First off - Wow! Thanks so much for all of your positive feedback! I didn't expect NEARLY that
many reviews on my first chapter. I'm not sure I entirely expected that many on the fic in its
entirety.
And thank you to Princess of the Pixies for her suggestions. To the rest of you - don't be afraid to
tell me what I'm doing WRONG, either. That's how the story will get better: if I can fix the
problems in it.
Another note: I always thought that the town in the movie was spelled 'Port Royale' with an 'e'
at the end, but in doing some research I read about 'Port Royal', which was a center for
contraband trade between the Spanish and English, and was considered one of the most wicked
and unwholesome cities you could imagine due to massive alcohol consumption by most
citizens. I assume that the Port Royal/e that's seen in the movie is after some of the order was
restored again by new English governors and new laws. Still, Port Royal/e was a center for
buccaneers and privateers for a number of years (no rhyming intended), so maybe Jack didn't
wind up there by accident at the beginning of the movie?
Sorry for that long A/N, and thanks again!
*****
"All right, darling, you can let go." Carolyn shook her head at Jack's urging. Jack had
been attempting to go about his duties as captain of the Black Pearl as usual, but was finding it
rather difficult with this little girl whom he had known for the time period of five hours clinging
to his leg. It was seven o' clock, or thereabouts, and the sun was dragging itself ever nearer to the
horizon. It'd be dark soon. Another hour or two.
Another hour or two of eternity with a small child clinging to his leg. Goodness me, this
was going to be a fantastic week.
"Carolyn, would we like to visit Auntie Anamaria?" The thought struck him as a good
one. Women knew about taking care of kids, right? Anamaria could take care of this one. Feed it
or something. Of course, Jack could feed it too, but really, wasn't that rather too un-captain-like?
Feeding a child? Entirely off of the subject of feeding the child, Jack asked in a drawling, musing
voice, "How old are you, Carolyn?"
A long silence, the feeling of tiny arms clinging more tightly to his leg, then finally the
meek response, "Fi'."
"Five whole years old, my what a grand age that was. I remember it like it was
yesterday," Jack mused, remembering no such time in his life, except maybe the fact that his
father had been particularly good at taking small children, throwing them in the air, then catching
them again. Jack wondered if he'd inherited this skill, almost plucked the girl off of his leg to see
if he indeed had, then decided against it. He was not that fond of the thing. Yet. Yet? No, not yet.
Maybe if she'd stop CLINGING to his GOD DAMNED LEG. But not yet.
Anamaria was gone (mostly) from Jack's thoughts. He was at the helm, steering
pleasantly towards what he hoped was Cuba. He hadn't exactly bothered, thus far, to check a
reliable compass. Well. He had an excellent sense of direction and doubted that it would matter
much, in the end, seeing as they'd reach Cuba or they wouldn't, and, since those were the only
two viable outcomes, he had a fifty percent chance of reaching his desired destination. Which
was all well and good. But he didn't want to take more than three days getting there, and that
would require some hard sailing at this point. Which brought his mind back around to Anamaria
and her likely capability of taking the little girl off of Jack's hands, seeing as he would need to be
free to do captainly duties and things of that sort.
That, and Jack figured that, while rum was all right by age eight or nine, or thereabouts, a
five-year-old may be just a bit too small to handle the stuff. And Jack, having spent quite a bit of
time with himself and knowing his own habits, was likely to become a bit generous in sharing his
rum, should he consume enough of it himself. Not that he cared about what happened to the girl
or anything, of course.
Of course.
At the moment, however, they were hopefully bound for Cuba and Anamaria was
nowhere in sight. Jack looked around and saw only Gibbs drinking something or other (but likely
liquor) from his flask, Cotton's parrot flapping about in the rigging, and one or two deck hands
checking rigging and swabbing deck. Piratical things of that sort.
Well, so much for hard sailing and reaching Cuba in three days.
At that particular moment, a member of Jack's crew decided to come up and make kindly
with the girl. He had been watching her clinging to Jack and was reminded strongly of his own
little girl he'd had a while ago. Didn't know what'd happened to her and her mother, but what
could you do? And so, upon these thoughts, he kneeled down to about eye-level with the girl.
Jack muttered a greeting and the little girl, (Carolyn, Jack had said her name was), buried her
face in Jack's trousers. Jack sighed.
"'Lo, there, Miss Carolyn!" the crew member piped cheerfully. "Gettin' along all right,
there?"
Carolyn did not answer. She clung more tightly to Jack's leg. The member of the crew
frowned a bit and continued on, "Well, I'll be seein' yeh 'round, I 'spect. . . seein' as we're on a
ship an' all." He looked around a bit then stared at her hard for a moment. Seeing as this had
about the same results as speaking to her, he stood up and walked away. HIS girl had certainly
been more friendly to strangers, he knew that much.
Jack hummed a bit to himself, trying to calm his nerves. He'd had the damned song stuck
in his head for MONTHS, it seemed.
"Devils and ya da da really bad eggs. . ." He'd always loved the 'really bad eggs' part.
Who had taught. . . hm. He should know where the song came from, after all, songs don't just
magically sing themselves into your head. Unless you were one of those well-to-do composers
like Mozart or Bach or Beethowhatsizname. But Jack was not, and so the song HAD to have
come from somewhere. There had been rum involved, he recalled, but there was rum involved in
the learning of almost every song he knew, and a girl- oh! Right it had been in that whole ordeal
with Barbossa and the curse and Will and Eliza-
With Will and Elizabeth. The happy dear couple whom Jack held EVER so close to his
heart. And of course they held him in the highest esteem likewise.
"Carolyn, my dear. . ." began Jack. "How would you feel about visiting Uncle Jacky's
dear friends in Port Royale?
A slight clench on his leg was the only response he got for a moment, then the brief
bobbing of her head against the rough cloth of his pants. She had nodded. Jack grinned.
"Well, then! ANAMARIA!"
Anamaria's head popped up from the stairwell leading to the crew's quarters. She looked
positively irate. "WHAT?!"
"We are changing our set course and heading for Jamaica!"
"I'm sure Jamaica is just thrilled!" And she was gone. Jack frowned slightly then looked
down at Carolyn, who was staring at the now-empty stairwell with wide eyes. His face was
plastered with a look of deep thought as he tilted his head upward again to scan the horizon
absently, then he began to twist the helm with his one hand, glancing at the sun. It was positioned
just a bit over the horizon now, and that way would be west. Jack turned and started heading
straight for it. Jamaica was only thirty or forty kilometers to the west of where the Pearl sailed at
this moment, and Port Royale was some good distance beyond that, maybe hundred-fifty
kilometers. But they could ride the winds along the coast easily enough and be there in a day, or
so. Military vessels taken into consideration, there might be a good deal of dodging and-
There was a slight tugging on his trousers leg. Oh God. He tilted his head slowly
downward, eyes widened at the small girl. "Yes, Carolyn?" he ground out after a length of
silence.
"Missa. . . Missa Sparruh, sir. . . s'gettin' dark . . . an'. . ." she trailed off, leaving it to
assumption that Jack would get the gist of what she was saying.
"I am fully aware of that, Carolyn, yes. You see, darkness is this thing that happens when
the sun goes away. It's quite fascinating, how that works, one event directly related to and
following another." A pause. Jack noted her silence at his words, and a tighter clinging to his leg.
He was beginning to think she'd cut off the circulation before long. He sighed, then continued,
"And I suppose you would like to go indoors where the aforementioned darkness may be
avoided."
Nodding.
"Well, we are but thirty kilometers from the eastern coast of Jamaica, my dear, and soon
we shall make port. But until then, I'm afraid Uncle Jacky will need to stay on deck and at the
helm. Unless you'd like to make the venture to his cabin alone."
Shaking of her small head.
"Right then. Well, we shall set our anchor in approximately an hour or so. Perhaps half
and a quarter. Sound savvy?" And another nod against his leg. Brilliant.
The Black Pearl cut through the waves at a nice clip, reaching a suitable looking little
inlet about five minutes sooner than Jack had predicted they would. Jack commanded the crew,
which had gradually emerged with the dying light, with sharp, barking orders and an encouraging
insult here and there. As the anchor was set, Jack lifted his leg up as though taking a marching
step. Carolyn held on as long as she could, then fell to the deck, landing on her bottom. Jack
leaned down, picked her up and set her on her feet, picked a piece of dust off of her shirt and
flicked it away, then straightened up again. He looked around. The ship was at a complete stop,
rolling a bit in the calm water, but otherwise at rest. Swallowing his pride (albeit is own,
modified version of what one would call 'pride'), Jack kneeled down and looked Carolyn in the
eye.
"All right, Carolyn, darling. We're going to go to old Jack's cabin and see if we can get
you to sleep, sound good?" She nodded once then suddenly wrapped her arms around Jack's neck
tightly. Jack soon discovered that she had no intention of letting go after a few attempts of
'Carolyn-dear-let-go-of-Uncle-Jacky's-head'. He was starting to draw a few snickers from some
of his crew members. Having no other options at this point, Jack chose the only clear solution.
Anamaria and Gibbs had come back to the deck and were discussing Jack's recent
itinerary changes, when the captain in question walked by. Both stifled laughter as Jack walked
by, the most dignified of expressions on his face. He was the picture of purposeful solemnity.
The one feature marring this image was the five-year-old Carolyn, arms still clasped firmly
around his neck and feet dangling down somewhere below his waist. It was clear to the watching
crew members that Jack was doing everything in his power to make it seem as though the girl
was not there at all. The crew also agreed in a murmur that he was doing a fair job of it. Jack
made his way straight to his cabin and closed the door behind him, still seemingly denying little
Carolyn's presence. As soon as the lock clicked into place, the crew exchanged mildly surprised
looks with one another in the dying sunlight, then burst out in roaring laughter.
"Oh, my God!" laughed one pirate to Mr. Cotton, who, though mute, looked generally
amused by the situation just as much as anyone. "Wha's Jack gott'n 'imself into?"
Cotton, of course, made no reply, but his parrot filled in the gap with a resounding, "Yo-
ho-ho and a bottle of rraawk!". Which was good enough for the pirate that had wondered at what
Jack had indeed gotten himself into.
Jack was finally able to pluck Carolyn off of his neck. He set her down on his bed, made a
small 'stay!' motion with both hands to her, then turned around and took off his coat, pistol and
sheath with sword inside, a few other odds and ends, and finally, with great care, his hat. He
folded all of this with a practiced perfection, then set them on an old, somehow misplaced-
looking armchair. It looked as though it'd once been a very nice piece of furniture belonging to a
noble or a man or woman of court, but now the fabric was torn and faded and the wood was
scuffed. It was Jack's favorite chair. It was the chair he'd sat in as he was told by the first captain
of the Black Pearl that he was in for a promotion. But that was past, and Carolyn was present.
And, until a week was up, she was also future. Jack stared at her sitting on his bed. She stared
back with wide, seemingly shocked eyes. They always looked like that, of course. Sort of made
the girl endearing. Sort of. In a way. Ehm.
"Missa Sparruh?"
Jack was so startled by her sudden speaking that he jumped slightly. Calming down
quickly and clearing his throat, he managed to force out a strained, "Yes, Carolyn?" She smiled
shyly and he felt himself weakening. Damn that smile! Oh, wait, she was looking wide-eyed
again. . . She looked from the bed to Jack then back to the bed again. It was then that Jack
noticed the evident droop of her eyelids and the telltale slouch that every person in the world
gained when they wanted everyone else to know that they were quite exhausted indeed.
Realization dawned on Jack's face. "Tired, eh?" Carolyn bobbed her head in a nod, this time
putting much more effort into raising it again. Jack continued, "So, ehm. . . a bed. . . right. Well."
He looked around the room. There was his bed, and the chair. And that was about it, as far as
places to sleep went. Jack decided that he was going to have to give up the right to his small bed
tonight, and perhaps for the week.
"All right, all right. . . you win." He sighed a bit and pulled the blanket, a bit tattered after
so much use, down to the foot of the bed, picked Carolyn up (with no protests, but a sleep-
saturated yawn from the latter), and set her down. He adjusted her once or twice, finally found
the position to his liking, and nodded in approval. Carolyn simply remained silent, with the
occasional yawn breaking in, of course, as all of this took place. Jack then pulled the blanket
back up to her chin and tucked her in tightly. Once the tucking-in process was complete, Jack
stood back a bit and surveyed his work, thinking to himself that taking care of a child wasn't SO
hard after all.
It was then that he noted Carolyn's wide eyes and distressed face.
Apparently he'd tucked her in a bit TOO tightly.
He hastened to loosen the blanket around her, and a look of sleepy, but not weary (for
children never quite manage to look weary), gratitude filled her face. Jack smiled a bit inwardly,
despite himself. He decided he'd leave the candle on for her , and began to head for the door. He
said in a stage whisper over his shoulder, "All right, nighty-night, Carolyn, darling!" He turned
again and began to reach for the handle. As his hand came within one or two centimeters'
distance from it, he heard a small whimper. He paused, battled with the sigh that wanted to
escape him, and turned around to face the little girl lying in his bed. "Yesss. . . . Carolyn?"
"Nnnm."
"Well, as convincing an argument as that was, I'm afraid I'll have to decl-"
"W'joo tell me a story?"
Jack was so caught off-guard by this question that he answered automatically, "All right."
He blinked once, a look of perplexity crossing his features, then pulled a small chair (not THE
chair) over to the side of his narrow bed. He noted that with the straw-filled mattress and tattered
blankets. The pillow may as well have not been there, it was so smashed after years of hard use.
Not that you could use a pillow hard, exactly. Well, that one prostitute from Barbados had, but. . .
Not the time to be thinking about things like this, Jack, m'lad. Jack nodded a bit in
agreement with his own thoughts, then sat down in the small chair. "A story, eh?" He paused.
"What kind of story were you thinking of, my dear sweet Carolyn?"
"I 'unno." Well of course she didn't.
"All right, ehm. . ." Jack looked around the room, hoping for something to catch his eye
and inspire him. His eyes trailed to his hat, coat and weapons. The corner of his mouth twitched
in a smile and he thought to himself, 'Not without my effects!'. It was a statement by which
many had come to know him. Jack looked back to Carolyn, struck with the information that he so
desired.
"Well. . . I'll start. . . eleven years ago. In Tortuga, one of the last pirate strongholds."
Carolyn's eyes widened at the mention of pirates. She didn't seem quite so sleepy now. Jack
grinned appreciatively and continued, "There was a man, a pirate, a captain, and he had a great,
beautiful ship. Oh, he loved this ship, it was his absolute favorite, and this captain, he sets into
Tortuga with the plan in his head to go after the treasure on this island way out to see, and this
island is the Isla de Muerta. S'a big, frightening place, and if you'll just glance at a map, you'll
see what Isla de Muerta is shaped like.
"So this captain, he rounds up a crew in Tortuga, adding to the few men he had with him
already. He'd already had a first mate and quartermaster, he and the quartermaster being
especially good friends, and the first mate being a fine-enough bloke, as the times called for. So I
says to my- well, he says to his crew, he says, 'Gents, we shall be sailing for the treasure that
you've heard about, but never dared to believe in,' and they're all a bit skeptical, save that
quartermaster and first mate, but that captain, he knew what he was doing. 'The treasure on the
Isla de Muerta.' And the captain turns to his quartermaster - Bill, his name was - and says, 'By
God, mate, this is going to be fun.' And old Bill. . . he just grinned. And the captain grinned
back. They really were quite good friends."
Jack paused and looked at Carolyn to see if she was still listening. And she was indeed.
Jack continued.
"So this captain, and his quartermaster and first mate - his name'd be just Barbossa, to
everyone-" Jack's lip curled as he told Carolyn this, "-and the crew set off to this island, but only
the captain had any idea where it was. So of course the rest of the crew was in the dark, and the
captain, he didn't mind that one bit. Nor did the crew, for he had proved himself an honest man,
or about as honest as a pirate that has not yet seen his share of hardships can be.
"Well, after three days of quite nice sailing - really, you couldn't have asked for better -
the first mate Barbossa comes up to the captain and he says-" Jack screwed up his face and put on
a heavy piratical accent, "- he says 'Cap'n, we was all figgerin' that since on a pirate ship, yeh
don't want t' be keepin' any secrets. . .,' and the captain, he just says, 'Aye, that's true, go on,'
and Barbossa gets this nasty look on his face and says, he says to the captain, 'Well, glad t' see
that yer so quick to agree! Well, the crew an' I, we was figgerin' the coordinates t' this 'ere
island ought t' be split up equal-like, jus' like we splits up everythin' else!' and, well, that sounds
about square to the captain, at the time, so he gives them the coordinates. . ."
***
The candle was running lower on its wick, now. Jack had eventually stood up when he
could keep in his energy no longer. He was continuing animatedly. "So Barbossa, well, he tells
Elizabeth about this curse, y'see, and Elizabeth, well, the poor lass hasn't any idea WHAT
exactly to make of it all, so she panics, and she gets this knife and Barbossa chases her all about
until she finally stabs him!" Jack made a motion as though he had driven a dagger into his own
heart, then continued quickly, "She STABS him and, well, you'd think that'd be the end of that,
wouldn't you? But no, he just pulls that knife right out and it's all dripping blood and gore and
Elizabeth, she's just bleeding MAD with shock, so she stumbles outside the dining cabin and she
sees the crew, and she finds out that the CREW-"
Jack paused, to look over his shoulder at Carolyn. He'd been moving about quite a bit as
he spoke, gesticulating a bit wildly to make his points clear. Carolyn's wide eyes stared back at
him for a moment, then fell shut and her head fell back onto Jack's thin pillow. Apparently she'd
been hanging onto consciousness for dear life to hear Jack's story. Jack grinned a bit and patted
the side of Carolyn's curled up form gently (looking over his shoulder to make sure none of the
crew was watching him, of course).
Jack licked the tip of his thumb and index finger and squeezed them quickly over the
wick of the candle to put it out. It was most likely only nine or ten o'clock (lights out was eight,
and Jack hoped his crew wouldn't be too upset, given the circumstances), and he had a mind to
go out on the deck and talk to a few of his fellow gentlemen of fortune.
Jack gingerly closed the door behind him, and walked over to where the anchor line was
tied, checking it carefully before settling up alongside Gibbs and inserting himself into the
conversation that Gibbs was having with two other crew members. Anamaria had been standing
next to Jack's door as he walked out. She watched him with the other men, a faint smile pulling
lightly at the corners of her mouth. She'd been listening to Jack's story from the point at which
'the captain' had walked into the blacksmith shop. It was, after all, a very interesting story.
*****
And of course, there's more to come! Read (guess you've done that already, if you've gotten this
far), review, if you like, and. . . thanks very much! All of the feedback is what's keeping me
going!
many reviews on my first chapter. I'm not sure I entirely expected that many on the fic in its
entirety.
And thank you to Princess of the Pixies for her suggestions. To the rest of you - don't be afraid to
tell me what I'm doing WRONG, either. That's how the story will get better: if I can fix the
problems in it.
Another note: I always thought that the town in the movie was spelled 'Port Royale' with an 'e'
at the end, but in doing some research I read about 'Port Royal', which was a center for
contraband trade between the Spanish and English, and was considered one of the most wicked
and unwholesome cities you could imagine due to massive alcohol consumption by most
citizens. I assume that the Port Royal/e that's seen in the movie is after some of the order was
restored again by new English governors and new laws. Still, Port Royal/e was a center for
buccaneers and privateers for a number of years (no rhyming intended), so maybe Jack didn't
wind up there by accident at the beginning of the movie?
Sorry for that long A/N, and thanks again!
*****
"All right, darling, you can let go." Carolyn shook her head at Jack's urging. Jack had
been attempting to go about his duties as captain of the Black Pearl as usual, but was finding it
rather difficult with this little girl whom he had known for the time period of five hours clinging
to his leg. It was seven o' clock, or thereabouts, and the sun was dragging itself ever nearer to the
horizon. It'd be dark soon. Another hour or two.
Another hour or two of eternity with a small child clinging to his leg. Goodness me, this
was going to be a fantastic week.
"Carolyn, would we like to visit Auntie Anamaria?" The thought struck him as a good
one. Women knew about taking care of kids, right? Anamaria could take care of this one. Feed it
or something. Of course, Jack could feed it too, but really, wasn't that rather too un-captain-like?
Feeding a child? Entirely off of the subject of feeding the child, Jack asked in a drawling, musing
voice, "How old are you, Carolyn?"
A long silence, the feeling of tiny arms clinging more tightly to his leg, then finally the
meek response, "Fi'."
"Five whole years old, my what a grand age that was. I remember it like it was
yesterday," Jack mused, remembering no such time in his life, except maybe the fact that his
father had been particularly good at taking small children, throwing them in the air, then catching
them again. Jack wondered if he'd inherited this skill, almost plucked the girl off of his leg to see
if he indeed had, then decided against it. He was not that fond of the thing. Yet. Yet? No, not yet.
Maybe if she'd stop CLINGING to his GOD DAMNED LEG. But not yet.
Anamaria was gone (mostly) from Jack's thoughts. He was at the helm, steering
pleasantly towards what he hoped was Cuba. He hadn't exactly bothered, thus far, to check a
reliable compass. Well. He had an excellent sense of direction and doubted that it would matter
much, in the end, seeing as they'd reach Cuba or they wouldn't, and, since those were the only
two viable outcomes, he had a fifty percent chance of reaching his desired destination. Which
was all well and good. But he didn't want to take more than three days getting there, and that
would require some hard sailing at this point. Which brought his mind back around to Anamaria
and her likely capability of taking the little girl off of Jack's hands, seeing as he would need to be
free to do captainly duties and things of that sort.
That, and Jack figured that, while rum was all right by age eight or nine, or thereabouts, a
five-year-old may be just a bit too small to handle the stuff. And Jack, having spent quite a bit of
time with himself and knowing his own habits, was likely to become a bit generous in sharing his
rum, should he consume enough of it himself. Not that he cared about what happened to the girl
or anything, of course.
Of course.
At the moment, however, they were hopefully bound for Cuba and Anamaria was
nowhere in sight. Jack looked around and saw only Gibbs drinking something or other (but likely
liquor) from his flask, Cotton's parrot flapping about in the rigging, and one or two deck hands
checking rigging and swabbing deck. Piratical things of that sort.
Well, so much for hard sailing and reaching Cuba in three days.
At that particular moment, a member of Jack's crew decided to come up and make kindly
with the girl. He had been watching her clinging to Jack and was reminded strongly of his own
little girl he'd had a while ago. Didn't know what'd happened to her and her mother, but what
could you do? And so, upon these thoughts, he kneeled down to about eye-level with the girl.
Jack muttered a greeting and the little girl, (Carolyn, Jack had said her name was), buried her
face in Jack's trousers. Jack sighed.
"'Lo, there, Miss Carolyn!" the crew member piped cheerfully. "Gettin' along all right,
there?"
Carolyn did not answer. She clung more tightly to Jack's leg. The member of the crew
frowned a bit and continued on, "Well, I'll be seein' yeh 'round, I 'spect. . . seein' as we're on a
ship an' all." He looked around a bit then stared at her hard for a moment. Seeing as this had
about the same results as speaking to her, he stood up and walked away. HIS girl had certainly
been more friendly to strangers, he knew that much.
Jack hummed a bit to himself, trying to calm his nerves. He'd had the damned song stuck
in his head for MONTHS, it seemed.
"Devils and ya da da really bad eggs. . ." He'd always loved the 'really bad eggs' part.
Who had taught. . . hm. He should know where the song came from, after all, songs don't just
magically sing themselves into your head. Unless you were one of those well-to-do composers
like Mozart or Bach or Beethowhatsizname. But Jack was not, and so the song HAD to have
come from somewhere. There had been rum involved, he recalled, but there was rum involved in
the learning of almost every song he knew, and a girl- oh! Right it had been in that whole ordeal
with Barbossa and the curse and Will and Eliza-
With Will and Elizabeth. The happy dear couple whom Jack held EVER so close to his
heart. And of course they held him in the highest esteem likewise.
"Carolyn, my dear. . ." began Jack. "How would you feel about visiting Uncle Jacky's
dear friends in Port Royale?
A slight clench on his leg was the only response he got for a moment, then the brief
bobbing of her head against the rough cloth of his pants. She had nodded. Jack grinned.
"Well, then! ANAMARIA!"
Anamaria's head popped up from the stairwell leading to the crew's quarters. She looked
positively irate. "WHAT?!"
"We are changing our set course and heading for Jamaica!"
"I'm sure Jamaica is just thrilled!" And she was gone. Jack frowned slightly then looked
down at Carolyn, who was staring at the now-empty stairwell with wide eyes. His face was
plastered with a look of deep thought as he tilted his head upward again to scan the horizon
absently, then he began to twist the helm with his one hand, glancing at the sun. It was positioned
just a bit over the horizon now, and that way would be west. Jack turned and started heading
straight for it. Jamaica was only thirty or forty kilometers to the west of where the Pearl sailed at
this moment, and Port Royale was some good distance beyond that, maybe hundred-fifty
kilometers. But they could ride the winds along the coast easily enough and be there in a day, or
so. Military vessels taken into consideration, there might be a good deal of dodging and-
There was a slight tugging on his trousers leg. Oh God. He tilted his head slowly
downward, eyes widened at the small girl. "Yes, Carolyn?" he ground out after a length of
silence.
"Missa. . . Missa Sparruh, sir. . . s'gettin' dark . . . an'. . ." she trailed off, leaving it to
assumption that Jack would get the gist of what she was saying.
"I am fully aware of that, Carolyn, yes. You see, darkness is this thing that happens when
the sun goes away. It's quite fascinating, how that works, one event directly related to and
following another." A pause. Jack noted her silence at his words, and a tighter clinging to his leg.
He was beginning to think she'd cut off the circulation before long. He sighed, then continued,
"And I suppose you would like to go indoors where the aforementioned darkness may be
avoided."
Nodding.
"Well, we are but thirty kilometers from the eastern coast of Jamaica, my dear, and soon
we shall make port. But until then, I'm afraid Uncle Jacky will need to stay on deck and at the
helm. Unless you'd like to make the venture to his cabin alone."
Shaking of her small head.
"Right then. Well, we shall set our anchor in approximately an hour or so. Perhaps half
and a quarter. Sound savvy?" And another nod against his leg. Brilliant.
The Black Pearl cut through the waves at a nice clip, reaching a suitable looking little
inlet about five minutes sooner than Jack had predicted they would. Jack commanded the crew,
which had gradually emerged with the dying light, with sharp, barking orders and an encouraging
insult here and there. As the anchor was set, Jack lifted his leg up as though taking a marching
step. Carolyn held on as long as she could, then fell to the deck, landing on her bottom. Jack
leaned down, picked her up and set her on her feet, picked a piece of dust off of her shirt and
flicked it away, then straightened up again. He looked around. The ship was at a complete stop,
rolling a bit in the calm water, but otherwise at rest. Swallowing his pride (albeit is own,
modified version of what one would call 'pride'), Jack kneeled down and looked Carolyn in the
eye.
"All right, Carolyn, darling. We're going to go to old Jack's cabin and see if we can get
you to sleep, sound good?" She nodded once then suddenly wrapped her arms around Jack's neck
tightly. Jack soon discovered that she had no intention of letting go after a few attempts of
'Carolyn-dear-let-go-of-Uncle-Jacky's-head'. He was starting to draw a few snickers from some
of his crew members. Having no other options at this point, Jack chose the only clear solution.
Anamaria and Gibbs had come back to the deck and were discussing Jack's recent
itinerary changes, when the captain in question walked by. Both stifled laughter as Jack walked
by, the most dignified of expressions on his face. He was the picture of purposeful solemnity.
The one feature marring this image was the five-year-old Carolyn, arms still clasped firmly
around his neck and feet dangling down somewhere below his waist. It was clear to the watching
crew members that Jack was doing everything in his power to make it seem as though the girl
was not there at all. The crew also agreed in a murmur that he was doing a fair job of it. Jack
made his way straight to his cabin and closed the door behind him, still seemingly denying little
Carolyn's presence. As soon as the lock clicked into place, the crew exchanged mildly surprised
looks with one another in the dying sunlight, then burst out in roaring laughter.
"Oh, my God!" laughed one pirate to Mr. Cotton, who, though mute, looked generally
amused by the situation just as much as anyone. "Wha's Jack gott'n 'imself into?"
Cotton, of course, made no reply, but his parrot filled in the gap with a resounding, "Yo-
ho-ho and a bottle of rraawk!". Which was good enough for the pirate that had wondered at what
Jack had indeed gotten himself into.
Jack was finally able to pluck Carolyn off of his neck. He set her down on his bed, made a
small 'stay!' motion with both hands to her, then turned around and took off his coat, pistol and
sheath with sword inside, a few other odds and ends, and finally, with great care, his hat. He
folded all of this with a practiced perfection, then set them on an old, somehow misplaced-
looking armchair. It looked as though it'd once been a very nice piece of furniture belonging to a
noble or a man or woman of court, but now the fabric was torn and faded and the wood was
scuffed. It was Jack's favorite chair. It was the chair he'd sat in as he was told by the first captain
of the Black Pearl that he was in for a promotion. But that was past, and Carolyn was present.
And, until a week was up, she was also future. Jack stared at her sitting on his bed. She stared
back with wide, seemingly shocked eyes. They always looked like that, of course. Sort of made
the girl endearing. Sort of. In a way. Ehm.
"Missa Sparruh?"
Jack was so startled by her sudden speaking that he jumped slightly. Calming down
quickly and clearing his throat, he managed to force out a strained, "Yes, Carolyn?" She smiled
shyly and he felt himself weakening. Damn that smile! Oh, wait, she was looking wide-eyed
again. . . She looked from the bed to Jack then back to the bed again. It was then that Jack
noticed the evident droop of her eyelids and the telltale slouch that every person in the world
gained when they wanted everyone else to know that they were quite exhausted indeed.
Realization dawned on Jack's face. "Tired, eh?" Carolyn bobbed her head in a nod, this time
putting much more effort into raising it again. Jack continued, "So, ehm. . . a bed. . . right. Well."
He looked around the room. There was his bed, and the chair. And that was about it, as far as
places to sleep went. Jack decided that he was going to have to give up the right to his small bed
tonight, and perhaps for the week.
"All right, all right. . . you win." He sighed a bit and pulled the blanket, a bit tattered after
so much use, down to the foot of the bed, picked Carolyn up (with no protests, but a sleep-
saturated yawn from the latter), and set her down. He adjusted her once or twice, finally found
the position to his liking, and nodded in approval. Carolyn simply remained silent, with the
occasional yawn breaking in, of course, as all of this took place. Jack then pulled the blanket
back up to her chin and tucked her in tightly. Once the tucking-in process was complete, Jack
stood back a bit and surveyed his work, thinking to himself that taking care of a child wasn't SO
hard after all.
It was then that he noted Carolyn's wide eyes and distressed face.
Apparently he'd tucked her in a bit TOO tightly.
He hastened to loosen the blanket around her, and a look of sleepy, but not weary (for
children never quite manage to look weary), gratitude filled her face. Jack smiled a bit inwardly,
despite himself. He decided he'd leave the candle on for her , and began to head for the door. He
said in a stage whisper over his shoulder, "All right, nighty-night, Carolyn, darling!" He turned
again and began to reach for the handle. As his hand came within one or two centimeters'
distance from it, he heard a small whimper. He paused, battled with the sigh that wanted to
escape him, and turned around to face the little girl lying in his bed. "Yesss. . . . Carolyn?"
"Nnnm."
"Well, as convincing an argument as that was, I'm afraid I'll have to decl-"
"W'joo tell me a story?"
Jack was so caught off-guard by this question that he answered automatically, "All right."
He blinked once, a look of perplexity crossing his features, then pulled a small chair (not THE
chair) over to the side of his narrow bed. He noted that with the straw-filled mattress and tattered
blankets. The pillow may as well have not been there, it was so smashed after years of hard use.
Not that you could use a pillow hard, exactly. Well, that one prostitute from Barbados had, but. . .
Not the time to be thinking about things like this, Jack, m'lad. Jack nodded a bit in
agreement with his own thoughts, then sat down in the small chair. "A story, eh?" He paused.
"What kind of story were you thinking of, my dear sweet Carolyn?"
"I 'unno." Well of course she didn't.
"All right, ehm. . ." Jack looked around the room, hoping for something to catch his eye
and inspire him. His eyes trailed to his hat, coat and weapons. The corner of his mouth twitched
in a smile and he thought to himself, 'Not without my effects!'. It was a statement by which
many had come to know him. Jack looked back to Carolyn, struck with the information that he so
desired.
"Well. . . I'll start. . . eleven years ago. In Tortuga, one of the last pirate strongholds."
Carolyn's eyes widened at the mention of pirates. She didn't seem quite so sleepy now. Jack
grinned appreciatively and continued, "There was a man, a pirate, a captain, and he had a great,
beautiful ship. Oh, he loved this ship, it was his absolute favorite, and this captain, he sets into
Tortuga with the plan in his head to go after the treasure on this island way out to see, and this
island is the Isla de Muerta. S'a big, frightening place, and if you'll just glance at a map, you'll
see what Isla de Muerta is shaped like.
"So this captain, he rounds up a crew in Tortuga, adding to the few men he had with him
already. He'd already had a first mate and quartermaster, he and the quartermaster being
especially good friends, and the first mate being a fine-enough bloke, as the times called for. So I
says to my- well, he says to his crew, he says, 'Gents, we shall be sailing for the treasure that
you've heard about, but never dared to believe in,' and they're all a bit skeptical, save that
quartermaster and first mate, but that captain, he knew what he was doing. 'The treasure on the
Isla de Muerta.' And the captain turns to his quartermaster - Bill, his name was - and says, 'By
God, mate, this is going to be fun.' And old Bill. . . he just grinned. And the captain grinned
back. They really were quite good friends."
Jack paused and looked at Carolyn to see if she was still listening. And she was indeed.
Jack continued.
"So this captain, and his quartermaster and first mate - his name'd be just Barbossa, to
everyone-" Jack's lip curled as he told Carolyn this, "-and the crew set off to this island, but only
the captain had any idea where it was. So of course the rest of the crew was in the dark, and the
captain, he didn't mind that one bit. Nor did the crew, for he had proved himself an honest man,
or about as honest as a pirate that has not yet seen his share of hardships can be.
"Well, after three days of quite nice sailing - really, you couldn't have asked for better -
the first mate Barbossa comes up to the captain and he says-" Jack screwed up his face and put on
a heavy piratical accent, "- he says 'Cap'n, we was all figgerin' that since on a pirate ship, yeh
don't want t' be keepin' any secrets. . .,' and the captain, he just says, 'Aye, that's true, go on,'
and Barbossa gets this nasty look on his face and says, he says to the captain, 'Well, glad t' see
that yer so quick to agree! Well, the crew an' I, we was figgerin' the coordinates t' this 'ere
island ought t' be split up equal-like, jus' like we splits up everythin' else!' and, well, that sounds
about square to the captain, at the time, so he gives them the coordinates. . ."
***
The candle was running lower on its wick, now. Jack had eventually stood up when he
could keep in his energy no longer. He was continuing animatedly. "So Barbossa, well, he tells
Elizabeth about this curse, y'see, and Elizabeth, well, the poor lass hasn't any idea WHAT
exactly to make of it all, so she panics, and she gets this knife and Barbossa chases her all about
until she finally stabs him!" Jack made a motion as though he had driven a dagger into his own
heart, then continued quickly, "She STABS him and, well, you'd think that'd be the end of that,
wouldn't you? But no, he just pulls that knife right out and it's all dripping blood and gore and
Elizabeth, she's just bleeding MAD with shock, so she stumbles outside the dining cabin and she
sees the crew, and she finds out that the CREW-"
Jack paused, to look over his shoulder at Carolyn. He'd been moving about quite a bit as
he spoke, gesticulating a bit wildly to make his points clear. Carolyn's wide eyes stared back at
him for a moment, then fell shut and her head fell back onto Jack's thin pillow. Apparently she'd
been hanging onto consciousness for dear life to hear Jack's story. Jack grinned a bit and patted
the side of Carolyn's curled up form gently (looking over his shoulder to make sure none of the
crew was watching him, of course).
Jack licked the tip of his thumb and index finger and squeezed them quickly over the
wick of the candle to put it out. It was most likely only nine or ten o'clock (lights out was eight,
and Jack hoped his crew wouldn't be too upset, given the circumstances), and he had a mind to
go out on the deck and talk to a few of his fellow gentlemen of fortune.
Jack gingerly closed the door behind him, and walked over to where the anchor line was
tied, checking it carefully before settling up alongside Gibbs and inserting himself into the
conversation that Gibbs was having with two other crew members. Anamaria had been standing
next to Jack's door as he walked out. She watched him with the other men, a faint smile pulling
lightly at the corners of her mouth. She'd been listening to Jack's story from the point at which
'the captain' had walked into the blacksmith shop. It was, after all, a very interesting story.
*****
And of course, there's more to come! Read (guess you've done that already, if you've gotten this
far), review, if you like, and. . . thanks very much! All of the feedback is what's keeping me
going!