Will followed alongside Jack, keeping pace for a few minutes as they strode the beach, waiting for instructions. When none nor any more words of wisdom were forthcoming, he ventured his own question. "What exactly am I supposed to do as a second, anyway?"
"Keep quiet an' stay 'lert," Jack replied tersely. They weren't racing along, but Jack was heading along at a clip more brisk than his normal drunken pace. "Ne'er take your eyes off th' bastard."
Passingly familiar with regular duels, he wondered if because this involved pirates that meant there would be no rules. He figured it wiser not to ask, since doing so would probably reveal his ignorance, enough of which already leaked out in daily life aboard the Pearl. Instead, he settled on, "What does it say in the Code about this sort of thing?" feeling rather proud of finding a relevant way to learn what was necessary.
Jack snorted at that. "Don't duel." A little more distance, and Jack slowed a bit, putting his arms and hands into action, gesticulating and pinwheeling a bit as he spoke. "Look, son, it's like this: Dueling's supposed t' be an honorable thing, somethin' honorable men engage in to settle their differences. So right off, ye got problems, seein' as pirates ain't e'en proper shite risin' to th' top o' a bucket of 'honorable.'"
Will wrinkled his nose at the disgusting analogy. "You have honor," he pointed out.
"Aye, when it suits me purposes," Jack nodded, his beads tinkling with the motions as much as from bouncing off his shoulders as he strode. "But there's a set o' rules when duelin', a thin veneer givin' th' participants th' 'lusion it's all fair an' above-board. Since pirate fightin' isn't exactly 'bout bein' fair in th' first place, mate, it 'olds that no pirate ought t' be mixin' hisself in wit' any system o' fightin' that don' allow for unfairness, savvy?" Will nodded. "That's why I say t' keep an eye on th' bloody bugger; Negre ain' to be trusted under any 'count. He's jus' as likely to shoot me second 'fore th' duel starts, as not."
The younger man was still mulling all this as they came within range of a relatively flat stretch of sandy beach, peppered with onlookers surrounding Jack's opponent. "We're late," Will pointed out.
"Lad, nobody e'er said ye *had* to be on time for your own killin'."
Will paused as a fearful chill went through him, but he quickly shook it off and put his long legs in motion, catching back up with his captain. "You know, Jack, what I said back there about honor -- I meant it. I mean, what you're doing now, for Gibbs, is honorable." He wasn't sure what possessed him to speak, other than the desire to inform Sparrow he had his number.
"Nay, what it is is stupid, somethin' I believe I've warned ye 'gainst more times 'n I can recall." Jack shook his head, smiling grimly. "This should ne'er 'ave happened; how th' blazes did Negre think Anamaria was a whore, anyhow?" This last was muttered more to Jack's self than for anyone else's benefit, and Will realized the wisdom of letting the rhetorical musing stand unanswered. It wasn't until later he would ponder the statement further, realizing Jack had not cursed Gibbs as stupid for agreeing to the duel.
Negre strolled out a bit, meeting his opponent. He eyed Will dismissively and lifted his eyes to scan the beach behind them. Returning flinty eyes to Jack, he ground his teeth. "Where is that drunken cur that challenged me?"
"Firs' off, mate, believe it was *you* who challenged *him,*" the captain lifted a forefinger as in pause. "An' I don't give me crew leave to go an' get themselves in scrapes wit' th' likes o' you." He shrugged loosely. "So I 'ad a 'talk' wit' th' old Scot."
Will watched as Negre inspected the black eye, lips thinning as if about to refute everything Sparrow had told him. "So he's one of yours, is that it?" Again with the careful enunciation, tinged with an exotic accent the blacksmith couldn't quite place. He wondered if it was the man's native Africa.
"Aye. An' as such, it's me right t' take on 'is challengers."
Negre slid another disapproving look to Will, and he felt himself rankling in response. "And this *boy* is your second?" he sneered.
"This 'boy' happens to be the son of Bootstrap Turner," Jack carefully enunciated in return, twisting his lips up in a smirk and narrowing his kohl-lined eyes in a parody of a saccharine grin at the taller African. "I seem t' recall something' 'bout your own captain and he having a disagreement a' some point?" Jack put his finger to the corner of his mouth, and this time, the grin was real enough.
By the way Negre's brow deepened in scowl and the perverse delight Jack seemed to be getting out of the exchange, Will's curiosity was piqued. As if by divining, Jack turned toward him. "Would ye like t' know th' outcome o' that little tete-a-tete, lad?"
He could tell Negre was about to explode, but Will simply glanced at him, then back to Jack, playing along. "I'd be very interested to know, Captain."
"Well, ye see, Negre was jus' a young whelp, an' 'e an' his cap-"
"Are you trying to stall the inevitable?" growled the object of Jack's conversation.
The pirate turned back to his opponent. "What, eager t' die?" he asked, eyes widened in mock affrontry, putting a fluttery hand to his chest. "Far be it for me t' deny ye th' pleasure o' perishin' at th' hand o' th' legendary Captain Jack Sparrow."
Negre only growled and turned to stalk back to the group, and Jack smirked, watching him leave. Over time, Will noticed while Jack usually seemed pretty content, most of his mirthful expressions were put on to fool enemies or reassure those under his command that he knew what he was doing. Rare were the times when he expressed delight in another's suffering -- such as this -- and rarer still were genuine smiles for whatever reason.
Will was brought back to the present by Jack handing him his coat and sword, then shrugging out of his chemise. "What're you doing?" he frowned, eyebrow lifting in askance.
"Pirate duel." Jack's words were slightly muffled as he drew the shirt over his head, then tossed it on top of the coat he'd draped over Will's outstretched arm.
"I … see." Will eyed the older man, noting the various tattoos mapping the olive-bronzed skin, including one that looked suspiciously like a miniature of the Pearl over his heart. He made a mental note to ask at some point what the ship's name meant to the man, exactly. "And this involves dueling with a little more than swords or pistols?"
Jack regarded him with an odd expression, moustache twitching, and answered a bit more dryly than usual, "Don' worry, Will, your virtue's not gon' be threatened. 'Tis a way of assurin' your 'ponent you're not tryin' to duck punishment."
"For what?"
"Losin'. What else?" Jack adjusted his sash, lining up the three pistols in a certain manner. "One o' us has t' die. Ye think your lil' book stunt 'asn't been tried before?" Suddenly, Will realized the meaning of Jack's cryptic "you'll see" in his cabin back on the ship earlier. Jack gestured toward some rocks. "Put me stuff down o'er there an' I'll show ye where ye'll be standin'."
He turned and headed off toward Negre, who'd also stripped his torso and stood tall, as if ready to get his slaughtering over with. Will absently performed his chore, stealing glances back toward the two pirates, and wandered over. He didn't like the odds, especially not since hearing about that no-shirts rule, and the size difference between the two men made things more daunting. Jack was perhaps five centimeters shorter than himself, but he was positively diminutive next to Negre, who seemed as broad as Jack was slender. It didn't help that with his long black locks and twin trails of the red scarf trailing down his bare back, the captain very much resembled but a girl at this distance, pitted against a brute. Will knew it was a simplistic comparison, given Jack's prowess, but his hand nevertheless crept toward the weapon lodged in his belt.
He'd be ready.
A few minutes later, Will and Negre's second, a nondescript pirate whose name he didn't even learn, faced one another across an expanse of about ten meters of sand -- the sidelines, as it were, of the dueling strip. As in a traditional duel, Jack and Negre were to walk off ten paces with their backs to one another, the steps counted off by a local padre. Will suspected the man was neither clergy nor particularly religious, but then again, of the small crowd of perhaps twenty onlookers who'd gathered, he was forced to wonder how many were pirates loyal to Negre and how many were actual citizens of this fair isle morbidly interested in the fate of two pirates.
He spared only a quick glance at their surroundings as the padre oversaw the preparation; only a few trees in sight, and a couple of scrubby bushes, none in close proximity. Nervously, he recalled how Jack had given the crew instructions to stay aboard and make ready to sail once they had news of the duel's outcome; why hadn't he brought some of them along as Negre probably had? The water was nearly black with the oncoming night, and Will briefly wondered if Jack would get to sail upon it again as captain of the Pearl, or as a white-wrapped corpse to be delivered into its shimmering depths.
Will's hands, which hung limply at his sides, were now alive with fingers that fairly itched to grab a weapon. When he'd worked as a blacksmith's apprentice, he'd fenced three hours a day simply as a way to leach off his excess frustration and to exercise his muscles, but he'd never given much thought to the occasionally raw fury the activity touched deep inside. Since learning about his father's true nature and meeting Jack Sparrow, that fury had been doing its damnedest to creep closer to the fore, niggling him more often than in the past, demanding, really, to be exorcised. Its potential intensity frightened him more than he'd admit, and he tamped it down often.
"Ready?" The padre's bark brought Will's attention back to the duel itself. He tensed, concentrating, as the man started counting in Spanish. "Uno, dos …"
At the count of seven, things quickly headed for hell.
"Keep quiet an' stay 'lert," Jack replied tersely. They weren't racing along, but Jack was heading along at a clip more brisk than his normal drunken pace. "Ne'er take your eyes off th' bastard."
Passingly familiar with regular duels, he wondered if because this involved pirates that meant there would be no rules. He figured it wiser not to ask, since doing so would probably reveal his ignorance, enough of which already leaked out in daily life aboard the Pearl. Instead, he settled on, "What does it say in the Code about this sort of thing?" feeling rather proud of finding a relevant way to learn what was necessary.
Jack snorted at that. "Don't duel." A little more distance, and Jack slowed a bit, putting his arms and hands into action, gesticulating and pinwheeling a bit as he spoke. "Look, son, it's like this: Dueling's supposed t' be an honorable thing, somethin' honorable men engage in to settle their differences. So right off, ye got problems, seein' as pirates ain't e'en proper shite risin' to th' top o' a bucket of 'honorable.'"
Will wrinkled his nose at the disgusting analogy. "You have honor," he pointed out.
"Aye, when it suits me purposes," Jack nodded, his beads tinkling with the motions as much as from bouncing off his shoulders as he strode. "But there's a set o' rules when duelin', a thin veneer givin' th' participants th' 'lusion it's all fair an' above-board. Since pirate fightin' isn't exactly 'bout bein' fair in th' first place, mate, it 'olds that no pirate ought t' be mixin' hisself in wit' any system o' fightin' that don' allow for unfairness, savvy?" Will nodded. "That's why I say t' keep an eye on th' bloody bugger; Negre ain' to be trusted under any 'count. He's jus' as likely to shoot me second 'fore th' duel starts, as not."
The younger man was still mulling all this as they came within range of a relatively flat stretch of sandy beach, peppered with onlookers surrounding Jack's opponent. "We're late," Will pointed out.
"Lad, nobody e'er said ye *had* to be on time for your own killin'."
Will paused as a fearful chill went through him, but he quickly shook it off and put his long legs in motion, catching back up with his captain. "You know, Jack, what I said back there about honor -- I meant it. I mean, what you're doing now, for Gibbs, is honorable." He wasn't sure what possessed him to speak, other than the desire to inform Sparrow he had his number.
"Nay, what it is is stupid, somethin' I believe I've warned ye 'gainst more times 'n I can recall." Jack shook his head, smiling grimly. "This should ne'er 'ave happened; how th' blazes did Negre think Anamaria was a whore, anyhow?" This last was muttered more to Jack's self than for anyone else's benefit, and Will realized the wisdom of letting the rhetorical musing stand unanswered. It wasn't until later he would ponder the statement further, realizing Jack had not cursed Gibbs as stupid for agreeing to the duel.
Negre strolled out a bit, meeting his opponent. He eyed Will dismissively and lifted his eyes to scan the beach behind them. Returning flinty eyes to Jack, he ground his teeth. "Where is that drunken cur that challenged me?"
"Firs' off, mate, believe it was *you* who challenged *him,*" the captain lifted a forefinger as in pause. "An' I don't give me crew leave to go an' get themselves in scrapes wit' th' likes o' you." He shrugged loosely. "So I 'ad a 'talk' wit' th' old Scot."
Will watched as Negre inspected the black eye, lips thinning as if about to refute everything Sparrow had told him. "So he's one of yours, is that it?" Again with the careful enunciation, tinged with an exotic accent the blacksmith couldn't quite place. He wondered if it was the man's native Africa.
"Aye. An' as such, it's me right t' take on 'is challengers."
Negre slid another disapproving look to Will, and he felt himself rankling in response. "And this *boy* is your second?" he sneered.
"This 'boy' happens to be the son of Bootstrap Turner," Jack carefully enunciated in return, twisting his lips up in a smirk and narrowing his kohl-lined eyes in a parody of a saccharine grin at the taller African. "I seem t' recall something' 'bout your own captain and he having a disagreement a' some point?" Jack put his finger to the corner of his mouth, and this time, the grin was real enough.
By the way Negre's brow deepened in scowl and the perverse delight Jack seemed to be getting out of the exchange, Will's curiosity was piqued. As if by divining, Jack turned toward him. "Would ye like t' know th' outcome o' that little tete-a-tete, lad?"
He could tell Negre was about to explode, but Will simply glanced at him, then back to Jack, playing along. "I'd be very interested to know, Captain."
"Well, ye see, Negre was jus' a young whelp, an' 'e an' his cap-"
"Are you trying to stall the inevitable?" growled the object of Jack's conversation.
The pirate turned back to his opponent. "What, eager t' die?" he asked, eyes widened in mock affrontry, putting a fluttery hand to his chest. "Far be it for me t' deny ye th' pleasure o' perishin' at th' hand o' th' legendary Captain Jack Sparrow."
Negre only growled and turned to stalk back to the group, and Jack smirked, watching him leave. Over time, Will noticed while Jack usually seemed pretty content, most of his mirthful expressions were put on to fool enemies or reassure those under his command that he knew what he was doing. Rare were the times when he expressed delight in another's suffering -- such as this -- and rarer still were genuine smiles for whatever reason.
Will was brought back to the present by Jack handing him his coat and sword, then shrugging out of his chemise. "What're you doing?" he frowned, eyebrow lifting in askance.
"Pirate duel." Jack's words were slightly muffled as he drew the shirt over his head, then tossed it on top of the coat he'd draped over Will's outstretched arm.
"I … see." Will eyed the older man, noting the various tattoos mapping the olive-bronzed skin, including one that looked suspiciously like a miniature of the Pearl over his heart. He made a mental note to ask at some point what the ship's name meant to the man, exactly. "And this involves dueling with a little more than swords or pistols?"
Jack regarded him with an odd expression, moustache twitching, and answered a bit more dryly than usual, "Don' worry, Will, your virtue's not gon' be threatened. 'Tis a way of assurin' your 'ponent you're not tryin' to duck punishment."
"For what?"
"Losin'. What else?" Jack adjusted his sash, lining up the three pistols in a certain manner. "One o' us has t' die. Ye think your lil' book stunt 'asn't been tried before?" Suddenly, Will realized the meaning of Jack's cryptic "you'll see" in his cabin back on the ship earlier. Jack gestured toward some rocks. "Put me stuff down o'er there an' I'll show ye where ye'll be standin'."
He turned and headed off toward Negre, who'd also stripped his torso and stood tall, as if ready to get his slaughtering over with. Will absently performed his chore, stealing glances back toward the two pirates, and wandered over. He didn't like the odds, especially not since hearing about that no-shirts rule, and the size difference between the two men made things more daunting. Jack was perhaps five centimeters shorter than himself, but he was positively diminutive next to Negre, who seemed as broad as Jack was slender. It didn't help that with his long black locks and twin trails of the red scarf trailing down his bare back, the captain very much resembled but a girl at this distance, pitted against a brute. Will knew it was a simplistic comparison, given Jack's prowess, but his hand nevertheless crept toward the weapon lodged in his belt.
He'd be ready.
A few minutes later, Will and Negre's second, a nondescript pirate whose name he didn't even learn, faced one another across an expanse of about ten meters of sand -- the sidelines, as it were, of the dueling strip. As in a traditional duel, Jack and Negre were to walk off ten paces with their backs to one another, the steps counted off by a local padre. Will suspected the man was neither clergy nor particularly religious, but then again, of the small crowd of perhaps twenty onlookers who'd gathered, he was forced to wonder how many were pirates loyal to Negre and how many were actual citizens of this fair isle morbidly interested in the fate of two pirates.
He spared only a quick glance at their surroundings as the padre oversaw the preparation; only a few trees in sight, and a couple of scrubby bushes, none in close proximity. Nervously, he recalled how Jack had given the crew instructions to stay aboard and make ready to sail once they had news of the duel's outcome; why hadn't he brought some of them along as Negre probably had? The water was nearly black with the oncoming night, and Will briefly wondered if Jack would get to sail upon it again as captain of the Pearl, or as a white-wrapped corpse to be delivered into its shimmering depths.
Will's hands, which hung limply at his sides, were now alive with fingers that fairly itched to grab a weapon. When he'd worked as a blacksmith's apprentice, he'd fenced three hours a day simply as a way to leach off his excess frustration and to exercise his muscles, but he'd never given much thought to the occasionally raw fury the activity touched deep inside. Since learning about his father's true nature and meeting Jack Sparrow, that fury had been doing its damnedest to creep closer to the fore, niggling him more often than in the past, demanding, really, to be exorcised. Its potential intensity frightened him more than he'd admit, and he tamped it down often.
"Ready?" The padre's bark brought Will's attention back to the duel itself. He tensed, concentrating, as the man started counting in Spanish. "Uno, dos …"
At the count of seven, things quickly headed for hell.
