A boat with my name on it - by Cunien

Longer chapter here - we'll see a lot more of Anamaria in the next though.

By the way, this is sequel-ish to Ah, the memories!'. You don't have to read that fic first, I mean, I won't force you or anything, but to increase reader satisfaction I recommend that you do.

Disclaimer: Jack Sparrow belongs to no man but himself! Anamaria belongs to no man either - not even Jack. And the Jolly Mon belongs to Anamaria. Not Jack.

Mild cock-erney swearing as befits a scamp like Jack, bless his little cotton socks.

Chapter 2 - In the market.

So I explained how I came to be in Tortuga right?

Ok, so as soon as Calico's men had removed' me from the little skiff and deposited me on the dock they starter rowing back and left me on me onesy.

Well, there are worse places to be marooned than Tortuga.

I picked myself up and dusted myself off. Calico hadn't come to bid me
fare-thee-well personally, but I could see him, standing on the deck of the Adventure.

I could practically see his glare from where I stood, even though he was but a tiny black figure on an off-shore ship.

I gave him a little salute and turned my back on him.

Tortuga is a wonderful place.
Ever been there? It's great. It's my home, it really is. Or a second home at least, after the Pearl.

It's like the horn of plenty, or whatever it's called - there's something for everyone there. So long as your tastes run along the lines of women, rum, good company and the occasional brawl to round the evening off.

It's great, is Tortuga.

A nice little island, not too big, not too small, nestled safely with the massive bulk of Hispaniola between you and Port Royal.
Lovely.

Now some say Saona or the other smuggler's isles are just as good, but Tortuga was the mother that gave birth to all the best pirates in the Spanish Main, and for that I'll drink to her.

A little stream runs through the main town, cutting it neatly in two, and it was on the west side, called Courtesan's Bank that I went that morning. It's the best place - has all the best women, rum, company and brawls on the island.

I was at the door of the Angel tavern, about to go in, when I remembered Giselle. I wasn't sure if she knew about Scarlet, but I didn't fancy risking it to be honest. These strumpets can be vicious if the whim takes them.

So I headed down a little bit to Bradey's Tavern. Except then I remembered Scarlet, and I wasn't sure if she knew about Giselle. But again, I didn't really fancy my chances on that account.

So where else was there to go?

Well it was early in the day and I had no particular sorrows to drown, so I turned on my heel and headed back to the dock. As much as I loved Tortuga, a man's got to make his living- after a while I begin to get the wanderlust creeping into my feet don't I, and anyone knows that the best place to find work, or better, adventures (cos me I don't do work so well) is either the dock or the tavern.

The tavern could wait, so as I said, I moseyed down to the dock to have a little look-see. There was bound to be one of my acquaintances rattling about there somewhere, so I could catch up and see what all the gossip was. Along with the tavern, the dock is always a good place to do business, and there are often people hanging about looking for a suitable captain and ship to take them off on some fool's errand, which is most likely to leave the fool dead and the captain rich.

There was one snag, and I'm sure you've spotted it, haven't you?

At this point in time I was sans ship.

Anyway, an observant fellow like you or me will tell you straight off that a dock is often the best place to find a boat, so there was another reason to head there.

On the way to the dock though, I'm walking past this big thicket of bushes when I hear this groan. I stick my head in and there's this heap of a man lying there, dead to the world. But the best part is that he's clutching a half full bottle of rum and dead to the world.

I'm an optimist me - the bottle is always half full, and never half empty. Especially when it's a bottle of rum.

Well of course I relieved him of the drink, and felt very happy indeed that I'd chosen to head for the dock and it's free rum instead of the tavern and it's rum of the paying for variety.

So there I am, strolling down to the sea, home again, with a half bottle of rum. The sun is shining, and I've got my hat so I don't mind it at all. There's a nice stiff breeze to blow away the cobwebs. As far as I can see there are no donkeys within sight and I'm happy.
I'm grinning to myself and humming a little ditty, you know the one that goes hey-ho we'll go anywhere the wind is blowing na na na-na-naaaaa!' right? I love that song.

Anyway, I took a swig from the bottle and grinned real big, thinking about the adventures to come as soon as I've got myself a boat of some kind.

Now being a pirate isn't like being a blacksmith or a doctor or something. You can never stop being a pirate. You live eat drink sleep talk walk pirate.
A lot of people enter this honourable profession for the gold, the rum, the women, but any real pirate will tell you those are just bonuses.

It's really about the wind.
About the salt spray whipping your face till it hurts and the rope burning your hands raw.
About having a boat and knowing she's yours and you could sail anywhere on her. It's when you can feel the wind ballooning in the sails and pushing you along at dizzying speeds.

See, I'm getting all sentimental now, aren't I? You'll find that sailing is about the only thing I do get mawkish about.
And I suppose now you understand my thing about the Black Pearl right? And why for ten years I carried that one shot in my pistol for one man alone.

But until I got the Pearl back under me, after all those years of abuse from that bilge rat Barbossa, any boat would do really. Anything with a sail and a rudder, that'll do me fine.

Now for understandable reasons really, Calico never gave me my last pay, but there's not much you need to spend your gold on on a boat. The only time you ever really exchange money is in a friendly game of cards with the crew.
And I was good at cards.

Well, good at cheating anyway....and don't look at me like that - everyone was cheating. I was just better at it than them.

So I'd saved up all my pay and winnings, and I could feel the comforting, and I admit, rather rare feeling of the coins jingling in my pocket.

At the dock, I found my man straight away - Taffy.

Taffy was a welshman.

A small, shifty man - the runt of the pack you could tell. He was of indeterminable age - his hair was beginning to grey and there seemed to be less of it each day, but that wasn't much of an indication. He was the kind of man who begins to lose his hair at the age of 6.

Taffy had been an unsuccessful highway-man back in Wales, occasionally robbing the mail carriage, or attempting too at least, until he put the Old World to his rudder and came to seek his fortune in the Caribbean.

But he was an enterprising fellow, always had something to sell you whether you liked it or not, and although he played on my nerves, he was undoubtedly a useful friend. He wasn't that bad a man, just clever enough to set up his business selling everything under the sun, but stupid enough to get haggled down to ridiculously low prices if you knew the way to go.

Now Taffy had always been rather afraid of me - I think he thought I may have permanent cabin fever or something. But I soon discovered this worked in my favour see.

Because all you really had to do was make Taffy afraid of you, and he'd sell you his own mother for half a guinea.

But I didn't want old Mother Taffy - I wanted a boat.

I bellowed.

The poor man jumped a mile in the air.
Ah-haa ha! he laughed, nervous like.

I thought you'd been mar- ...... I mean, I didn't expect to see you, Jack.

Yes, no doubt you'd heard of my spot of bad luck concerning the Pearl ?

Ah ye...yes. he nodded. His discomfort made me pity the poor blighter.
Only it was very funny.

Well, I'm in the market aint I.

You are? asked Taffy, confused.

Yes. For a boat. I leaned forward so that my face was just inches from his and whispered, Desperate measures see? No sea turtles around.

When I got off the island that scabrous seadog Barbossa made me Governor of, I found there to be rather a lot of tales doing the rounds about my hi-jinks and my miraculous escape. The sea turtle one seemed to be the most widely known, though it wasn't the most ridiculous by a long shot.

The most ridiculous involved the ingenious use of 6 monkeys, a seahorse, my hat, a coconut, and a short length of string.

But I won't go into that one right now.

Well, I didn't know if our friend Taffy had heard tell of my sea turtle roping skills, but even if he hadn't, the comment sounded crazy enough to confirm his suspicions about my sanity.

Which could only work in my favour as he'd likely sell me the fastest boat for a very small amount of gold just to get me the hell away from him.

So Taffy scurried down the dock, and I followed along, occasionally treading on the back of his heels, because it annoyed him and amused me.

The little welshman stopped a little way down the wooden jetty and gestured at the dock and the boats moored there.

This is all I have. he said

They were a sorry sight, these boats - little leaky, rotten row boats and nothing more.
I quirked an eyebrow questioningly at Taffy, who grinned and nodded at me in encouragement.

"This all you have?" I asked

Taffy's grin slipped, just momentarily.

Uh..yes, yes this is all I have.

He wasn't the sharpest nail in the box, I think you can tell.

I leaned against a mooring post and pretended to deliberate. I ummed and aahhed, watching Taffy's grin fade, and then once it had disappeared entirely I pointed down the dock and said I want that one.

That one? Taffy asked.

No, that one there. I said indicating the skeleton of a little boat half sunk in sand in a cove across the way.

Obviously Taffy didn't understand sarcasm.

Taffy, yes, I want that one.

No no no my friend. That one's not mine - that one belongs to her. said Taffy, pointing at the woman sitting beside it, still busily mending the sail.
Please, why don't you think about it, choose another.

I said, rubbing my chin thoughtfully. Nope. I still want that one.

So Taffy sighed and trudged along the dock to the boat in question, looking as though he had been sent to the gallows. He muttered and swore in welsh under his breath.

I leaned against the post again and half closed my eyes, watching Taffy under my lashes like.

Now he's too far away for me to hear what he says to the girl, but I see his mouth moving, and the flash of anger on her face.

The next thing I know there's a splash, and Taffy seems to have disappeared. Instead there's this great thrashing ripple in the water, and after a second his little balding head is gulping away for air and he's struggling to stay afloat.

So I mosey down to the girl, and I'm about to say something witty, you know, win her over with my charming charm, but before I can open my mouth to speak there's this little hand on my chest, pushing me backwards.

My arms started windmilling, trying to find purchase on something, anything, but there's nothing to hold on to but the girl. I made a grab for her but she danced out of the way with a very un-ladylike grin, and the next thing I know I've joined Taffy for a little swim!

You can take that as a NO! she yelled at me.

And she threw the mended sail in her silly little boat, un-tied the mooring rope, grabbed the oars and rowed over to another part of the dock, about as far away from me as she can get.

So I'm there treading water, and I can't help but smile really, because it was rather funny.

A silly girl and her very silly little boat.

TBC......

Sorry, this one was a bit rushed towards the end so please excuse any mistakes.

(Jack's little ditty, if you noticed, is from the wealth of pirate knowledge that is The Muppets Treasure Island', for the simple reason that I like it!)

Right, thanks to reviewers!

jennagemini - Thankyou! Mine is the first fic you ever reviewed? That is so nice - thankyou!

cal - hehe - Jack keeps his own hours I'm afraid, and they're strange ones at that! But I'm afraid there may not be all that much romance in this particular fic - I'm not much good at writing it, but it really depends on what Jack says. Though whether you can trust what he says is another matter entirely! I like Anamaria/Jack though, it seems really believable. Am I the only one who thought that Anamaria's The Black Pearl is yours Captain. (or something along those lines) wasn't only referring to the ship??? I fully expected them to kiss or at least make come to bed eyes at each other after that line. But alas, twas not to be. And I suppose it's better that they left it open.

Rat - Thankyou! I was a bit worried about pressure after Ah, the memories'. I was quite happy with that one and I didn't want to ruin it with this! I'm glad it's like Jack's telling you the tale in the pub - a few people have said that, and that's what it's like for me writing it too!

Amananduniel Black - Aye-aye cap'n!