"I've got a ship..."
"That's terrible bad luck, Cap'n," the white-haired man cut in. Jack gave a sigh of exasperation.
"Aye, an' I leave it to ye to tell Anna Maria," he said, still looking at Grace.
"Well, I'm sure Will an' 'Lizbeth would take 'er in," the white-haired man said with a touch of a scowl. Grace blinked, trying to decide whether or not she'd heard the man right.
"You...know Will and Elizabeth?" she asked, her eyebrows scrunched up in confusion.
"Of course we know Will an' his girl. They should be here any minute," Jack said, leaning back in his chair and glancing at the door. Relief washed over Grace—she was sure the pair would help her find a way out of this mess. Then the gears started turning in her head—why should she be surprised that pirates knew the couple? After all the stories they'd told...She blinked and took a long hard look at Jack, which wasn't the most pleasant thing to do—the ache in her head was right behind her eyes and it felt as though they were trying to push their way out of her skull.
"Wait a minute...You're Jack Sparrow!" she cried, taking all three men and Lena by surprise. Jack's eyes went wide for a moment as he and the chair went over backwards and hit the floor with a crash and a thump.
"That's Captain Jack Sparrow, actually," he called from the floor before rolling off the chair and picking himself—and it—up. "An' the mangy sailors beside ye are Gibbs and Cooper." Neither of the men looked terribly offended at being referred to as 'mangy', but Grace didn't notice. Her mouth was agape and she was staring at Jack with a look one-part shock, one-part awe, and two-parts disbelief. She'd been playing cards with this man just hours ago. How could she not have realized who he must be? Like the day when she first ran into Elizabeth (in quite the literal sense), she again felt incredibly stupid. She was startled out of her reverie when a mug thunked on the table before her. Lena had placed before her a steaming mug of...something.
"It's a local remedy, it might help your head," the barmaid told her, gesturing to the brew.
"Why'd she need 'elp wit 'er 'ead?" Garth asked, giving Lena a quizzical look. Beside him, the man called Gibbs had an equally puzzled expression--only Jack seemed to know what she was talking about. The woman blinked, then the realization hit her--none of the men knew it was Grace who'd drunk herself silly the night before.
"Ah...well..." she began, not quite sure of what to say.
"What she means to say is that the lass is under so much stress, her noggin' must be in a little pain, isn't that right, lovely?" Jack cut in, sitting back down in the now-upright chair and smiling at Grace. "Bottoms up, love." She raised an eyebrow along with the mug and sniffed the brew. It smelled a little foul, but was nowhere near as bad as the concoction Mrs. James had whipped up when she'd taken ill three years ago. She took a deep breath and downed about half of it in one go. She moved it away from her mouth as she finished swallowing and wiped her mouth where a thin stream of the stuff had started to make its way down her chin. As she raised the mixture to her lips again, ready to finish it off, Garth's voice broke the silence.
"'Ave we met before, missy? Ye seem familiar but I can't quite place ye." She nearly choked on the sip she'd just taken.
"No, sir," she said, hastily swallowing. "I don't think we have."
"Well," Jack was rubbing his hands together as he spoke. "Dear Will and Elizabeth seem to be a bit late. Why don't you two go see if you can find them? They may be able to help the young miss better than we can."
"Aye, Cap'n," Gibbs said, standing. Garth glanced up at him, then at the captain before following suit.
"Aye, Jack. Not a bad idea, they may've got themselves sidetracked," Garth said, walking after Gibbs to the door. Then, after a single backward glance and a confused shake of the head, he was gone. Grace looked around, only to find that Lena had deserted her and she was now alone with the infamous Captain Jack Sparrow.
"Now," he said, rubbing his chin. "I'm not quite sure why ye enjoy gettin' yerself drunk off yer arse, Grey—sa, but I'm willin' to overlook that just now." She blushed and suddenly became quite interested in a large black knot in the tabletop. "But I am curious as to just who ye are, who yer runnin' from and who's after ye—not to mention why. And what lengths ye're willing to go to get away," he spoke quickly, without pause, but after the first sentence his voice had lost a little of its harshness.
She took a deep breath and looked up. His dark eyes were regarding her calmly, his hands interlocked before him. She drew her own hands across the table, feeling the grooves, trying to decide what to tell him. 'Truth is the safest lie', she remembered Mrs. James telling her time after time. She bit her lip, wondering what would happen to the old woman. That decided her in the end—if she told the truth, perhaps he'd help her get a message to the old woman that she was safe and help the maid get away from her father. She had a feeling that her father's rage would soon turn on her caretaker—if it hadn't already.
"Well," she began. "My father arranged a marriage for me several years ago, to this horrible man..." suddenly the whole story was spilling out like water rushing through a broken dam—she had no way to stop herself. She told him about how she'd snuck about at the manor, doing things her father would fail to deem appropriate. About how much she'd loved sailing to Port Royale, in spite of the fact that it was bringing her closer to the fate of marrying Brody Fenton. She spoke of how she bumped into Elizabeth on the street and she'd become friends with the woman and her fiancée. She even smiled a little when she told him about her fencing lessons from Will—his lips curved upward as well, in some secret amusement he found in Will's sword work. She recounted some of her best adventures in The Tattered Rose, that she'd first done it just to see what it was like and had kept coming back because of the freedoms it offered—from her father and her sex. Her hands began to shake when she talked about her encounters with Brody and the most unpleasant turn they'd taken recently and continued to do so as she related what had transpired that very morning.
"I...I just don't know what to do anymore. I don't know what I was thinking, running out like that," she felt the sharp hint of water in her eyes and tried blinking them away. "I can't go back now. He's killed women before, in London. Once he's got himself a son what need is there of a wife? And while I'm still alive..." she reached up to rub hers eyes, trying to dissuade the tears she didn't want. She was tired and drained—it really hadn't been a very good day at all. Look at me now, pouring my stupid little heart out to a pirate for God's sake.
Jack had listened silently to the girl's story. He was nursing a hangover of his own, but without any help from Lena's bloody brew, and he found it easier not to do much speaking at such times. Besides, the girl had a nice enough voice. Her accent was interesting—the traditional dialect of well-off British struggling against the slang she'd used as "Grey". Her voice was an alto pitch, not even as high as Elizabeth's—though Elizabeth's voice often had a shrill, accusatory ring whenever she was addressing him. It was easy to listen as he began seriously considering the woman's situation. He noticed that she simply became more distressed as she told her story, but knew that she should probably get it off her chest anyway. He really wasn't very good with women. Well, he was, but usually the ones he was trying to woo into bed and definitely not the types that were angry at him or sitting in front of him crying—and while the lass was trying her damnedest not to break into tears, it was close enough to make him a bit uneasy (sobbing women usually ended up getting angry and slapping him, after all).
He took a close look at the girl. Aside from the fact that her face was turning blotchy and red, she was a pretty little thing. Her hair was a long, wild mass of chocolate curls; her skin (at least the parts that weren't red and blotchy) wasn't the pale white of most upper-class girls, but a light, creamy tan. Her only piece of jewelry was a silver ring on her right hand ring finger with a rose crafted out of the silver on top. Her nails weren't short, but they were chipped and broken in several places. Earlier, he'd noticed the calluses on her palm—she wasn't lying about the sword work. Her dress was simple, a light blue color that reminded him of a clear sky and, he noticed, she filled it out quite well. Her thin lips were a glossy reddish color—rouge of some sort, he supposed. A sprinkle of freckles across her small nose was still visible through the redness of her skin. Her eyes, however, were something else entirely, though. Bright blue orbs the color of the sea were hidden beneath her long lashes. He'd seen intelligence in them the night before, and a quick sense of humor in her manner. He liked her, but he wasn't sure he wanted to get his hands dirty with this kind of dispute.
She hiccupped loudly, startling him. Her gaze had sunk to her lap and she was sniffling heavily, trying to stop her nose from running. He silently took a deep breath and placed a hand on her shoulder, trying to comfort her—or at least get her to stop crying.
Grace was staring at the blue material in her lap. It really was a pretty color, after all. She'd never really liked the dress before, but it was the one Mrs. James had picked out for her this morning and that gave it some sort of sentimental attachment. She felt a sudden weight on her shoulder and looked up to see that Jack had his hand there.
"Ye've told me the who and the why, missy and all that, lovey, but how far are ye goin' to go to solve yer problems?" she met his gaze—his face was serious, his eyes quiet. She bit her lip. She wasn't really sure how far she could go. She did know one thing, though—she didn't want to be within arm's reach of Brody Fenton ever again. That made up her mind.
"I'll go as far as it takes," she said, her voice as steady as she could make it.
"Well, that's good," he replied quickly, looking a little relieved. He patted her shoulder awkwardly, then leaned back in his chair (careful to keep all four of its feet on the floor this time).
"What do you think I should do?" she asked, suddenly feeling very adrift with no idea of where she was headed next.
"Well, I think ye should get the hell out of Port Royale before ye're swine of a b'trothed starts askin' around," he told her bluntly.
"You've got a ship," she said, not realizing that her eyes were beginning to relax and her tears beginning to fade. "How much would you charge me for passage?"
"I've got a pirate ship lass. Not a passenger vessel," he said matter-of-factly. At her scowl, he added a hasty, "How much've ye got?" She thought for a moment, reflecting on everything she could remember about pirates. She grinned wickedly and stood, walking quickly to the bar. Jack's eyes followed her back as he continued to ponder the strange behavior of women in general.
"Lena!" she yelled and the woman appeared in after several thumping steps on the wooden floor of the storeroom behind the bar. She whispered quietly to the woman, who smiled before disappearing back into the storeroom. Grace returned to her seat and, leaning forward slightly, she addressed the pirate.
"I know more than just a bit about how a ship works and I'm a quick learner. I could work my way to whatever port you think would be a good place to leave me. I could even dress as a boy—nobody here noticed I was really a girl, after all," she proposed.
"I noticed," he reminded her pointedly.
"Well, you're Captain Jack Sparrow. Nothing gets past a man of such keen observation," she smiled, buttering the man up as much as she could. "Besides, I'm not that bad a cook."
Lena reappeared, a dusty green bottle in her hands. She set it down at the table in front of her young friend, a grin on her face. Jack regarded the bottle with definite interest (alcohol was far easier to understand than women, after all).
"What's this?" he asked, his voice light.
"This is a bottle of the finest red wine dated 1478," she told him. If he'd been a horse, she mused, his ears would have just pricked up. "That's about two-hundred years, Captain Sparrow. I'll throw that in to help pay for my passage."
"How do I know ye're tellin' the truth?" he asked and she passed him the bottle. He studied the label before nodding. "How'd ye ever get yer hands on this?"
Grace smiled up at Lena and the woman smiled back.
"That's our little secret," the barmaid told him with a smirk. He glanced from woman to woman, then locked eyes with Grace and leaned toward her, a plan coming together in his mind.
"All right, love. This is what's going to happen," his voice had taken on a slightly jovial tone and he laid the agreement out quickly, talking with his hands as well as his lips. "I'm going to let you play pirate until we reach port at Tortuga. You're going to pretend you're Grey, thief-turned-pirate, and you're also going to let me have that lovely dress you're wearing. Once we reach Tortuga, you disappear into the raucous crowd and I sail off into the sunset and make sure your father and fiancée never come looking for you. Savvy?" he cocked his head to the side as he asked, a slight gleam in his eye. Grace blinked in surprise. She'd heard more than a little about Captain Jack Sparrow and this didn't really seem to be his kind of deal. As far as she could see, there wasn't anything in it for him besides a bottle of rum and a muddy and torn blue dress. She nodded warily.
"Aye, we have an accord," she told him in her "Grey" voice, holding out a hand. He smiled his lopsided smile and shook it firmly.
"That's the spirit,"
The door opened and all three of the pub's occupants turned to see Will enter with Elizabeth, Gibbs and Garth at their heels.
"Grace!" Elizabeth cried. "What happened? Your father came to my house looking for you—that's why we're late. Will was still waiting for me at the smithy when these two showed up," she jerked her head toward the pair of sailors.
"I'm all right, don't worry," Grace replied with a reassuring smile. "I think the winds are changing for the better," she glanced at Jack, who raised the bottle and tipped it toward her.
"Yo ho ho and a bottle of rum, lassie," he said with the cock-eyed grin that clearly showed the gold tooth in his mouth. Grace nodded back at him, then began to laugh.
The rest of the company—aside from Lena—looked from face to face in confusion.
UPDATE: (7/24) I went to PotC again last night (that'd be one reason chapter four is later than I'd hoped—gomen nasai .;;). I needed to get away from the smell of sawdust and take another gander at Jack.^_^;; The result is a few minor changes and additions and one MAJOR addition. Most of it is in regard to Jack and his speech and scattered throughout. There's also a big chunk in the first paragraph from Jack's POV. The major addition is right after Lena's "That's our little secret" spiel (well, it isn't really a spiel, I just like that word). It's not very long, but it's important.
Author's Note: I hope this chapter is to everyone's liking—sorry it's a bit on the short side (you know those little wood things that go on the wall next to the floor? I was helping put those on—I hate remodeling .). I'm not quite sure I've got Jack completely in character (Gomen nasai! .;;), I may come back to this chapter and change some things after I see the movie again (or get my hands on the junior novelization, because there's * sob * not an adult version). Didn't quite get Elizabeth and Will into this chapter…characters always have their own ideas about where the story's going, after all, and sometimes it's better not to argue with them. ^_-
A note about the rum—I took a bit of a liberty by putting the rum in a bottle. Rum doesn't age correctly in glass containers, so most companies age rum in wooden barrels.
Thanks to everyone who commented on the first two chapters! I'm glad the first two chapters were enjoyable for you.^_^
Willowish made a great observation—I was a little worried about that myself. I'm going to use the "drunken old men don't have the best memories" excuse.^_^;;
Disclaimer: See the first chapter for a disclaimer regarding PotC. Yo Ho Ho and a Bottle of Rum is probably copyrighted to the estate of Robert Louis Stevenson, but I'm not 100% on that one. Just be sure that that phrase isn't mine. ^_-
If you've never heard the song, I suggest finding a copy by the Jolly Rogers. They're an awesome pirate group who make a yearly trip to the local Renaissance Faire (they also perform at the Kansas City Faire every year). There's a link to their page on my website—I can't remember the URL off the top of my head or I'd post it here. .
Thanks for reading!^_^