A boat with my name on it - by Cunien

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.

Warning: here be mild cockney swearing as befits a buccaneer like Jack Sparrow.

Taffy's dialogue is meant to be like that, very bad english mixed with stereotypical gog' welsh. They're not typing errors. Believe me, I know a few people who do speak like this.

As a bribe to readers - regular reviewers will receive a place in Captain Cunien's crew - we have First-matey Sara and Faithful Bosun Cal. Rat's always been loyal, with me since Ah, the memories!' -would you like to be Loyal Quartermaster? Ship's cook? Doctor? Cabin boy!? Actually maybe we could have Tell-tale from Ah, the memories' as cabin boy. Me might have to de-louse him first though.

P.S - I had no time to read over this, so please forgive any embarrassing and obvious mistakes. Thanks!

Chapter 5 - Private investigations.

I tried to get rooms in one of the taverns that night, but I was so drunk I don't think the owner could understand what I was saying. So I slept outside in a bush.

Didn't bother me - I've slept in all kinds of strange places in my time - I can drop off anywhere, believe me. Hanging from the rigging back in my cabin-boy days, that had to be one of the most unconventional.

I woke up in the morning with a bit of a headache, which was surprising. Despite the amount I drink, I don't really do hangovers. I suppose I've built up a resistance or some such.

Anyway, my first port of call was Taffy. I went to the docks but he was nowhere to be found. Some gentle prodding of the usual lay-abouts laying about the dock told me that he hadn't been seen since yesterday, and that he had rooms in a house in one of the back streets. As most of Tortuga is made up of back streets, it took me a while to find this particular one.

Taffy's house was a crumbling brown building in a row that overhung the alleyway, almost meeting the buildings sloping from the the other side of the street. It was dark and musty there, and the buildings towering over you from either side almost met in the middle to form a dark, putrid cave. The street was upriver a little, and I had to cross a mouldy little bridge, which nearly crumbled beneath me.

By the time I'd side-stepped all the obstacles I began to get the faint impression that they were booby traps of sort. That Taffy had deliberately chosen this horrible smelly bit of town to live in so that his many enemies couldn't get to him. Even if they made it past the crumbling bridge, the swamp like road and the rabid dogs and children, the stink of the place would probably knock them out.

Lucky for me I seem to have developed an immunity to reeking smells, probably because I've spent most of my life developing the more pungent ones.

When I tried to knock on the door, you know, trying to be polite like, which isn't something I can often be accused of, my fist made a hole in the door.
Fair enough.
I tried to open it then, but the whole blimming thing came away in my hand.

I put the door out in the street and walked through, which led me in to an alleyway of sorts. I walked up the stairs, though hauling myself up would probably be more accurate because most of the rotting steps were broken away. I couldn't guess how Taffy managed to get up them. I mean, he's no spring chicken, and he isn't the slimmest of men. There might be muscles under the fat there somewhere, but he's doing a damn good job of hiding them.

Up the winding ladder-like stairs there's this other door, half open. Inside is a one little room. In the corner there's a stove and the other corner a bed, and not much more.

So Taffy's there, bending over a pot bubbling on the stove and screeching a welsh hymn to himself.

I crossed the room and sat down on the bed without Taffy even realising I was there.

He poured the bubbling substance from the pot into a grubby looking bowl. He turned around, his song reaching a horrible wavering crescendo with -Calon LAAAAAANNNN yn llawn daioniiiiiiiii, tecach ywwwAAAAHH! he screamed as he saw me and spilt the contents of the bowl down his front.

He then spent a few minutes hopping around and swiping at the scalding mess. I didn't feel guilty. If his paunch wasn't quite so impressive then the spilt liquid would have missed him altogether.

I sat back on the bed and smiled my best lazy shark smile at him while he got himself under control and refilled the bowl from the pot on the stove.

He crossed to me and shoved the bowl under my nose. Dyma ti! Taffy's Mam's recipe - Welsh delicacy! he giggled nervously. Honestly it was painful to watch.

I looked down at the bowl - it was full of a watery brown liquid, unidentifiable chunks, perhaps vegetation of some kind, and a gristly meat that looked as though it had only recently been taken from it's previous owner, and might have been dog if I'd though he could have afforded it. The smell forced me to swallow down a heave. I've seen some horrifying things in my time, but this had to be one of the worst.

he said, Tis very gwd.

Hmm. I'll politely decline.

Taffy's face fell. He looked at me questioningly, as though to ask permission to eat the horrible broth himself. I nodded regally and he sat on the floor, making short work of the cawl.

Once he's finished he looked at me expectantly, and I tried to ignore the bits of meat stuck in his yellow teeth.

So. Anamaria. What do you have for me? I asked.

O dim llawer, dim llawer rwan. She keeps to herself does that one....but I did tail her to found out where she is living.

Taffy, you are a star. So?

The Devil's Beeftub inn - Corsair street. Tis on Courtesan Bank.

Taffy, I could kiss you! I cried, leaping up. He scuttled away, a look of terror on his face, because a kiss from a shark is not something to be encouraged. Besides, kissing Taffy, by the look of it, would help you along the way to contracting most of the diseases known to man, and a few known to sheep.

Once I'd negotiated the stairs outside, and the rotten bridge over the stream, where I nearly broke my leg, I went straight to the Devil's Beeftub inn. The place was packed, as most of the taverns are at all times of the day in Tortuga. I wandered in, cool as you please, and ordered a rum. Once I'd had a few, I managed to get lost amongst the drunken throng, and snuck upstairs.

The second floor was totally different to the bar downstairs. The walls were freshly whitewashed and large windows along the corridor let the light stream in.
On a ship, keeping things tidy and orderly is a matter of life and death. But in a room it's not of such dire importance.
This place was a nice - modest, but clean and neat and tidy.
I'm all for clean and neat and tidy, as long as it's not me who has to keep it that way. And at least on a ship you have a cabin boy to foist all the horrible jobs onto.

The problem was I didn't have a clue which room was Anamaria's. There weren't that many to choose from, only about 4 or 5, but most of the doors were locked, and if there owners were within, I didn't fancy my chances at passing myself off as a room maid.

Just as I thought this, a young woman came out of one of the rooms with a pile of clean linen in her arms. She jumped as she saw me and dropped the linen on the floor.

You'll notice people have a habit of jumping and dropping things when they see me.

She blushed a charming pink and bent to retrieve the bed sheets. Of course I went to help her.

Once this was done, she stood up and smiled bashfully at me, and I thought hello.

G..Good day sir. she said. She seemed genuinely shy, which isn't a quality many of Tortuga's woman can be accused of.

Captain Jack Sparrow, at your service. I said, wiggling my eyebrows. I took off my hat and made a sweeping bow.

Sarah Browne. She giggled, blushing furiously again.

Ten minutes later, I stepped out of the broom cupboard and headed down the corridor to one of the smaller rooms at the back of the inn.

I told Miss Sarah Browne that I was Anamaria's brother. Poor thing obviously wasn't too bright, or she may have noticed that Anamaria was black, and I was not.

She was a sweet little thing though, and Jack Sparrow will never say no to a spot of canoodling in a cupboard.

Anamaria's room was one of the more modest ones, whose windows opened out into the foliage of the palm trees growing on the slopes to the back of the inn.
The door was unlocked, as Sarah said it always was, and I tutted as I walked through it. Silly girl Anamaria.

Inside was a small bed and a table littered with papers. They were covered in the childlike scrawl of someone who's just learnt their letters. I should know, that's exactly how I write. Though I largely avoid situations that will call for note taking anyway.

A chair, a change of clothes and a spare blanket were the only other items in the room.

The rudder was nowhere to be found.

I cursed and stamped my foot angrily.
I'd been sure that Anamaria had hidden the rudder in her room. I mean, let's face it, apart from the initial deviousness of the idea, she hadn't been too careful so far, what with the not noticing a fat welsh man following her home and leaving her door unlocked.

But there was no rudder here.

Which left me in a tight spot. Tortuga was not a huge place, especially compared to the massive bulk of Hispaniola visible from the southern shores of the island. But there were still countless nooks and crannies were you could hide a rudder.

Down at the docks, no matter who I questioned and how much gold I flashed their way, no one had seen nuthin guv'nor. Which was mightily suspicious, because Tortugans were the kind of people to lie out of their arses and say they'd seen something, anything, if gold was involved.

Anamaria obviously held more sway with the regulars at the dock then I had thought. Well, she was pretty fierce.

I went to pay my respects to the Jolly Mon and whisper to her that soon she'd be with her rightful owner. I ignored the fact that the sails were conspicuously absent.

Anamaria glared haughtily at me, and I returned the favour.

Something wrong? she asked casually.

Nothing whatsoever. I replied.

After a while, I tried again.
Thought any more about our deal then? I asked cooly.

I wasn't aware there was a deal. she answered nonchalantly.

Fine by me. I said. Deal or no deal, you know I'll have this boat by the end of the week.

So you'd resort to thieving? Anamaria asked.

Um....Pirate. I felt like saying.

From a poor defenceless woman? she continued.

I snorted. Her? I don't think anyone could ever describe Anamaria as a poor defenceless woman.

Good day to you. I said, bowing mockingly.
But walking away I couldn't help wonder what part of my beloved boat would be missing the next time I saw her.

TBC.....

Next chapter - action and large quantities of rum, or so I'm told. Don't hold me to that.

A slightly more pitiful Huzzah' from all the PotC fans living in the UK - the dvd is out on December the 5th for us, instead of the US release date of the 2nd, so my source, our friend the Admiral tells me.