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Chapter Two - "Jack Sparrow"
The young man squatted in the shadows, his dark eyes trained fiercely on the bolted door across from him. Waving away a bothersome lock from his forehead with an absent stroke, he waited.
Jack Sparrow didn't have roots, he was not capable of defining the words 'family and 'love', he had no friends to speak of, and he could care less. His early childhood was synonymous with the sea, as would be his entire life if he ever cared to take a look behind him in later years. Not that he ever did; it simply wasn't the good Captain's way.
Like the bird, his name also held no earthly ties. He had chosen it with no inspiration but the jovially rum-slurred words of a portly tattoo artist. He had come across the bloke only this past autumn in a small island traders' outpost. The young vagrant could not resist the shop's appeal; it was stocked lavishly with the splendid luxuries of the orient.
Sidling in, his attention had come to rest immediately upon a the stout little man, beads and ornate plaits covering the entirety of his dark beard and tangled tresses, seated quietly at one wall opposite a similarly decorated(but decidedly more tidy) individual. As he looked on, Jack observed the final delicate stages of the application of the tattoo to the back of the second man's left hand. Fascinated, the boy had waited until the customer had paid and made his leave; the latter had flashed a curious glance over his shoulder at the former before making a silent exit. The owner grinned(this was signified by a crinkling of the beady eyes, as almost every other inch of his face was obscured beneath a sea of ebony tangles),
"What can I do for ye, son?" Ivory bisected the black brambles as his lips pulled back. Jack blinked, meeting the stranger's eyes.
"Ah.. I wonder if you could fix me up with one o' those, mate?" came his amiable reply, jerking his thumb over his shoulder to indicate the door from which the first customer had exited. At this, the grin widened. He motioned Jack into the remaining chair, and the boy obliged eagerly.
"What did ye have in mind?" His breath told of drink; rum, it would seem. Jack shrugged, starting slightly at the brief bark of laughter this elicited from the islander. The man became quiet abruptly, squinting almost earnestly across the table; he seemed to consider the young man carefully for an intent moment. "Forgive me, son, but ye suddenly reminded me of something peculiar." Jack questioned him with a quirked brow, gazing into the shopkeeper's deep cerulean eyes and flushed cheeks.
"P'raps it was on'y the light. Really, it's naught of any real significance. It's just.." he stared back at Jack and uttered a decisive sigh, "I'll tell ye. It's really a tale worth hearing, anyways. You'll hear folks laugh over it now and again. Back afore I opened the shop(could've been some twenty years), this entire island was nearly brought to ruins by a lit'l bird what weighed far less 'n a pound." He reached for the boy's hand and absently peeled back the grimy sleeve as he spoke. "The damn lit'l blighter made it into the armory down at yonder barracks and, with the help of a few lazy sent'nals what were trying to shoo him out, blew the entire place to kingdom come. He 'scaped with naught but a singed tail."
"And what does this have to do with me, mate?" Jack quirked a brow. The artist smiled.
"That bird.. 'Twas a sparrow. One o' those 'ispanic ones. I swear that you look just like 'im." He had begun to trace a shape on the boy's forearm with his fingertips.
Later, strolling along with a heart as light as his purse, the child turned up his face to the sun. He called into the wheeling flocks of gulls dotting the cloudless sky,
"You'll always remember this as the day, mates," he beamed, "that Jack Sparrow was born." The few individuals walking that dusty road in hearing distance gave wide berth to the lunatic halted in its center; the young man who seemed to be speaking companionably to the birds.
Following this, Jack Sparrow had done all that he saw humanly possible to attain the freedom he so craved with every fiber of his being. On a whim he had joined up with a crew of traders working off the small town(called Puerto de Cielo, he later discovered) on a ship called Seabird. Three months and seven days later, he was entirely fed up with the entire business. Who wouldn't be? The daily routine of scrubbing, washing, and general order-taking was broken only by one or two bitterly meager meals. That's the life, eh? The goofy, self-satisfied grin was conspicuously absent. Jack's character wouldn't have allowed for much more; he was a time bomb, ticking nearer its deadline. At this point, most interaction between the other crew members and himself started with harsh words and ended in blows.
"Bloody hell," he'd moan into the night from some precarious perch amid the rigging, "I'm through with this." In retrospect, it took him ages to realize exactly what he meant by those words. When he did, everything snapped back into focus.
That was the same day he'd incapacitated and locked up Gilbert Norton. It wasn't an entirely necessary step in the plan, he'd mused later, but seeing as how the sickly and oft-intoxicated first mate had evidently decided his sole purpose in life was to propel idling cabin boys into action with his boot heel, his removal may have saved Jack from some later complication.
After fleeing the scene, he had made his way, cautious and silent, to hall outside the captain's quarters. Jack Sparrow cared for the captain of the Seabird even less than he did for the blundering first mate. He was a hard man, Jack conceded, but his pride in the galleon and its crew was unfounded. In fact, it would probably cost him both.
Jack Sparrow squatted in the shadows, his dark eyes trained fiercely on the bolted door across from him. Waving away a bothersome lock from his forehead with an absent stroke, he waited. No more than fifteen or twenty minutes had passed, and the tension was steadily coming to a head; he could describe it as nothing less than exhilarating. A few more moments passed before he jerked to attention at the sound of the door squeaking open on its hinges. This is not how it was meant to be, he'd mused giddily, pressing himself deeper into one of the wall's two concave impressions as the click of boot heels crept past him and echoed down the passage, I should be storming the castle. He had little time to consider the thought any further. As though life itself were in jeopardy, he flung himself mightily to door and flung it wide without hesitation.
Jack knew(from earlier observation) that the Captain did not secure the cabin in any way when he stepped out; this had made the boy confidant of his foolishness. It had apparently not occurred to Jack that it might still be occupied when he entered. He was greeted by a startled feminine gasp which curved immediately into a gentle query,
"Who might you be, sir?" Stricken, he took a step forward to confront the woman. She was young, he saw. Perhaps not near as young as himself, yet still possessing of a youthful charm. She sat bolt upright in the bed occupying the greater portion of the cabin's floor space, bearing an expression as though she had just spotted something nasty crawl from between the floorboards. Judging by the bed dressings clutched in a protective cocoon up to her chin, she was by no means dressed for his company. "I'll scream for assistance," the woman threatened, her calm voice cracking ever so slightly; Jack took note of the muscles of her jaw working nervously beneath her handsomely flushed cheeks. Bending to turn the key already jutting from the inner lock, he gathered himself loosely; this done, he turned and swaggered deeper into the opulent bedroom, quite the puckish grin playing his lips. "Who-" the lady began, but the lad cut her off by offering up his hand in such a humorously businesslike manner that she would have laughed aloud with the absurdity of it had she not been out of her mind with terror.
"You may call me Jack Sparrow, love. I'm jus' passing through. I won't inquire as to the circumstances surrounding your presence here if you'd do me the same courtesy, savvy?" She stared. They both may well have been figures chiseled in ice for the next moment or two. When it became quite obvious that the lady upon the bed would neither move nor reply, he mumbled a "right, then" before returning his attention to his initial purpose.
The woman observed the youth with growing interest. He was not a grown member of the crew, but perhaps a
! pirate !
passenger. No, a cabin boy. He walked; nay, he strolled the length of the compartment, his gaze fastening itself meticulously to any number of items; the pattern was invisible to her. After a painfully lengthy interval of silence, his attention seemed to hold on the ledge of a shelf jutting from the wall above and just to her right. Raking back the messy black wave of bangs from his eyes, he grinned triumphantly up at it. She shrunk back against the headboard as, without warning, the boy swiftly closed the distance between the two of them.
"Pardon me, love," he gestured grandly above her, "but you're between me and me treasure." Jaw dropping, she used her legs to scoot and shimmy herself to the foot of the captain's bed, trailing her covers. "Hup!" he exclaimed, making the short leap to the mattress; it bounced momentarily, as though in protest to the dilapidated and thoroughly filthy boots proposing to trod upon it. Using a hand he placed over the headboard, he heaved himself up. Though this position was more than a little precarious, Jack retained a firm footing. Sidling up to the wall, he turned to stretch his arms up and over the target ledge; the idea, apparently, was to hook his elbows over it to support his weight while allowing for a satisfactory inspection. If it holds, he thought grimly. It did; but that would have been the least of his problems.
Jack's intuition had not failed him. Nestled against the wall beneath a blanket of dust, sat a small ornate box. He reached to slide it back towards him, as though it were some helpless prey animal pulled before the poised jaws of its hunter. He fumbled eagerly with the latch, snapping back the lid to reveal.. To be continued..
I suppose this is as good a place as any to end the chapter. I'm working on the next one as we speak, friends. I think that I know where it's going. I appreciate everyone's feedback. =)
~CS