* * * * * ** * * * * **
"Jack!" Turner yelled. The sound of the waves slapping the hull of the ship was so loud that Jack didn't hear him. The deck was completely saturated, the wind tugging and pulling at the sails with rage. Angry clouds hung ominously in the sky overhead.
Jack stood at the helm, the compass in his hand. He didn't know what it was about it, but it felt so right in his hand, the small black box almost inviting him to keep his hand on it at all times. And it seemed to be working. He didn't know if it was the magic that pulled the arrow of the compass, dragging it from left to right, or just plain luck, but the Portella had passed through the straits without so much as a scratch on it. And now, in the very distance, a land mass could be seen.
"Jack," Turner repeated, bounding up the stairs. "Jack, we can't go on any further. The sails are ripped to shreds, and if we force the boat onwards anymore, she'll fall apart on us. Now that we're in clear waters, we should drop anchor and wait till the morning." Jack shook his head dismissively.
"We have to go on." Turner grabbed his shoulder turning the boy to face him.
"Jack we can't. Trust me on this one. The crew's dead, they need a rest." Jack looked down at the small group of pirates they'd amassed on their stop over two nights earlier. They looked beaten and defeated. Crow, who'd been listening to their conversation, yelled over the gale.
"The treasure'll still be there in the morning." The other pirates chorused in agreement. Turner pulled Jack away, talking a fast, hushed voice.
"Jack, we have to stop or they'll rise against you."
"I have to go on." Jack said simply.
"Aye lad, but the Portella stops here for the night. We can't go on in that mist, even if we get to the island, we'll get ripped apart by rocks that we won't be able to se." Turner said, pointing to the low hanging mist that was gathering on the horizon, obscuring the island from view. Jack paused, giving him a long frustrated look.
"I'll go on alone then." Jack said, turning his eyes to the small row boat on deck. "And you guys will follow in the morning, right?" He questioned.
"Aye Jack. We'll follow you in the morning. Just don't do anything rash, so we have something to pick up in the morning." Turner said, messing Jack's hair affectionately.
"The Ile de Muerta." Jack whistled softly under his breath.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
The winds let off once they were past the straights; the clouds still hanging grumpily overhead, but the waters became calmer. Jack rowed steadily, his arms aching already and he still had so far to go before he got to the island.
He pulled out the compass again, checking he was going in the right direction. Without it, he would have got lost in mist hours ago. As it was, he knew he was getting closer and closer. He holstered his gun nervously. While this had seemed like a great plan earlier, to do a bit of scouting and footwork before the Portella sailed in as back up in the morning, it now seemed like a bit of a fool's mission.
Jack nearly swallowed his tongue when a ship previously unseen rose out of the mist, its white sails limp. Beautifully crafted, its hull rose above Jack ominously, port holes like blinking eyes watching him as he sailed past the taunt anchor.
"Thank god for this bloody mist." Jack said lowly. "Otherwise I'd be fish food by now."
Not a sound came from the ship, other then the creaking of its wood. He rowed closer, so he could see the newness of the wood, the beautiful carvings that ran up her side, onto an eye-catching head piece with of a mermaid holding a dove.
Closer now, he was able to his hand along the wood, before continuing to row, a low whistle escaping him. This was a beautiful ship, no doubt about it.
But so silent. He looked upwards, straining to see if he could see any one on deck. But there was no one, just an eerie quiet. Jack looked forward, to the gapping mouth of a cave.
"They all must be in there." He muttered to himself, rowing away from the ship. He gave it one last look, mouthing the words painted on her hull to himself.
"The Pearl."
Ducking through the caves, clambering over falling rocks, he first heard the voices. Low, arguing voices. He peeped over a mass of boulders, his hand on his sword. Julia stood there, still dressed in her white cloak. He could see her red bodice underneath it and the soft sway of lace and cream that made up her petticoats.
Her hair glinted like treasure underneath the hood of her cloak. Jack watched her lovingly for a moment, and then paused, taking in the scene. Julia stood on a raised stone, talking angrily at three men. Behind her was a chest, of grey marble, its lid shoved carelessly to one side. Inside, Jack could see the glint of gold.
Aztec gold.
"No one bloody touches the gold till I say so." Julia said angrily. Jack frowned. That didn't sound like a kidnap victim. In fact.... behind her, sprawled on the floor, bound and gagged with blood spilling from his head, was Tom, his eyes livid with hatred.
"Nice of you to join us, little pirate." A man said coming behind Jack, and something heavy clocked him on the head.
* * * * * * * * * *
"Jack!" Turner yelled. The sound of the waves slapping the hull of the ship was so loud that Jack didn't hear him. The deck was completely saturated, the wind tugging and pulling at the sails with rage. Angry clouds hung ominously in the sky overhead.
Jack stood at the helm, the compass in his hand. He didn't know what it was about it, but it felt so right in his hand, the small black box almost inviting him to keep his hand on it at all times. And it seemed to be working. He didn't know if it was the magic that pulled the arrow of the compass, dragging it from left to right, or just plain luck, but the Portella had passed through the straits without so much as a scratch on it. And now, in the very distance, a land mass could be seen.
"Jack," Turner repeated, bounding up the stairs. "Jack, we can't go on any further. The sails are ripped to shreds, and if we force the boat onwards anymore, she'll fall apart on us. Now that we're in clear waters, we should drop anchor and wait till the morning." Jack shook his head dismissively.
"We have to go on." Turner grabbed his shoulder turning the boy to face him.
"Jack we can't. Trust me on this one. The crew's dead, they need a rest." Jack looked down at the small group of pirates they'd amassed on their stop over two nights earlier. They looked beaten and defeated. Crow, who'd been listening to their conversation, yelled over the gale.
"The treasure'll still be there in the morning." The other pirates chorused in agreement. Turner pulled Jack away, talking a fast, hushed voice.
"Jack, we have to stop or they'll rise against you."
"I have to go on." Jack said simply.
"Aye lad, but the Portella stops here for the night. We can't go on in that mist, even if we get to the island, we'll get ripped apart by rocks that we won't be able to se." Turner said, pointing to the low hanging mist that was gathering on the horizon, obscuring the island from view. Jack paused, giving him a long frustrated look.
"I'll go on alone then." Jack said, turning his eyes to the small row boat on deck. "And you guys will follow in the morning, right?" He questioned.
"Aye Jack. We'll follow you in the morning. Just don't do anything rash, so we have something to pick up in the morning." Turner said, messing Jack's hair affectionately.
"The Ile de Muerta." Jack whistled softly under his breath.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
The winds let off once they were past the straights; the clouds still hanging grumpily overhead, but the waters became calmer. Jack rowed steadily, his arms aching already and he still had so far to go before he got to the island.
He pulled out the compass again, checking he was going in the right direction. Without it, he would have got lost in mist hours ago. As it was, he knew he was getting closer and closer. He holstered his gun nervously. While this had seemed like a great plan earlier, to do a bit of scouting and footwork before the Portella sailed in as back up in the morning, it now seemed like a bit of a fool's mission.
Jack nearly swallowed his tongue when a ship previously unseen rose out of the mist, its white sails limp. Beautifully crafted, its hull rose above Jack ominously, port holes like blinking eyes watching him as he sailed past the taunt anchor.
"Thank god for this bloody mist." Jack said lowly. "Otherwise I'd be fish food by now."
Not a sound came from the ship, other then the creaking of its wood. He rowed closer, so he could see the newness of the wood, the beautiful carvings that ran up her side, onto an eye-catching head piece with of a mermaid holding a dove.
Closer now, he was able to his hand along the wood, before continuing to row, a low whistle escaping him. This was a beautiful ship, no doubt about it.
But so silent. He looked upwards, straining to see if he could see any one on deck. But there was no one, just an eerie quiet. Jack looked forward, to the gapping mouth of a cave.
"They all must be in there." He muttered to himself, rowing away from the ship. He gave it one last look, mouthing the words painted on her hull to himself.
"The Pearl."
Ducking through the caves, clambering over falling rocks, he first heard the voices. Low, arguing voices. He peeped over a mass of boulders, his hand on his sword. Julia stood there, still dressed in her white cloak. He could see her red bodice underneath it and the soft sway of lace and cream that made up her petticoats.
Her hair glinted like treasure underneath the hood of her cloak. Jack watched her lovingly for a moment, and then paused, taking in the scene. Julia stood on a raised stone, talking angrily at three men. Behind her was a chest, of grey marble, its lid shoved carelessly to one side. Inside, Jack could see the glint of gold.
Aztec gold.
"No one bloody touches the gold till I say so." Julia said angrily. Jack frowned. That didn't sound like a kidnap victim. In fact.... behind her, sprawled on the floor, bound and gagged with blood spilling from his head, was Tom, his eyes livid with hatred.
"Nice of you to join us, little pirate." A man said coming behind Jack, and something heavy clocked him on the head.
* * * * * * * * * *