Not five minutes earlier he'd given the command to attack; now, Jack and the Pearl's crewmen stood ready with their grappling hooks and ropes, ready to throw and climb as the undaunted French ship drew nearer. Cannon fire had ripped holes in its hull, but it was far too large and secure to be brought down by such a thing. Jack noted it was roughly one-and-one-half times the size of his own ship -- a fine prize to be sure, but not one he'd try to take this day. He still wasn't certain who was running the thing.
Jack turned his attention to his two mutineers as he waited for the ship to get close enough to board. Curly and Connors were being held near the rail by two of Jack's burliest men, and the captain squinted a saccharine smile at the miscreants. "Well … I've changed me mind, boys," Jack drawled, thrusting out his chin and cocking his head as he spoke. "Seein' as we're th' ones have t' clean up your mess, I really don' think it fair ye should get any o' th' spoils that mayhaps come into our possession from this little venture." He flicked his dark eyes to the two guards. "Gentlemen -- help th' boys 'ere greet their fate proper-like."
The burly men glanced at one another, shrugged, and hoisted the protesting mutineers over the rail. "Captain!" cried Connors, kicking at his handler. "Don' put me off! Was all 'is idea, ever' bit o' it!"
"MY idea?" the dangling Curly howled, somewhere in the midst of indignation, pain, and frustration. "You're the one who came up with how to take out th' ol' mute!"
As the two verbally harangued one another, Jack glanced sideways at Will, who was arching a brow at the pair, looking extremely doubtful of the veracity of their desperate statements. Then the blacksmith met his eyes and lifted both eyebrows, rolling his dark eyes -- Jack could swear the lad's expression was checked amusement. He grinned in return and turned his attention back to the mutineers.
"Show these fine gentlemen their new home." Jack nodded at the burly men, Tanta and Moses, whose huge arms barely rippled as they gave Curly and Connors a toss into the briny drink. The captain leaned over a bit to watch them hit, then surface, clawing about, before he remembered an unusual fact about the usually-silent Connors. "Oh dear -- don' think th' poor boy can swim," he mused aloud.
"You mean to leave them down there?" Will had joined him at the rail and was looking over, too.
"They meant t' get us into this mess," was Jack's only reply.
The smith looked up at his captain. "Not much room for mistakes among thieves, eh?"
"Mistakes?" Jack nearly choked on the word, laughing as he was. "'Twas no mistake -- they 'complished 'zactly what they set out t' do, mate. Jus' not for themselves, is all." He straightened, sobering his speech. "This is a democracy, William; as such, we all live an' die by each other's decisions. *Mine* was t' keep us out of 'arm's way, at least this day. People're goin' die today t' pay for *their* decision; only proper an' fair they should be th' first, since nobody else 'ad a vote."
He didn't have time to even issue a "savvy?" to the end of his explanation, catching sight of the ship from the corner of his eye; they were finally at an angle so the name of the vessel, the Versailles, was fully visible, the appellation painted in man-high letters. Jack pulled up his hook, weighted the hilt in his hand, and launched it toward the other ship's higher rail. "Board!" he ordered the approximately twenty men around him.
Because of his title, Sparrow was the first aboard, scrambling along the rope and pulling himself over the rail. He was greeted by two dark-eyed swashbucklers stabbing for him. Spinning, the captain fairly twirled out of their range and pulled his own sword free at the same time. When they figured out he'd pirouetted sideways, he already had the point of his blade at the side of one's neck. "Who are you?" Sparrow demanded in a growl.
The man scowled, and Jack realized it was in incomprehension. "Comment tu appellez tu?" he queried in French, ignoring the nicety of the formal "you" address under the circumstances. "Como te llamas?"
That banished the blank, angry look, replaced with mere anger now. "Conquerors for glorious Spain," the man replied in Spanish, before snarling, "And who might *you* be?"
Jack had no intention of answering before he had to. "Pirates?" he queried back in the man's language.
The other man sniffed as if insulted. "Privateers."
Sparrow glanced around as he was surrounded by his own men boarding; he could see others of the Spanish crew also hurrying forth. He noted the crass, lopsided dress of the crew and their dirty state in contrast with the sleek, clean wood of the ship -- he'd come to expect more of government-sanctioned Spanish buccaneers, who generally had style, if nothing else. Many looked underfed and rangy, too. "If you're a privateer, I'm me own Aunt Fanny," he scoffed. "You're no more employed by th' Spanish Crown than I am."
"You're treading a dangerous line, *friend,*" the second pirate sneered.
"I'll take me chances, *mate.*" Jack twisted the sword a bit, drawing a point of blood from the first pirate's neck, causing the man to grit his teeth. "Where's your captain?"
"Below, with the gunners."
Jack grinned. "Hidin' out, is he? Hell of a foe, have I, this fine day." He withdrew his sword enough to allow the man to breathe, but just. "Well, summon 'im. Ye may tell your captain tha' he's gettin' th' rare pleasure an' privilege of meetin'-"
"Captain, look out!" From the corner of his eye, Sparrow caught sight of Will lunging for him, and instinctively ducked. Turner's blade whistled overhead and a wet, sticky plop accompanied the singing, indicating a direct hit upon a body. Jack felt the flat of the wielded blade strike his shoulders as the standing corpse dropped it, obviously in mid-attack on Sparrow's back, then glanced up to see Will's arm retract, his tight fist gripping the hilt of a glistening red blade.
Jack stood, nodding a curt, silent thanks at the blacksmith, then narrowed his eyes in a scowl at the two pirates he'd been holding at bay. "So that's how it's t' be, then." His voice was gravelly, escalating. "Men! Help these fine sailors meet their Maker!"
With a roar and a charge, the Pearl's crew threw themselves into the fray, attacking with a frenzy borne of not having a prize to chase for the past three weeks. Jack himself exercised a bit more restraint, challenging and parrying long enough to see if his opponents would drop their swords; more often than not, they didn't, which is when he'd get bloodthirsty and lunge, pierce, and hack.
The only person scoring more hits on the rapidly-growing onslaught of Spanish pirates above deck was Will, who wielded both his sword and a shorter katana-like blade. His body lunged and spun almost effortlessly, and Jack was reminded of natural-born runners. Most people, he theorized, had to struggle to run, to attain any sort of speed or endurance -- a lucky few, though, were able to defy gravity and seemed to coast along the ground, not so much running as paddling through space gracefully. While he was the former, Will Turner was definitely the latter type.
For several moments, the Pearl's crew attacked the swarm as best they could; Jack was heartened to see many were surviving and avoiding injury. When he caught sight of Chin going down with a blade through his chest, though, he growled, angry anew. The young Oriental pirate had joined up with the Interceptor as part of the original crew to rescue Elizabeth, and had been as loyal as he was quiet. *He shouldn't have died, not today,* Sparrow chastised his own lack of foresight for not picking out his mutineers before they acted, though he rationally knew there was no way he could've determined such a thing. Again.
As he withdrew his own blade from the chest of Chin's killer, he stepped back, hard, into an ungiving body. He tensed just as he heard, "It's me, Captain!"
"What're ye doin' back there?" Jack asked half-conversationally, not breaking the contact as he held his blade out, threatening.
"My job," came the dry reply. "Watching your back."
"Aye, this be somewhat familiar," he chuckled. "Where's Norrington when ye need 'im, 'nyway? Bet he'd love a go at these boys."
"Too busy keeping the seedier bars of Port Royal safe from docking miscreants," Will replied, and Jack laughed aloud, recalling how the Commodore had forced them to flee the Red Snapper so many months ago.
"Stay with me an' make way to the rail, Will." Jack turned his head over his shoulder briefly to give the subdued order in English, banking that at least some of the pirates who could hear wouldn't know what he was saying. "Nice an' slow-like." Raising his voice, he barked a similar order to the rest of his men. "Follow the plan!" he yelled.
It took a couple of minutes, but the crew slowly followed their captain's words, edging to the rail, stepping across felled bodies on the way. Looking hesitant, each man hauled himself over and quickly slid back to the Pearl as Jack and Will edged to the rail in unison, their backs still pressed tightly together. "Now!" Jack ordered as they were against it, reaching for a rope.
He threw himself over, hands gripping the rope, after briefly pausing to sheathe his sword. Those who had already escaped were busily cutting their own ropes, beginning to release the Pearl from her oversized French barnacle. Halfway down, he looked over and realized he couldn't see Will. At the same time, he heard the man's voice call out a familiar name.
"David, no!"
*Blast, what the hell?* Jack tightened his grip and let his head fall back to look back up; all he could see was Will moving away from the rail, closer into the center of deck. *No, you fool, not that way!* he thought, automatically beginning the climb back toward the Versailles. He'd be damned if he'd leave any crewman while he escaped, let alone Will Turner.
He clamored back up the railing a moment later, spotting Will holding off a stand of pirates with his sword, his other arm thrown around the front of the Pearl's cabin boy, just under his chin; David seemed frozen, eyes huge with fear. With a leap, Jack was over the rail, drawing his sword even as another group of pirates swarmed him, getting between him and his crewmen.
It was then he realized everyone else truly had left, and he slowly lowered his sword; even Jack Sparrow was outnumbered at fifteen-to-one odds. "Drop your weapon, Mr. Turner!" he ordered loudly enough to be heard by all. "Now!"
He waited until Will had obeyed before letting his own clang to the deck, keeping his eyes steadily going among a few hostile faces before him. "Parlez," he said quietly, fixing on one.
"You surrender?" the man asked.
"Your captain?" Jack volleyed, ignoring the question. He hoped he was providing enough of a distraction for the Pearl to get away, much as he hated to keep Will and David here.
On cue, a tall, broad-shouldered pirate clomped across deck, pushing others aside and his way through the swarm. Jack saw him spot something over his shoulder, beyond the rail, and immediately, the dark-haired human mountain growled a sharp string of Spanish cursing the Pearl for daring to sail away and ordering his men to make ready for firing and pursuit. "Captain!" Jack raised his voice above the others. "A word?"
The man paused in turning to head back wherever he'd come from, and closed the space between himself and Jack in a few long steps. Jack studied him quickly, noting a slight limp in the fellow's left leg, deep lines etched into his inscrutably-aged face, the broad hat cocked on his head, and worn brown leather armguards laced around his forearms. "Who might you be?" he demanded of Jack, looking him up and down, clearly deeming him impudent for addressing a superior out of turn.
"I'd be th' captain of yonder vessel," Jack replied in his best voice of command. "An' I can tell ye she's not worth your time -- no swag aboard, no armaments worth stealin'."
"You? A captain?" The Spanish captain took in the much slighter man before him, and Jack cursed himself anew for not properly outfitting in anything more than boots, trousers, sash, and chemise. "What be your name, sailor?"
"Captain Jack Sparrow." He leveled his dark gaze up at the other man, watching with amused curiosity at the change that came over his features.
"Not *the* Jack Sparrow?"
"*Captain* … my title, if you please. Jesu knows I've worked 'ard enough to earn it."
The larger man regarded him darkly. "My apologies," he answered in sarcastic Spanish. Then he grinned. "Well, I'll be -- Captain Sparrow on me vessel, at me mercy. Hardly seems the time or place for such things."
"Hmm. Ye mind tellin' your men to take their shinies off me blacksmith and cabin boy?" Jack gestured toward the two in question.
"An' what're two such non-combatants doing in a raiding party?"
It was a good question, but Jack hadn't the inclination to explain it away -- not just yet, at any rate. "First things first," he changed topics. "Who am I addressing, sir?"
"Captain Elias Francois," the hulk replied, dipping his chin in a slight bow. "I must say, Captain Sparrow, I wasn't entirely sure you were a real personage, given the stories about ye."
"Stories?" Being the egotist he freely admitted he was, Jack was always up for hearing stories about himself. He flicked his eyes meaningfully toward Will and David. "Do tell."
Francois took the hint and turned to issue rapid orders to the pirates holding the pair captive; they relaxed their demeanors and lowered their swords. Back to Jack, he answered, "Well, th' curse of Cortez, o' course; that's th' most interest to us."
"Ah, yes. Lovely man ye produced, there," Jack remarked dryly.
"You English have certainly loosed your share o' mongrels on th' seas."
"What makes ye think I'm English, man?"
Francois narrowed his eyes. "I'm not stupid, Sparrow."
"Never implied such a thing, Francois." Jack rolled the name on his tongue, then grinned cheekily. "So, tryin' to get a ship that matches your name, eh, mate?"
"Forgive me for not bein' quite that clever," the man answered with just a hint of mirth. "But I make me decisions based on size and armament. 'Twas in th' market for a new ship and came 'cross these French dogs -- seemed fitting."
"Well, I've no great love for th' French." Jack scratched at his chin, giving the Pearl more time to get away. "And seein' as you've already a fine vessel, what's to be gained by sinkin' mine? Tell you what -- you put me an' the whelps 'ere on a rowboat back to it, an' we'll steer clear o' each other, respect each other's space from 'ere on out, eh?"
Francois regarded him with amusement. Finally, he laughed. "Barbossa was right; you do try to talk your way out o' everything."
Jack tried not to let on that the name raised bristling hackles in him. Shrugging his slender shoulders, he adopted a faintly bored air. "I find it better 'n tryin' to kill a man right off, 's all."
"Aye, maybe you're right." The captain eyed Jack. "I'll not be sailin' after your ship for now, Captain -- but I think you and your companions will stay on as my guests for awhile. Savvy?"
The turning of his own well-known expression on him ground at Jack's pride, but he only smiled, crinkling his eyes invitingly. "Why thankee, Captain," he murmured graciously. "We'd be e'er so delighted t' bunk 'ere."
"Bullshite," Francois parried, and his crew laughed. "But I'll tender your acceptance, Sparrow, anyhow. Who knows -- maybe I'll even find a way for you an' your crewmen to pay me back for th' damage to my ship an' crew." A collective guffaw went up from the pirates surrounding them as Francois gestured about at the damaged railings and that which couldn't be seen from deck -- hull breaches -- as well as to the dead bodies still littering the deck.
Jack fought his natural inclination to snarl at what the man was implying, especially in regards to the child. "You do that," he only smiled again, letting his eyes narrow to dangerous slits instead of merely squinting in good humor. A brief raise of Francois's eyebrow told him the captain "savvied" that unspoken warning well enough, at least.