Will had been so busy keeping an eye on Negre that he'd almost failed to notice his second rummaging in his sash; it was only when the man withdrew a small pistol that he realized something was going very wrong, here.
By instinct, instead of the pistol, Will's hand went for his dagger. Before conscious thought could kick in, the fury had grabbed the weapon and just like that, it was lodged in the other pirate's neck, the blacksmith's aim better than any archer's. The man never had a chance; he looked terribly shocked, grunted, then was in the sand within seconds.
The grunt caught the duelers' attention, and Will was suddenly aware he had only a pistol left and nowhere to go. He heard a gun being cocked somewhere behind him, then another … and another, and another. And then Negre joined the fray, pulling his weapon and aiming it for Will. If he went for his own pistol, he'd be a dead man -- it was certain he'd die anyway, but perhaps slightly earlier with quick movement.
*Now is not the time for rash action, Mr. Turner.* Odd time for Norrington's voice to make an appearance in his mind.
And then a voice: "I'd be much obliged if the lot of you'd take your guns off my blacksmith!" Jack had a pistol in each hand, one aimed at Negre and the other somewhere just left of Will.
"Aye!" Will glanced around to pin the voice, and saw Anamaria emerging from behind one of the trees over on the other side of Negre. She, too, was holding a pistol on the black man. "And for the record, I'm worth much more than a solitary shilling!"
A few more Pearl crewmen revealed themselves as well, bearing pistols, and Will wondered how they'd managed to get down here without him seeing any following he and Jack this way.
"As you can see, good sir," Jack's tone mocked the honorific, "you're quite surrounded. Order your crew to drop their guns."
"You think I did not anticipate this, Jack Sparrow?" Negre laughed, and it put Will in mind of Barbossa's mirthless guffaw. "Simple I may be, but certainly not stupid."
"Relative intelligence's got nothing to do with it, mate," Jack answered calmly, his arms not wavering in either direction. "Until you take into account that I am, in fact, *Captain* Jack Sparrow. You can be shot or you can drop your weapons."
One thing puzzled Will above all else: Why was he the focus of all these guns? It certainly wasn't his duel, and Jack had made it very public and very clear he was taking Gibbs's place when Will had earlier volunteered in town to be the Scotsman's second. He failed to see how putting weapons on him would affect the outcome of all this.
His thoughts were interrupted by Negre. "I have your crew outnumbered, it would seem, Sparrow," he boomed across the beach. "So it would be better if you were to lay down your arms first. I might even spare some of you."
"Why, that's ever so polite of you," Jack mocked in singsong. "But of the two of us, I'm the one who's engineered mutiny, so I think it's my fearsome reputation we'll be paying heed to, eh?"
That shocked Will. Mutiny? Jack?
"Or maybe you'd like young Will to hear how you and your illustrious captain nearly killed his father for refus-"
"*ENOUGH!*" Negre looked truly agitated now, and his pistol fairly shook as an extension of that rage. "Do you constantly prattle?"
"Well, mate, I mean it's not my fault you two just weren't Bootstrap's type, now is it?" Jack's eyes narrowed to allow for a too-sweet smile that wasn't at all meant to be pleasant. "When a boy likes girls, you just got to accept he's not about to go down on *you.*"
Will's brain was so busy being shocked he barely registered the lunge Negre's gun made, though his hand went reflexively to his belt, but he certainly heard the twin reports of Jack's and Anamaria's pistols. Jack's hit Negre straight in the chest, and Ana's bullet lodged in the man's brain, so he was dead before hitting the sand, gun still clutched in his meaty hand.
Figuring he had nothing to lose, Will pulled his own gun and whirled, finding a few still trained on him, but their owners a bit rattled. "Put it down or I'll shoot!" he threatened the nearest, lifting his arm and thrusting the pistol forward, aiming. He'd never shot another human being, but he suddenly felt as if he could.
"You all heard the man -- down with 'em!" Jack's voice barked from behind. "Or you'll all end up with an extra breathin' hole or two, too!"
Ever so slowly, Will watched the people in his sight lowering their weapons, tossing them upon the sand. He held so still he could feel the trickle of sweat fall from his hair onto the bare nape of his neck, and run down beneath his collar onto his spine, making him shiver. He didn't dare look around to see if everyone was obeying, trusting the rest of the Pearl crew and Jack to keep an eye on his back.
"Now, that's a right proper bunch o' scalawags." A bit of his usual musical canter returned to Jack's tone. "Let's jus' all come nice 'n close where I can see th' lot o' you, an' keep your hands in th' air or I might jus' let Anamaria 'ave practice again, savvy? She don' like bein' low-bid!"
Will waited until the last man had drifted over from his field of vision before turning to watch whatever Jack had in mind. It was brilliant in its simplicity, actually; he put them to work tying each other up with rope and irons the Pearl crew had brought along, and satisfied himself with quickly searching each one's person for weapons, which he would withdraw, look over, and either toss to one of his sailors or stuff in his own sash and belt. Once enough were tied up, Jack and the twins checked each man's knots and tightened as necessary, only having to subdue a couple with the butts of their pistols.
Jack seemed to relish tying the last man himself, lingering over the knots and grinning unpleasantly into the pirate's snarling visage, ignoring the epithets the man was hurling. Deftly, the captain unknotted and withdrew the rag he kept around his wrist and shoved it into the open mouth, gagging the prisoner on the dirt and sweat that no doubt had been soaked into the filthy cloth over time. "Sticks 'n stones, mate," Will could hear him murmur, standing only a few feet away now. "Be a pleasure makin' ye walk th' plank. Or mebbe ye'd prefer a good keelhaulin'?" The prisoner's face drained of color, and Jack chuckled softly, dangerously. "You an' your mates'll learn in short order t' not fuck wit' me or a member o' me crew. That be, if ye live long 'nough t' put it to any use."
By instinct, instead of the pistol, Will's hand went for his dagger. Before conscious thought could kick in, the fury had grabbed the weapon and just like that, it was lodged in the other pirate's neck, the blacksmith's aim better than any archer's. The man never had a chance; he looked terribly shocked, grunted, then was in the sand within seconds.
The grunt caught the duelers' attention, and Will was suddenly aware he had only a pistol left and nowhere to go. He heard a gun being cocked somewhere behind him, then another … and another, and another. And then Negre joined the fray, pulling his weapon and aiming it for Will. If he went for his own pistol, he'd be a dead man -- it was certain he'd die anyway, but perhaps slightly earlier with quick movement.
*Now is not the time for rash action, Mr. Turner.* Odd time for Norrington's voice to make an appearance in his mind.
And then a voice: "I'd be much obliged if the lot of you'd take your guns off my blacksmith!" Jack had a pistol in each hand, one aimed at Negre and the other somewhere just left of Will.
"Aye!" Will glanced around to pin the voice, and saw Anamaria emerging from behind one of the trees over on the other side of Negre. She, too, was holding a pistol on the black man. "And for the record, I'm worth much more than a solitary shilling!"
A few more Pearl crewmen revealed themselves as well, bearing pistols, and Will wondered how they'd managed to get down here without him seeing any following he and Jack this way.
"As you can see, good sir," Jack's tone mocked the honorific, "you're quite surrounded. Order your crew to drop their guns."
"You think I did not anticipate this, Jack Sparrow?" Negre laughed, and it put Will in mind of Barbossa's mirthless guffaw. "Simple I may be, but certainly not stupid."
"Relative intelligence's got nothing to do with it, mate," Jack answered calmly, his arms not wavering in either direction. "Until you take into account that I am, in fact, *Captain* Jack Sparrow. You can be shot or you can drop your weapons."
One thing puzzled Will above all else: Why was he the focus of all these guns? It certainly wasn't his duel, and Jack had made it very public and very clear he was taking Gibbs's place when Will had earlier volunteered in town to be the Scotsman's second. He failed to see how putting weapons on him would affect the outcome of all this.
His thoughts were interrupted by Negre. "I have your crew outnumbered, it would seem, Sparrow," he boomed across the beach. "So it would be better if you were to lay down your arms first. I might even spare some of you."
"Why, that's ever so polite of you," Jack mocked in singsong. "But of the two of us, I'm the one who's engineered mutiny, so I think it's my fearsome reputation we'll be paying heed to, eh?"
That shocked Will. Mutiny? Jack?
"Or maybe you'd like young Will to hear how you and your illustrious captain nearly killed his father for refus-"
"*ENOUGH!*" Negre looked truly agitated now, and his pistol fairly shook as an extension of that rage. "Do you constantly prattle?"
"Well, mate, I mean it's not my fault you two just weren't Bootstrap's type, now is it?" Jack's eyes narrowed to allow for a too-sweet smile that wasn't at all meant to be pleasant. "When a boy likes girls, you just got to accept he's not about to go down on *you.*"
Will's brain was so busy being shocked he barely registered the lunge Negre's gun made, though his hand went reflexively to his belt, but he certainly heard the twin reports of Jack's and Anamaria's pistols. Jack's hit Negre straight in the chest, and Ana's bullet lodged in the man's brain, so he was dead before hitting the sand, gun still clutched in his meaty hand.
Figuring he had nothing to lose, Will pulled his own gun and whirled, finding a few still trained on him, but their owners a bit rattled. "Put it down or I'll shoot!" he threatened the nearest, lifting his arm and thrusting the pistol forward, aiming. He'd never shot another human being, but he suddenly felt as if he could.
"You all heard the man -- down with 'em!" Jack's voice barked from behind. "Or you'll all end up with an extra breathin' hole or two, too!"
Ever so slowly, Will watched the people in his sight lowering their weapons, tossing them upon the sand. He held so still he could feel the trickle of sweat fall from his hair onto the bare nape of his neck, and run down beneath his collar onto his spine, making him shiver. He didn't dare look around to see if everyone was obeying, trusting the rest of the Pearl crew and Jack to keep an eye on his back.
"Now, that's a right proper bunch o' scalawags." A bit of his usual musical canter returned to Jack's tone. "Let's jus' all come nice 'n close where I can see th' lot o' you, an' keep your hands in th' air or I might jus' let Anamaria 'ave practice again, savvy? She don' like bein' low-bid!"
Will waited until the last man had drifted over from his field of vision before turning to watch whatever Jack had in mind. It was brilliant in its simplicity, actually; he put them to work tying each other up with rope and irons the Pearl crew had brought along, and satisfied himself with quickly searching each one's person for weapons, which he would withdraw, look over, and either toss to one of his sailors or stuff in his own sash and belt. Once enough were tied up, Jack and the twins checked each man's knots and tightened as necessary, only having to subdue a couple with the butts of their pistols.
Jack seemed to relish tying the last man himself, lingering over the knots and grinning unpleasantly into the pirate's snarling visage, ignoring the epithets the man was hurling. Deftly, the captain unknotted and withdrew the rag he kept around his wrist and shoved it into the open mouth, gagging the prisoner on the dirt and sweat that no doubt had been soaked into the filthy cloth over time. "Sticks 'n stones, mate," Will could hear him murmur, standing only a few feet away now. "Be a pleasure makin' ye walk th' plank. Or mebbe ye'd prefer a good keelhaulin'?" The prisoner's face drained of color, and Jack chuckled softly, dangerously. "You an' your mates'll learn in short order t' not fuck wit' me or a member o' me crew. That be, if ye live long 'nough t' put it to any use."
