as how last time his wish for narcissistic acknowledgement went awry.
The room had gone deadly quiet; the wench on his lap had gasped and recoiled in superstitious fear. Rum had spilt from mugs to the ground, running in little rivers about the feet of now-silent customers. Jack did not want to repeat that mistake. Again. All that rum, crying onto the floor in tiny trickles, and Jack never got the chance to console it…Besides, Jack had had no company of the female sort for the whole time he was in port, if you didn't count Ana-Maria.
Which he didn't.
He most definitely did not want to repeat any aspect of that nasty, nasty night.
Jack looked down at the girl to his left, who was clinging to his arm as if she would never let go. His smirk glittered in the candlelight and caught the attention of the overly primped and painted whore, making her smile all the wider.
Jack grinned again, more to himself than anyone else, and continued on with his story.
*~*~*
Caro stooped, as most did, as she walked over the threshold of Le Sable et Passoir, avoiding the low beam. Carlos was not as smart. His head hit the beam with a loud resounding crack, and he fell to the wooden floor in a daze. The tavern-goers all cringed at the sound, all having been that clumsy at least once, and some even rubbed the spot on their heads where the beam had knocked some sense into them.
Caro glanced at Carlos, who was still on the floor nursing his wounded head, and rolled her eyes. Men. As clumsy as they were stupid.
Caro left Carlos to his injury and made her way through the throngs of people over to the bar. She unsheathed the ladle that was yet in her belt, and rapped it loudly on the counter.
"Luc," she hollered, "Where are y'?" She continued to bang the counter with her ladle, grinning as the customers about her began to mumble irately about shrill tarts with oversized serving spoons and dumping said items into the bay. "Luc! Your customers are getting angry! Help! Police! Rape! Murder! Police! Help!"
"Ah, be quiet, you overgrown cat, quiet your incessant yowling!" A gnarled hand grabbed the ladle and attempted to wrench it from Caro's hand. Caro twisted and turned with the arm that was connected to the hand, preventing it from stealing her new sword. She then jerked the handle to left and then to the right in one quick motion, and tricked the hand into releasing the dipper; Caro whooped her victory and gave the head that was ruler of the arm and hand a good sound rap. Luc scowled and massaged the growing lump on his head.
"Marchand, when will you learn that you do not touch what is not yours?"
Luc Marchand grinned.
"Go to bed! If I know Caro, and I know her well, mind you, that ladle is not even hers!"
Caro's face dropped comically and her bottom lip stuck itself out.
"Aw, Luc, do you accuse me of stealing this fine piece of silverware?"
"I do."
"Ah, well, you do know Caro then." She wrapped her arms around Luc in a bear hug and whispered softly into his ear. "It is good to see you again, Nonc." Marchand enveloped Caro in a hug of his own.
"'Lo there, Sugarbee. How's my best fille?"
"Eh…same's always, Luc. How's business?"
"Same's always, Caro." Caro grinned again and rapped the counter with her ladle once more.
"If business is really dat horrible, then I best buy a drink, eh? I'll have a pint, Luc, if you please." Caro fished about in her pockets for money, which she soon found and plopped it on the counter. Luc shook his head and grabbed a pewter mug, and filled it to the rim.
"Shouldn't be drinking, Caro. You are a lady."
Caro took a swig of her ale and shook her head.
"Don't see no ladies 'round here, Luc. With de exception of Carlos, of course. And besides, beer puts 'air on your chest." Caro's eyes twinkled as she beat her chest softly with a fist. She took another sip and set the mug down upon the counter, listening to the dull 'clunk' the pewter made against the wood. "Luc?"
The old bartender looked up from one of the endless beakers he had to clean.
"Yes?"
"Did a rather strange man come in, perhaps a few minutes past?"
Marchand scoffed.
"Well, if you want to be specific, then…"
"I was serious! A very strange looking man he is, wit' many baubles an' trinkets in 'is 'air. 'E walks like de most graceful drunk, and without being so, if I have guessed correctly. An older homme was wit' 'im. Like an O'Pa, he was, but sailor-like."
"Gibbs? Do you mean Joshamee Gibbs?"
Caro's face went blank.
"You lost me bag daer, mon ami…"
Luc sighed. Young people…
"A portly sailor is Joshamee Gibbs, with long muttonchops down to his chin. Gray-haired and eyes like a sea at storm."
"I would not know of his eyes, for I looked only at his backside…"
"Caro!"
"Now, now, it ain't like dat, yeurhm? Only well-ta-do rich girls go after da ugly ol' men, so—"
"He is sitting over there." Luc pointed to a table more-or-less in the middle of the room. There was the grandfather that Marchand had described, surrounded by a smattering of men and women of all ages and appearances, and all had their eyes fixed upon one figure—
"That's him!"
"Who's 'him'?" Carlos staggered up in time to see Caro fly off in the direction of the crowded table; he sat down dazedly at the bar and looked confusedly at Marchand. "What is going on, Luc? Who is 'him'?"
"Search me."
"I'd rather not, vie—"
"Be quiet, Carlos."
"All right."
*~*~*
"And so, they made me their chief."
The girl clinging to Jack's arm managed to clap adoringly, reach for her beer, and remain latched on to his person all at one time; a feat that she accomplished without a hitch, which rather impressed Jack. Multitasking! He could do that! In bed, mind, but not that it mattered.
Yet.
*~*~*
Caro watched as the girl performed, knowing full well her game. The corners of Caro's mouth turned up in a small, knowing smile; her quarry had chosen Tempeste, who most definitely lived up to her name if things did not go her way, and her way alone. Which apparently seemed to happen more often than not. That fellow was in for a ride he shouldn't soon forget, if he ever managed to be separated from the leech long enough so that he had time to forget, that is.
But…
She would not interfere. Not unless she thought things were getting out of hand. So, until that time came, Caro decided to pull up a chair and observe.
*~*~*
Jack had noticed her as soon as she sat down, but he continued with his story as if nothing had happened, though he kept an eye on her. It was not often he saw a girl such as this, even if he was in the pirating business. And—
Ooh.
What was that?
Jack slightly stiffened as the slender hand trailed along his crotch, but he did not falter in his story; he would rather kill two birds with one stone and get everything he wanted in one go.
Ooh. There it was again.
Caro watched as a slight, almost unnoticeable tic appeared in the man's eye, and rolled her own pair. It starts.
She got up from out of her chair and returned to the bar, where Carlos and Luc still were, each deep in thought; Carlos was idly picking at a gash in the wood, and Luc was rubbing at a spotless glass, oblivious to the fact that it was already clean. Caro waved a hand in front of Carlos' blank face.
"Hello?"
"He's after me!" This statement came out as a shrill, incredulous squeak, and made Caro jump at least a foot.
"Carlos…?"
"Oh. Hello, Caro." He noticed her stare. "What?"
"Who's after you?"
Carlos blushed a rosy pink and looked down at his shoes, continuing to pick at the jagged gash, mumbling to himself. Caro snapped her fingers before his nose and ordered him to sit up. He complied and straightened out, refusing to look Caro in the eye. Sheepish little…
"That's all right. You lucky it doesn't matter now, else you'd be strung up by yo' heels for what you done ta dat poor fille. What was her name again? Mademoiselle Charlotte? Daughter of N'Awlins' wealt'iest plantation owner?" Carlos stuttered and blushed an even deeper shade of red, causing Caro to throw her head back and laugh. "Ah, l'amour! Ya need any help, Bra? Caro, she has lot's of help ta give. Help is one o' da nicest t'ings in da world…'specially in the area of love! Help is good, yes?"
She grinned as she slapped him on the back in a jovial sort of way; it was then Carlos knew…
"All right. What do you want?"
"Is it that obvious?"
"No," he drawled, "what makes you say that?"
Caro raised an eyebrow. Was Carlos, the ever ignorant, actually being sarcastic? Took him long enough…
"No reason…Mais, could you do me a favor?" She paused. "What am I saying?" She pointed an accusatory finger at him and continued. "You owe me anyway!"
Now Carlos stared at Caro dead in the face.
"What are you jabbering on about? I owe you what? I paid you that five—" Caro shook her head.
"No, no, not money. Caro saved you, boy, from dat hulk of a woman…You know, da one that was tryin' ta brain ya wit' this ladle?" She waved the spoon nonchalantly and continued. "So, yes, ya do owe me. Quite a bit, mind, for that was quite a bit o' woman, if ya ask me…" She cocked her head expectantly and folded her arms, her fingers tapping against her sleeves impatiently.
Carlos sighed, and decided that it wasn't worth fighting for, so…
"All right. What is it you want me to do?"
Caro's grin morphed from teasing to mischievous; she leaned in a bit closer and said in a conniving whisper:
"All right, den. Knew you'd agree in d'end. Here's what ya gotta do…"
*~*~*
Jack was in his proverbial element; his audience was hanging on to his every word, hands cupping chins or clasped together upon the table, or doing…other things…Yes, they were mostly drunk, but, then again, so was Jack, so what did it matter?
The whore, who had abandoned her administrations to his nether areas, had pressed herself up against Jack's torso, her lips brushing against his ear, tickling it with her sweet and sour breath, warm with some hidden zeal. Jack's hand rested upon her hip, the other occasionally punctuating his words with a wave or a flutter or lifting the rum-mug to his lips for a drink. He liked this. Nobody had slapped him (yet), nobody had run away from him (yet), and nobody had accused him of attempting to attack, kidnap, and otherwise completely endanger the lives of respectable gentlemen's daughters (yet). Life was good. He had rum, a comfortable seat, a portable home, a considerate audience, and what appeared to be a good woman. What more could a man want?
He glanced up again as a pounding echoed from the stairwell, not quite sure what it was. He heard a muffled noise, like a crying scream silenced by a hand that ordered quiet. The whore blearily peeked around the room at the sound, lifting her head from the cradle that was Jack's neck and shoulder.
"What ees goink on?"
Jack looked down at the woman and shrugged one shoulder. "No idea, love. 'S best ta ignore it, leastways. Just got inta port. Don't want any trouble tonight." The whore smiled seductively, spurred on by the handsome man whose lap she occupied and the intake of ale she sustained.
"Zen I theenk zat you 'ave made a mistake in your choice of company, monsieur. I am more trouble then you could possibly imagine." She touched her red lips to his ear as she said this and let her tongue snake out and flick at his skin, her words shivering through his canal to his brain, down his spine and to the tips of Jack's fingers and toes. Jack narrowed his heated eyes.
"Perhaps I have, then, m'dear. Care to see if what you said is true? That you're not a liar?" His long fingers played with a golden lock of hair that strayed from her bun. She pulled back and positioned her full mouth against his, her legs rubbing against the cloth that separated his skin from her own.
"Eef what I said makes me a liar, zen I would 'ate to see what an honest person looks like, mon chere." Once again, all the blood in his body seemed to drain to Jack's groin.
However, Jack wasn't able to add any more to this most interesting conversation; the pounding noise started again, louder this time, and was difficult to ignore. A loud boom! made the bottles on the tables rattle, and a glass of bourbon fell to the floor, splintering into a thousand tiny, shining diamonds, leaving the wood to drink up the liquor. This was punctuated by a breathless yell; Jack's hand immediately flew to his pistol out of instinct, and made to stand up, searching for another exit, when a red blur shot past him and over to the stairwell.
Caro froze as she saw a brutish-looking man grab at a frightened girl's shoulders and shake her like a rag doll. Her first reaction was to get the girl as far away from this monster as soon as was possible, if not the other way around. Caro whipped out her staff and unfolded it; she poked at the man's spine with its butt, hoping to grab his attention.
"Monsieur? We are sorry, but we must ask you to move, you are blocking the door. It's a fire hazard, y'know."
The beast appeared not to have heard her, and shook the girl again. Caro strained to look over the man's large shoulder, and when she did, she caught a glimpse of a young woman, no older than seventeen, wide-eyed, and obviously scared to death. Her violet dress was hanging in messy rips, having been torn during her struggle to escape, and her hands were clenched tightly to her sides, almost as if she was afraid that her assaulter would bite them off. He prob'ly could and would, Caro thought grimly. Her grip tightened on her staff, and she poked the man again, this time, with much more force, causing him to exhale in a grunt of pain.
"Go 'way! 'M busy!" His voice was harsh and cold sounding. Caro didn't like it. She didn't like it one bit.
"Let go of the fille, hybride, or you will recieve a lump on your 'ead the size of a mango." Caro stepped back as the man swung around violently, unknowingly releasing the girl in his blind anger. She ran back into the tavern and into the arms of Luc, who hugged her and stroked her hair soothingly. The man growled.
"Be quiet you stupid woman! This is no business of yours!" His voice was heavily accented; Portuguese, Caro thought.
"I should t'ink it is. Cosette is as a sister to me, and it doesn't sit well wit' Caro that one should hurt her family. So play nice." The last two words were accompanied by a pair of sharp pokes in the gut from her staff. She caught a whiff of the sailor, and it was then that she knew he was drunk, but Caro searched for his gaze, and when she found it, she held it defiantly and positioned herself in a fighting stance, like a tiger ready to pounce.
Nothing happened for a moment, and Caro nearly turned to leave, but the large Portuguese hurdled forward and knocked Caro down the last three steps and onto the floor. Caro was on her feet again almost as soon as she hit the ground, missing the large foot, which stamped at where her head had been. She lashed out with her staff and came into contact with the side of his head with a loud cracking noise. His skin split, and blood gushed out from the wound, dripping onto the clean wooden floor.
"Now look what you done," scolded Caro, "you made a mess! Dis floor is allus so nice 'n tidy, but then you go and ruin it. For shame." She jabbed at the meaty hand that was currently tending to his head wound and was satisfied with the man's response: he yelped. "Yeah, tha's right, whine fo' the dog that you are! You is not to be treating any woman da way you treat Cosette!"
The man mumbled incoherently. Caro cupped a hand and held it to her ear.
"What was dat? Didn't quite hear ya."
The man didn't answer. He instead lunged and wrapped his large hands around Caro's throat and lifted her off the ground. Her eyes bugged out at the sensation, and her world nearly went black, but she dug her fingernails into the flesh of her hand, using the flashing pain as a buoy to keep awake. Caro grit her teeth and fought to stay conscious; her hands reached up to her neck and pulled at the gargantuan pair she found there, but to no avail.
Wracking her brain for some plan, she blanked out of reality for a moment, and from inside the bar Luc gasped and Carlos' mouth fell open in horror, for Caro's hands went limp at her sides and her feet dangled listlessly, her staff clattering to the floor.
Jack watched the series of events unfold and was silent. The girl on his arm had her hand over her mouth, and was shaking slightly; Jack could sense it; he patted her arm reassuringly but kept his kohl-lined eyes focused on the young woman who was slowly losing the fight for her life. He felt a tap on his shoulder. He glanced up, and saw Gibbs standing there, a look of alarm on his aging face.
"Should we not do summat, Cap'n?" His hands were wringing themselves over and over again, something that Gibbs didn't normally do. Jack suddenly remembered one night, a long time before, when Gibbs had mentioned something…or someone…
*~*~*
It was a clear, lukewarm winter night in the Caribbean, and the bow of the Driftwood dipped in and out of the water in a slow, entrancing fashion. The deck of the ship was dimly lit with a few lanterns so that the pirates could see, for tonight there was no moon. She had died the night before, and was to be reborn in the darkness of the following day. A man leaned against the railing on port-bow, staring off into oblivion.
Jack watched him from his hiding place in the awning, noticing his thoughtful melancholy and sad disposition. Joshamee Gibbs…a man who Jack considered his friend and confidant. In fact, Gibbs was Jack's only friend and confidant, the first one since…since Bootstrap.
Jack winced. Christ. It still hurt to think about it, and that happened, what? Four years ago? Five?
Jack shook his head. That didn't matter. Time didn't matter. It still didn't change the fact that the Pearl was no longer swaying under his feet. The Black Pearl was still his, She would always be his, despite the knowledge that Barbossa currently 'captained' her. Bloody bastard…
Jack cleared his head of the memory for a moment and shimmied down the foremast. His bare feet pit-patted softly against the deck as he walked over to Gibbs, the smooth wood caressing his soles like a woman's hands. Gibbs didn't acknowledge Jack's presence as he came to lean on the rail next to him. They both noiselessly accepted the night, each comfortable with the other's silence, listening to the gentle waves rippling against the wood of the ship and to the ruffle of the sails as a light nighttime breeze stroked them, their slow, deep breaths blowing through the men's ears, through their noses, and into their lungs, making their own breathing seem superficial. Now with the cool, crisp night air in his system, Gibbs found his voice and spoke.
"Ye ever love a woman, Jack?"
Jack twirled his moustache between his thumb and forefinger vaguely as he gave his answer.
"You weren't th' only one as warned me against them time and time again, my good man."
"'Twasn't what I meant. I meant it literally. Ye ever love a woman?"
"Gibbs, ya love one woman, ye love 'em all. I should know tha' especially!." Jack nearly started to laugh, but stopped at the look on Joshamee's face. Oh, this was getting uncomfortable! He reached out a hand and tentatively patted the older man's shoulder, unsure of what to do. "Sorry, mate. Y'all right, there?"
Gibbs rubbed at his eye with a grubby finger angrily. "No," he said, "I ain't 'all right'. Not this time."
Jesus Christ in a handbag…Now I have to ask 'im what's wrong, thought Jack. All right, then, here goes nothin'…
"Care ta talk about it wiv yer ould friend Jack? He'll listen, I'm right certain." Jack turned around and leaned against the railing again, this time, facing Gibbs, who looked up. He wore a look of mild interest on his tanned face, mingled with…what was that? Concern? Was it for him, for was it for Jack's own sake?
"I loved a woman once, Jack. With all me 'eart."
"What 'appened to 'er? She die?"
Gibbs' face clouded.
"Nah. Left her fer the sea, I did. She's a wanton mistress, and a jealous 'un at that.". He unscrewed the little canteen about his neck and took a deep draught, re-corked it, and let it fall back to his chest limply. "Loved Nora with all me 'eart, had a child, and then I left 'er. Some husband I was, eh?"
Jack ignored that last comment.
"Ye 'ad a kid? Boy or girl?" He almost smiled himself as Gibbs' face shone with fatherly pride.
"A beau'iful 'lil gurl it was. A twinkle in 'er eye and a curl in 'er golden 'air. Was the spittin' image of 'er mother, Anne was."
"Have you seen either 'o them since?"
Gibbs' face fell back into a frown.
"Nah. Ne'er did. Too ashamed 'n embarrassed was I." He paused. "Today would've been Annie's twelfth birthday. Was going to send 'er summat, but I backed out. Afraid she wouldn't like it." He fished about in his pocket for something, and it came out holding a little wooden top, about the size of Jack's palm, that had been whittled from a piece of strong, smooth sea-wood. Wrapped around it was a length of twine that was knotted a one end with a few colorful glass beads. Gibbs set it on the floor and jerked at the twine, sending the top whizzing across the deck.
Both Jack and Gibbs watched it until the top slowed and made that 'whirrwhirrwhirr' noise that all tops do when they've lost their steam, until finally it stopped and lolled about on the wood, rolling back and forth with the motion of the ship. A few minutes later, Jack broke the silence.
"She'd've liked it, Josh. She'd've liked it."
He walked away, leaving Gibbs deep in thought once more, staring at the twine in his hand.
*~*~*
"Cap'n?"
Jack jerked back to 'now'. Well? Should he?
He stroked his goatee. How could he benefit from all this?
He didn't have the chance to decide, for the girl seemed to waken again.
Caro suddenly returned to the land of the living, nearly blue in the face and extremely exhausted. Her eyes lit up and searched the face of her attacker, who stared dumbly back. Grinning, she swung her feet upwards with all the strength she could muster, and kicked out at the man's chest; his grip loosened, but he didn't yet let go. Caro strained as she attempted to 'walk' up the man's chest, her feet sliding towards the man's throat. The tip of her boot touched the man's jugular, and Caro's teeth bared in a snarl as she strained again to release herself from the man's deadly grip.
Perhaps it was because she was regaining strength, or perhaps it was because she had scared the man so, but Caro would never know how she managed to press both feet against his throat, locking them in a 'head-to-head' position.
The Portuguese's face became redder and redder as Caro applied more pressure with her toes, aiming for his fat gullet, until finally he roared and released Caro, and fell to the floor with a great deal of noise.
Caro didn't even have the chance to take a breath, for she grabbed her Bo and aimed it deftly at the man's throat.
"Bang. You dead."
(AN) Sorry for the wait. Had a lot going on. Do you still like it? More Jack in the next chapter…and the plot will soon show itself. Right now I'm just introducing our cast of characters….And by the way, that flash back was to have been mostly in italics…my upload was weird. I must have uploaded it a few different times, but it always came out the same…so…Sorry!
Thank you for all your encouragement and kind reviews!
Roux (and yes, I did change my penname again! What can I say? I love pseudonyms!)