"... And Then They Made Me Their Chief ..."
Chapter TWO
by Saahira 10-05-03
"That's a right tight spot to be in, Mr. Smith," Murtogg said admiringly, "stuck in the middle between the Crown's champion, a bunch of bloodthirsty savages and their naked women, and a tyrannical rum runner. If this Captain Schmidt is as dangerous as you say he is."
"I've not heard of him before," Mullroy commented dryly.
"Oh, he's real all right," Jack Sparrow murmured. He held their gazes, his dark eyes penetrating. His gestures as he spoke were slow and seductive, drawing them further into his tale. "Though he guards his identity like a treasure. He's as real as the burnin' heat of a summer sun on a dying man's head. He's as real as a hungry shark what circles a drownin' man, waitin' for the feast."
"So," said the chubby man skeptically, "what you're saying is you had two warring factions just waiting to rip each other apart. Why didn't you let them?"
"Let them?" Jack frowned in confusion.
"Aye. Let them as wanted to fight fight, whilst you took off in the rum runner's ship. Seems like that'd been the logical thing to do."
"Shush now! Let Mr. Smith finish his story!"
"Or just let Captain Remy handle the whole situation. That's his job, you know. Unless," he added cagily, "you had something to hide from him yourself?"
"Well, y'see," Sparrow replied, modestly touching his grubby chest, "I am at heart a peaceable man, and loyal to England. My main concern was to find a way to ensure the lives and safety of the good Captain Remy and his crew."
"And keep Remy ignorant of the natives and the rum runners as well?"
"Aye, ignorant of the *warlike* natives and the *bloodthirsty* rum runners. So's he wouldn't get involved in their conflicts."
The heavy soldier frowned skeptically. "But you just told us a bit ago that you yourself wanted to steal the *Interceptor* and raid, pillage and plunder your weasely black guts out. That doesn't sound so peaceable to me."
Sparrow waved a dismissive hand, saying irritably, "If ye don't want to hear what happened next ..."
"Hush, Mullroy! Let the man talk!"
The fat soldier sighed and rolled his eyes skyward.
Jack leaned forward, narrowing his gaze. "Now as I was saying, I had received a personal invitation to visit the rum runners' encampment. All I had for protection was my sword, and a pistol with a single shot."
"A single shot? What man goes about with a pistol with only a single shot?"
"Shhh! Go on, Mr. Smith."
"And it was as bad as I imagined it would be." Sparrow paused dramatically, letting the tension build. "Schmidt led a band of inhuman brutes, he did. The biggest, meanest, cruelest devils to ever sail the seven seas. They had a group of fine ladies they kept just for their own pleasure; and they had the bodies of the ladies' husbands strung from trees. And those men was the lucky ones, mate."
"The lucky ones?"
Jack Sparrow nodded intently. Whispered, "Because they was already dead."
"Oh ..."
"And this Captain Schmidt? What of him?"
"Ah," Sparrow said, easing his words out on a sigh, "Schmidt was the worst of the whole lot. A vicious man whose murderous appetites could not be assuaged. When I come upon them, he'd just finished ravishin' two sweet young girls. And the nun chaperoning 'em."
"Three women all at once? And one of them a nun?"
"Poor things ..." Murtogg sighed regretfully.
********************
After refusing another meager dinner of roasted bugs, accepting the fruit, then extricating himself from Tula's possessive grasp, Captain Jack Sparrow made his slow, limping way eastward through the jungle toward the rum runners' encampment. Despite what Schmidt might have planned, this would be a business meeting, start to finish.
The camp, Jack discovered glumly, was precisely what he had expected. Exactly as he had known another camp to be nine years ... no, ten years ... earlier. He stepped inside the ring of firelight and cleared his throat expectantly.
The overwhelming aroma of roasting pork made his mouth water.
"Ah! Jack, my boy!" Captain Schmidt, wearing an elaborate purple surcoat, lounged beside the campfire and sipped from an ornate silver goblet. Snuggled close beside him was a lad far too pretty for his own good; a boy of about twenty with a still-smooth face, curly dark hair and midnight blue eyes.
The other sailors, about eight men all told, gave Schmidt and his young catamite a wide berth as they busied themselves with eating or drinking deeply from bottles of rum; though most also found time to scowl in the visitor's direction. They were big, lumbering brutes ... Schmidt's tastes were specific, hiring only the burliest men for his sailors; while preferring sleeker lines for his personal companions. In flickering yellow firelight, Sparrow saw a long line of dead pigs and hen-like birds hanging down from palm trees; like those killed by Remy's men, the bodies had been gutted and left to drain. A grisly boundary to the beach camp. Appalling too, considering the people with the most right to the meat were slowly starving.
Jack forced a smile as Schmidt waved him over. "Come on, lad, sit here." Coyly, he patted a bejeweled hand on the sand beside him, eliciting a surly pout from the boy.
"Aye," Sparrow answered gruffly, and sat down on the opposite side of the fire.
Schmidt sighed and shook his head. "So, ten years later and ve still play this game, eh, Jack? Not yet come to your senses?"
"Nothin' personal, Rich. You're just not my type."
"Ah, vell, no hard feelings." Schmidt tossed Jack an unopened bottle of rum. "Here then, my friend. Its on the house."
Jack pulled the cork out and took a long drag on the bottle. It burned going down, just like good rum was supposed to. Definitely the best thing he'd had to drink since ... well, since before the bloody shipwreck. Nodding appreciatively, he wiped his mouth on a sleeve. "You always did know the quality stuff, Rich."
"Yes," Schmidt said, suggestively touching his boy's cheek.
"So," Sparrow went on, eying the two intently, "who's your new play pretty?"
"I am *not* ..." the kid began hotly. His voice was deeper than Sparrow would have imagined.
Schmidt hushed his companion with a finger pressed lightly across beardless lips. "This is Neddy, Jack. A sweet lad. Aren't you, my precious?"
Neddy smiled and cast his eyes demurely downward.
But Sparrow's attention, which wandered at the best of times, had already been diverted elsewhere. "And who's she?" he asked, indicating with his bottle a shadowed figure to the right.
"Her?" Schmidt shrugged disinterest. "Says she vas here catching turtles for trade in Tortuga. Tried to pass herself off as a boy vhen ve found her. Silly vench, she's not pretty enough to be a boy."
That seemed a matter of opinion, for Jack found her easy enough on the eye. She was a pretty lass with jet black hair, flashing dark eyes, and with skin a light cocoa brown. Aye, she was dressed as a boy, but only a blind man would have failed to notice the shapely form underneath those baggy breeches, shirt and boots.
At the moment she was rather inconveniently gagged, with her wrists tied round a palm tree by a length of rope. Not the most comfortable roost, hugging a bloody tree that way. But then, Captain Schmidt was well-known for his less than hospitable manners.
"Why've ye got her all trussed up like that?" Jack inquired conversationally, and took another long pull on the rum.
Schmidt shrugged. "The men complained vhen I offered to release her, so I promised them they could have her vhen ve're finished here. But only if they're good boys and keep avay from the *Majestic."*
That seemed a rather harsh punishment for a pretty little chit doing harm to no one but sea turtles. Not that Jack Sparrow was known for his chivalry, far from it, but ...
But.
He tilted his head, sending beads and coins swaying, glinting in firelight, and studied the woman more closely. Her hair was straighter and softer- looking than that of the natives. Her skin was more creamy than the native's golden bronze. And she was certainly more slender and delicate than the robust Tula and her female kin.
But.
He drank deeply, considering.
Maybe it was the rum spreading its warmth through his blood. Maybe it was one of those bizarre bursts of brilliance for which Captain Jack Sparrow was so famous. Whatever the cause, possibilities like flowers blossomed in the clever pirate's mind.
"I'll buy her from you," he said suddenly.
"Buy her?" Schmidt laughed softly. "Vhatever for, vhen I can let you borrow Neddy for free?" To which Neddy, though silent, took great offense.
Bartering ... also known as 'getting his way' ... was one of Sparrow's many skills. His expression firmed with determination, his back straightened proudly, and he took on the confidence of a man who would brook no argument.
He said, "When you got me off that bloody rock ten years ago, I paid you in gold, did I not?"
"Aye, vonce ve reached Tortuga." Schmidt pulled away from his catamite and sat up, his pale eyes behind their spectacles noting the shift in Sparrow's posture and reappraising him accordingly.
"When you've gotten me and Arriaga's crew off *this* bloody rock, I will throw in extra for possession of the girl. Savvy?"
Schmidt smiled slyly. "And who says I vill save any of you?"
"You will save Frank's crew because you owe him a favor. Or do you not recall the incident on Barbados?"
"Oh. That. Ja, I recall it."
Sparrow's kohled eyes narrowed. "Frank did not require recompense when he saved you from bein' murdered by those thugs. You are the one who promised a favor in return."
"Ja, ja, I said I remembered it!"
"So, in Frank Arriaga's memory, ye will transport his men from this island to a safe port. Agreed?"
Schmidt sighed. "Ja, alright. If you can get them free vithout bringing Remy's men down on us. I vill not risk my own men."
"I will get them to you," Jack said quietly. "And on my own life, there will be no threat to you or your men."
"Fine. But Jack," Schmidt added with a smooth grin, "who says I vill save *you* again?"
"Gold says it," Sparrow replied. "Gold says you will sell me the girl *and* save us both."
The rum runner captain studied the pirate captain for a long, cool moment. Then, slowly, he nodded. "Alright, then. I imagine the men vill get over their disappointment vhen you've put gold in *all* their hands."
"Do we have an accord then?" Jack Sparrow asked, extending his arm across the campfire.
"Ja, ve have one," Schmidt replied almost reluctantly. But he shook on the deal anyway.
Sparrow drank deeply of rum, then slanted his gaze toward the woman. "I'd rather fancy takin' her with me now, Rich. Night's not getting' no younger, if you catch me drift?" He smiled crookedly and corked the bottle.
Schmidt gestured to one his men. "Phillipe, be a good lad and cut our little turtle hunter loose for Captain Sparrow." The man, Phillipe, grumbled but did as he was told, slicing through the rope; and as the woman's arms drooped, he grabbed them together and retied them in front of her. Her eyes above the gag were bright. Not with fear exactly. Not exactly with fury either, but rather with some strange admixture of the two. An interesting chit, this one.
Jack smiled his thanks and rose. Balancing precariously, as was his wont, he offered a casual salute to the rum runner and his resentful companion. "It has been a pleasure, gentlemen."
"Not as much as I vould have liked," Schmidt grinned, eliciting another sulky pout from young Neddy.
Still grumbling, Phillipe shoved the woman toward Sparrow, making her stumble across the sand. Jack caught her, steadied her, and was rewarded by a baleful glare of dark eyes. He smiled, took up the length of rope binding her wrists, and said, "G'night, Rich."
"Auf wiedersehen, Jack. Have a ... pleasant night."
"Come along, darlin," Jack told the woman gruffly, and led her by her wrists into the shadow-draped jungle. She showed her stubbornness by holding back, making him pull her along step by reluctant step; it made his side and leg ache worse, half-dragging her that way, but there seemed no help for it. Therefore, it was quite some time before they had traversed enough distance that Jack deemed it safe to speak.
********************
"I think the nun rather like it though," Jack Sparrow said thoughtfully. He rubbed at his beaded whiskers. "Kinda like forbidden fruit, but without all that nasty burnin' in hell part afterwards what comes from doin' it willing-like."
"Mr. Smith!"
"Sister Nadine, her name was. Or Naddy, as Schmidt called her. She was all lusty-eyed, hangin' on him all the time, beggin' for his attention. I felt sorry for the girls though. Sweet little things, they was, all teary- eyed and sad. Anna was one's name. Maria was the other. So's I challenged Captain Schmidt to a duel of honor. I win, I gets the girls. He wins, and I die."
"So what happened?" Murtogg asked, thoroughly engrossed in the tale.
"Well, he ain't dead, is he?" Mullroy said derisively.
"Oh, but the battle was fierce, gents! Schmidt was a big as a mountain, and mean as I told ye before. He drew first blood. Here." Sparrow indicated a patched spot on the thigh of his breeches, dark with old bloodstain. "But I didn't let that stop me, oh no! The battle lasted half the night, till dawn was threatenin' to break the sky. And finally, worn down by my skill and determination, Schmidt surrendered both his sword and the two girls."
"That's amazing. Isn't that amazing?"
"Mmmm," the heavy soldier answered. "And I suppose those girls were right grateful to you for rescuing them?"
Sparrow's eyes gleamed. "Aye, they was grateful all right. As only fine, well-bred ladies can be once they don't have virtue holding 'em back no more."
********************
Without warning Jack Sparrow tossed his rum bottle on the vine-cushioned ground, pushed the woman's back against a tree trunk and placed his hands on either side of her shoulders, keeping her there. He leaned in close, so close their noses almost touched. He stared deep into her eyes, trying his best to ignore the allure of her anxiously heaving bosom pressed against his chest.
"If I remove this gag, do ye promise not to scream?"
Her eyes searched his face. Slowly, she nodded.
He reached for the gag. Stopped his fingers just short of touching it. "If you do scream, the only ones who'll hear are the men I just rescued you from. You know that?"
She sighed and offered a second, vastly unhappy nod.
"Alright then, luv. Just so's we understand each other." He slipped the gag down around her throat. When she didn't scream, he let himself relax just a little. "What's your name?"
"AnaMaria," she murmured.
"Now then, AnaMaria, I'm going to untie your hands. But not just yet. I want you to listen first." Her answer was silence. Sparrow leaned in a little closer, enjoying the musky sea-spray scent of her. Her breath against his mouth was warm; her lips plump and inviting. He had to remind himself that it was all business tonight.
"Are you going to rape me?" she asked suddenly. Her tone was fierce, but Jack heard an undertone of fear there as well.
"I'm not in the habit of takin' what's not freely given." He frowned thoughtfully. "Well, not *that* anyway."
AnaMaria's brow furrowed in puzzlement.
"Now darlin," Sparrow went on, tilting his head, "we have ourselves a little situation here, and I need your help in solvin' it."
"A ... situation?"
"That's right. We have a group of unfortunate sailors I need to rescue. We have rum runners itching to collect their cache. We have *Majestic's* Captain Remy who would simply love to stretch my neck on a noose, and he'd gladly include the sailors and all the rum runners too just for good measure. We also have my native friends who are presently starving to death because of all the bloody white men eatin' their game. And then we have you."
"Me?"
Sparrow leaned in even closer. Against her ear, he whispered, "You have a boat, AnaMaria. Do you not?"
"Aye," the woman answered uncertainly. "A piragua." A piragua was a small boat, really more a glorified canoe, with a single sail to catch the wind. In a pinch it could transport a good dozen or so passengers, though it was actually designed to carry only one or two. The pirate envisioned rescuing Jenkins and the others with a single piragua; he sighed heavily as that particular possibility shattered to bits.
Jack shifted away so he stood alongside AnaMaria, leaning a shoulder beside hers on the tree trunk, carefully relieving some of the pressure from his leg and ribcage. He rubbed gingerly at his side, saying more to himself than to the woman, "I could arrange for Remy to capture Schmidt and his men; but then their ship would be either confiscated or scuttled, and we'll need it to transport *Fury's* crew to safety. After we get them free."
"*Fury?*"
"Aye. And then there is the issue of us getting' back to Tortuga on your little boat. *Without* bein' fired upon by the British Navy." He sighed unhappily. "*Or* the rum runners."
AnaMaria studied his moonlit profile. "Who are you?" she finally asked.
A flash of white teeth, and gold, and Jack answered, "I'm nobody, luv. Just a poor lost mariner tryin' to make the best of a bad situation." He glanced regretfully at the nearby bottle of rum. A few more swallows would help deaden his aches and pains; pity was that he had thrown it down where he'd have to bend to get it.
"Untie me," the woman said. She raised her bound wrists toward him.
Sparrow considered her for a long moment. As if uncertain himself, almost pleading, he asked her, "We have an understanding, do we not? Because if you go runnin' off, luv, I can't chase you down just now."
In answer, AnaMaria's lips firmed and she thrust her wrists nearer.
"The sad truth," Jack admitted, "is that the storm battered me up a bit. If you go runnin' off and let Schmidt and his dull-eyed miscreants catch you alone, I'm afraid you'll get no gallant rescue from old Jack. Savvy?"
"Jack, is it? Untie me, Jack." Her gaze was level, direct. And her acquiescence notably absent.
Knowing he was making a mistake, still Sparrow reluctantly slashed through her bindings with his dagger. Scowling fiercely, AnaMaria removed the rope and threw it as far as she was able, an angry, defiant gesture. She rubbed at her bruised wrists, then turned scathing eyes back on the man before her.
Sparrow smiled amiably. "It really won't be that bad, luv. A little deception spread round the lot of 'em, and then you and I shall set sail for Tortuga. I'll even buy you something when we get there. A fine pretty dress maybe? Or maybe a sparkly necklace? What say you, Ana?"
The woman's scowl deepened as she asked flatly, "Do I look to you like I wear dresses?"
"Well ..." Jack grinned soothingly, "you look like you *could,* luv. Easily. And be the bell of any ball that you ..."
Without warning, AnaMaria whirled, caught up the rum bottle and whirled back with the bottle aimed squarely at his face. Sparrow stumbled aside, tripped when his leg failed him, and landed hard on the ground. Face crunched against the pain, he watched in dismay as his one and only ally scampered off into the darkness.
At least he could reach the rum now.
Lips twisting, he took up the bottle, uncorked it and drank long and deep, hoping the rum's medicinal qualities would kick in soon; he had a long walk back to the village and he didn't fancy tackling it sober. Moving with care, he eased his back against the tree trunk with his legs stuck straight out before him. And drank some more. Eventually he became aware that he was not alone.
AnaMaria's face peered through the shrubbery. When she realized he had seen her, she stepped cautiously from behind her leafy concealment and walked toward him, arms folded stubbornly across her chest.
"You're hurt," she said accusingly.
Glancing down, Sparrow saw the new stain spreading across the old one on his breeches, glistening wetly in the pale moonlight. "I told you I was, didn't I?" He frowned quizzically, studying the growing spot. "Though I didn't expect it to do that again. Oh well." He took a long draught of the rum.
AnaMaria stepped closer. She squatted, watching him drink. She pretzeled her legs and sat down facing him. When he lowered the bottle, she extended her hand to take it.
"Ah," Jack smiled, "a woman after me own heart." He stretched out his arm to give it to her.
Instead, she grabbed his arm with one hand and shoved up his sleeve with the other. There, emblazoned on the inside of his wrist, an utterly distinctive 'P' was branded into his flesh.
"You're a pirate," she said flatly, releasing him.
"Am I?" Jack said, feigning surprise. He glanced at his wrist, frowning. "Why bless me, so I am! I had no idea. Let's drink to piracy then, shall we, lass? What say ye to that?"
"So that's why you said Remy would hang you. What's your name?" she asked him sharply. She searched his face, seeking clues there.
"I am," he said, flourishing the bottle, "Captain Jack Sparrow, at your service, madam."
"Captain Jack Sparrow." Was that disbelief in her voice? Skepticism? "My husband used to talk about signing on with one of your ventures. Said you always delivered the prize, and never spilt unnecessary blood doing it." She took the bottle from Jack and upended it, taking a long swallow. She wiped her mouth on her sleeve and handed the bottle back again. "But he said Captain Sparrow was nigh seven feet tall with a voice that boomed like thunder and eyes that flashed lightning." She cast a doubting glance along Sparrow's smaller, less menacing frame and countenance.
Jack offered a disparaging smile. "You're not seein' me at my best tonight, luv." He frowned as her words sank in through the slowly growing alcohol haze. "Your husband's a pirate then?"
"*Was* a pirate," AnaMaria clarified, looking away.
"Ah." Sparrow nodded thoughtfully, his kohl-darkened eyes narrowing sympathetically. "I'm sorry, Ana. I know what its like, losin' someone you care for very much."
The woman offered only a huff of disgust at his consolation, turned back and said stiffly, "All those things you were saying earlier. All that drabble about the Royal Navy being here, and the natives starving. How much of it was true?" She took the rum, took another drink.
"Well, *all* of it, Ana. Do'ye think I could make up crazy stories like that?"
AnaMaria thrust the bottle back to him. Said determinedly, "Then let's leave here, Jack. You and me, in my boat. You got me away from Schmidt, so I'll get you away from this island. It'll square us, ye understand?"
Jack's thoughts were nicely fuzzy by then, with the rum's warmth singing in his blood. Though he technically wasn't yet drunk, he began to realize that blood loss and a diet of only fruit helped quicken the alcohol's progression. It was something to remember.
Oh, but AnaMaria had asked him something. Something important. She had offered him a deal.
Reluctantly, he shook his head. "I can't leave a friend's crew to die, Ana. I can't leave them with Remy." He looked deep into her eyes, and suddenly knew what would sway her. Softly, he added, "You were a pirate's wife yourself, luv. Any of those men could have been yours. Would ye have left your own dear husband to swing on the gallows? Would you have wanted me to?"
It moved her, just as he expected; if there was one thing Jack Sparrow understood it was women. He knew them; knew how to persuade them.
Her lips compressed. Her eyes were full of trepidation. But all AnaMaria said, her voice dripping sarcasm, was, "And I suppose you have a plan?"
Jack grinned sweetly. "I have a plan."
"Then tell me what it is."
"Not just yet, luv." He recorked the bottle. Flinching, he pulled himself more fully upright against the tree. "I'll tell you on the way back to the village." He raised his arm outward toward her, wincing as his ribs protested the movement. "I think I could use a little help getting up here. If you'd be so kind?" He put on his most endearing, his most charmingly helpless expression.
AnaMaria scowled deeply, but slipped obediently beneath his arm. Clasping his hand against her shoulder, she said, "On count of three then. One. Two. *Three."*
Sparrow kept from moaning when she helped haul him up. But he leaned heavily against the tree afterwards, unable to move until he'd gathered himself against the pain and the spinning landscape.
"You shouldn't have had so much to drink," AnaMaria chided him.
"Nonsense, darlin. Best medicine in the world. Me own mother used to feed me rum instead of milk when I was a teethin' baby."
"Oh. Well. That explains so much then, doesn't it?"
Jack pursed his lips as he considered her words. "You know, Ana, I think I might need some help getting' back to the village." He grinned crookedly and raised his arm again.
AnaMaria cast him a poisonous glare, but moved dutifully beneath his arm. A perfect fit, Sparrow thought, admiring moonlight's gleam on her black head and creamy brown skin. She was just the right size to fit there nicely. A man could get used to it.
Her eyes flashed his way. "Don't you be getting no funny ideas, Mr. Sparrow."
"*Captain* Sparrow," Jack reminded her.
"Captains have ships," AnaMaria said tersely as they started walking. "From what I gather, you don't."
Sparrow sighed. "Yes. I suppose once I get off this bloody rock I'll have to finally do somethin' about that."
********************
Chapter TWO
by Saahira 10-05-03
"That's a right tight spot to be in, Mr. Smith," Murtogg said admiringly, "stuck in the middle between the Crown's champion, a bunch of bloodthirsty savages and their naked women, and a tyrannical rum runner. If this Captain Schmidt is as dangerous as you say he is."
"I've not heard of him before," Mullroy commented dryly.
"Oh, he's real all right," Jack Sparrow murmured. He held their gazes, his dark eyes penetrating. His gestures as he spoke were slow and seductive, drawing them further into his tale. "Though he guards his identity like a treasure. He's as real as the burnin' heat of a summer sun on a dying man's head. He's as real as a hungry shark what circles a drownin' man, waitin' for the feast."
"So," said the chubby man skeptically, "what you're saying is you had two warring factions just waiting to rip each other apart. Why didn't you let them?"
"Let them?" Jack frowned in confusion.
"Aye. Let them as wanted to fight fight, whilst you took off in the rum runner's ship. Seems like that'd been the logical thing to do."
"Shush now! Let Mr. Smith finish his story!"
"Or just let Captain Remy handle the whole situation. That's his job, you know. Unless," he added cagily, "you had something to hide from him yourself?"
"Well, y'see," Sparrow replied, modestly touching his grubby chest, "I am at heart a peaceable man, and loyal to England. My main concern was to find a way to ensure the lives and safety of the good Captain Remy and his crew."
"And keep Remy ignorant of the natives and the rum runners as well?"
"Aye, ignorant of the *warlike* natives and the *bloodthirsty* rum runners. So's he wouldn't get involved in their conflicts."
The heavy soldier frowned skeptically. "But you just told us a bit ago that you yourself wanted to steal the *Interceptor* and raid, pillage and plunder your weasely black guts out. That doesn't sound so peaceable to me."
Sparrow waved a dismissive hand, saying irritably, "If ye don't want to hear what happened next ..."
"Hush, Mullroy! Let the man talk!"
The fat soldier sighed and rolled his eyes skyward.
Jack leaned forward, narrowing his gaze. "Now as I was saying, I had received a personal invitation to visit the rum runners' encampment. All I had for protection was my sword, and a pistol with a single shot."
"A single shot? What man goes about with a pistol with only a single shot?"
"Shhh! Go on, Mr. Smith."
"And it was as bad as I imagined it would be." Sparrow paused dramatically, letting the tension build. "Schmidt led a band of inhuman brutes, he did. The biggest, meanest, cruelest devils to ever sail the seven seas. They had a group of fine ladies they kept just for their own pleasure; and they had the bodies of the ladies' husbands strung from trees. And those men was the lucky ones, mate."
"The lucky ones?"
Jack Sparrow nodded intently. Whispered, "Because they was already dead."
"Oh ..."
"And this Captain Schmidt? What of him?"
"Ah," Sparrow said, easing his words out on a sigh, "Schmidt was the worst of the whole lot. A vicious man whose murderous appetites could not be assuaged. When I come upon them, he'd just finished ravishin' two sweet young girls. And the nun chaperoning 'em."
"Three women all at once? And one of them a nun?"
"Poor things ..." Murtogg sighed regretfully.
********************
After refusing another meager dinner of roasted bugs, accepting the fruit, then extricating himself from Tula's possessive grasp, Captain Jack Sparrow made his slow, limping way eastward through the jungle toward the rum runners' encampment. Despite what Schmidt might have planned, this would be a business meeting, start to finish.
The camp, Jack discovered glumly, was precisely what he had expected. Exactly as he had known another camp to be nine years ... no, ten years ... earlier. He stepped inside the ring of firelight and cleared his throat expectantly.
The overwhelming aroma of roasting pork made his mouth water.
"Ah! Jack, my boy!" Captain Schmidt, wearing an elaborate purple surcoat, lounged beside the campfire and sipped from an ornate silver goblet. Snuggled close beside him was a lad far too pretty for his own good; a boy of about twenty with a still-smooth face, curly dark hair and midnight blue eyes.
The other sailors, about eight men all told, gave Schmidt and his young catamite a wide berth as they busied themselves with eating or drinking deeply from bottles of rum; though most also found time to scowl in the visitor's direction. They were big, lumbering brutes ... Schmidt's tastes were specific, hiring only the burliest men for his sailors; while preferring sleeker lines for his personal companions. In flickering yellow firelight, Sparrow saw a long line of dead pigs and hen-like birds hanging down from palm trees; like those killed by Remy's men, the bodies had been gutted and left to drain. A grisly boundary to the beach camp. Appalling too, considering the people with the most right to the meat were slowly starving.
Jack forced a smile as Schmidt waved him over. "Come on, lad, sit here." Coyly, he patted a bejeweled hand on the sand beside him, eliciting a surly pout from the boy.
"Aye," Sparrow answered gruffly, and sat down on the opposite side of the fire.
Schmidt sighed and shook his head. "So, ten years later and ve still play this game, eh, Jack? Not yet come to your senses?"
"Nothin' personal, Rich. You're just not my type."
"Ah, vell, no hard feelings." Schmidt tossed Jack an unopened bottle of rum. "Here then, my friend. Its on the house."
Jack pulled the cork out and took a long drag on the bottle. It burned going down, just like good rum was supposed to. Definitely the best thing he'd had to drink since ... well, since before the bloody shipwreck. Nodding appreciatively, he wiped his mouth on a sleeve. "You always did know the quality stuff, Rich."
"Yes," Schmidt said, suggestively touching his boy's cheek.
"So," Sparrow went on, eying the two intently, "who's your new play pretty?"
"I am *not* ..." the kid began hotly. His voice was deeper than Sparrow would have imagined.
Schmidt hushed his companion with a finger pressed lightly across beardless lips. "This is Neddy, Jack. A sweet lad. Aren't you, my precious?"
Neddy smiled and cast his eyes demurely downward.
But Sparrow's attention, which wandered at the best of times, had already been diverted elsewhere. "And who's she?" he asked, indicating with his bottle a shadowed figure to the right.
"Her?" Schmidt shrugged disinterest. "Says she vas here catching turtles for trade in Tortuga. Tried to pass herself off as a boy vhen ve found her. Silly vench, she's not pretty enough to be a boy."
That seemed a matter of opinion, for Jack found her easy enough on the eye. She was a pretty lass with jet black hair, flashing dark eyes, and with skin a light cocoa brown. Aye, she was dressed as a boy, but only a blind man would have failed to notice the shapely form underneath those baggy breeches, shirt and boots.
At the moment she was rather inconveniently gagged, with her wrists tied round a palm tree by a length of rope. Not the most comfortable roost, hugging a bloody tree that way. But then, Captain Schmidt was well-known for his less than hospitable manners.
"Why've ye got her all trussed up like that?" Jack inquired conversationally, and took another long pull on the rum.
Schmidt shrugged. "The men complained vhen I offered to release her, so I promised them they could have her vhen ve're finished here. But only if they're good boys and keep avay from the *Majestic."*
That seemed a rather harsh punishment for a pretty little chit doing harm to no one but sea turtles. Not that Jack Sparrow was known for his chivalry, far from it, but ...
But.
He tilted his head, sending beads and coins swaying, glinting in firelight, and studied the woman more closely. Her hair was straighter and softer- looking than that of the natives. Her skin was more creamy than the native's golden bronze. And she was certainly more slender and delicate than the robust Tula and her female kin.
But.
He drank deeply, considering.
Maybe it was the rum spreading its warmth through his blood. Maybe it was one of those bizarre bursts of brilliance for which Captain Jack Sparrow was so famous. Whatever the cause, possibilities like flowers blossomed in the clever pirate's mind.
"I'll buy her from you," he said suddenly.
"Buy her?" Schmidt laughed softly. "Vhatever for, vhen I can let you borrow Neddy for free?" To which Neddy, though silent, took great offense.
Bartering ... also known as 'getting his way' ... was one of Sparrow's many skills. His expression firmed with determination, his back straightened proudly, and he took on the confidence of a man who would brook no argument.
He said, "When you got me off that bloody rock ten years ago, I paid you in gold, did I not?"
"Aye, vonce ve reached Tortuga." Schmidt pulled away from his catamite and sat up, his pale eyes behind their spectacles noting the shift in Sparrow's posture and reappraising him accordingly.
"When you've gotten me and Arriaga's crew off *this* bloody rock, I will throw in extra for possession of the girl. Savvy?"
Schmidt smiled slyly. "And who says I vill save any of you?"
"You will save Frank's crew because you owe him a favor. Or do you not recall the incident on Barbados?"
"Oh. That. Ja, I recall it."
Sparrow's kohled eyes narrowed. "Frank did not require recompense when he saved you from bein' murdered by those thugs. You are the one who promised a favor in return."
"Ja, ja, I said I remembered it!"
"So, in Frank Arriaga's memory, ye will transport his men from this island to a safe port. Agreed?"
Schmidt sighed. "Ja, alright. If you can get them free vithout bringing Remy's men down on us. I vill not risk my own men."
"I will get them to you," Jack said quietly. "And on my own life, there will be no threat to you or your men."
"Fine. But Jack," Schmidt added with a smooth grin, "who says I vill save *you* again?"
"Gold says it," Sparrow replied. "Gold says you will sell me the girl *and* save us both."
The rum runner captain studied the pirate captain for a long, cool moment. Then, slowly, he nodded. "Alright, then. I imagine the men vill get over their disappointment vhen you've put gold in *all* their hands."
"Do we have an accord then?" Jack Sparrow asked, extending his arm across the campfire.
"Ja, ve have one," Schmidt replied almost reluctantly. But he shook on the deal anyway.
Sparrow drank deeply of rum, then slanted his gaze toward the woman. "I'd rather fancy takin' her with me now, Rich. Night's not getting' no younger, if you catch me drift?" He smiled crookedly and corked the bottle.
Schmidt gestured to one his men. "Phillipe, be a good lad and cut our little turtle hunter loose for Captain Sparrow." The man, Phillipe, grumbled but did as he was told, slicing through the rope; and as the woman's arms drooped, he grabbed them together and retied them in front of her. Her eyes above the gag were bright. Not with fear exactly. Not exactly with fury either, but rather with some strange admixture of the two. An interesting chit, this one.
Jack smiled his thanks and rose. Balancing precariously, as was his wont, he offered a casual salute to the rum runner and his resentful companion. "It has been a pleasure, gentlemen."
"Not as much as I vould have liked," Schmidt grinned, eliciting another sulky pout from young Neddy.
Still grumbling, Phillipe shoved the woman toward Sparrow, making her stumble across the sand. Jack caught her, steadied her, and was rewarded by a baleful glare of dark eyes. He smiled, took up the length of rope binding her wrists, and said, "G'night, Rich."
"Auf wiedersehen, Jack. Have a ... pleasant night."
"Come along, darlin," Jack told the woman gruffly, and led her by her wrists into the shadow-draped jungle. She showed her stubbornness by holding back, making him pull her along step by reluctant step; it made his side and leg ache worse, half-dragging her that way, but there seemed no help for it. Therefore, it was quite some time before they had traversed enough distance that Jack deemed it safe to speak.
********************
"I think the nun rather like it though," Jack Sparrow said thoughtfully. He rubbed at his beaded whiskers. "Kinda like forbidden fruit, but without all that nasty burnin' in hell part afterwards what comes from doin' it willing-like."
"Mr. Smith!"
"Sister Nadine, her name was. Or Naddy, as Schmidt called her. She was all lusty-eyed, hangin' on him all the time, beggin' for his attention. I felt sorry for the girls though. Sweet little things, they was, all teary- eyed and sad. Anna was one's name. Maria was the other. So's I challenged Captain Schmidt to a duel of honor. I win, I gets the girls. He wins, and I die."
"So what happened?" Murtogg asked, thoroughly engrossed in the tale.
"Well, he ain't dead, is he?" Mullroy said derisively.
"Oh, but the battle was fierce, gents! Schmidt was a big as a mountain, and mean as I told ye before. He drew first blood. Here." Sparrow indicated a patched spot on the thigh of his breeches, dark with old bloodstain. "But I didn't let that stop me, oh no! The battle lasted half the night, till dawn was threatenin' to break the sky. And finally, worn down by my skill and determination, Schmidt surrendered both his sword and the two girls."
"That's amazing. Isn't that amazing?"
"Mmmm," the heavy soldier answered. "And I suppose those girls were right grateful to you for rescuing them?"
Sparrow's eyes gleamed. "Aye, they was grateful all right. As only fine, well-bred ladies can be once they don't have virtue holding 'em back no more."
********************
Without warning Jack Sparrow tossed his rum bottle on the vine-cushioned ground, pushed the woman's back against a tree trunk and placed his hands on either side of her shoulders, keeping her there. He leaned in close, so close their noses almost touched. He stared deep into her eyes, trying his best to ignore the allure of her anxiously heaving bosom pressed against his chest.
"If I remove this gag, do ye promise not to scream?"
Her eyes searched his face. Slowly, she nodded.
He reached for the gag. Stopped his fingers just short of touching it. "If you do scream, the only ones who'll hear are the men I just rescued you from. You know that?"
She sighed and offered a second, vastly unhappy nod.
"Alright then, luv. Just so's we understand each other." He slipped the gag down around her throat. When she didn't scream, he let himself relax just a little. "What's your name?"
"AnaMaria," she murmured.
"Now then, AnaMaria, I'm going to untie your hands. But not just yet. I want you to listen first." Her answer was silence. Sparrow leaned in a little closer, enjoying the musky sea-spray scent of her. Her breath against his mouth was warm; her lips plump and inviting. He had to remind himself that it was all business tonight.
"Are you going to rape me?" she asked suddenly. Her tone was fierce, but Jack heard an undertone of fear there as well.
"I'm not in the habit of takin' what's not freely given." He frowned thoughtfully. "Well, not *that* anyway."
AnaMaria's brow furrowed in puzzlement.
"Now darlin," Sparrow went on, tilting his head, "we have ourselves a little situation here, and I need your help in solvin' it."
"A ... situation?"
"That's right. We have a group of unfortunate sailors I need to rescue. We have rum runners itching to collect their cache. We have *Majestic's* Captain Remy who would simply love to stretch my neck on a noose, and he'd gladly include the sailors and all the rum runners too just for good measure. We also have my native friends who are presently starving to death because of all the bloody white men eatin' their game. And then we have you."
"Me?"
Sparrow leaned in even closer. Against her ear, he whispered, "You have a boat, AnaMaria. Do you not?"
"Aye," the woman answered uncertainly. "A piragua." A piragua was a small boat, really more a glorified canoe, with a single sail to catch the wind. In a pinch it could transport a good dozen or so passengers, though it was actually designed to carry only one or two. The pirate envisioned rescuing Jenkins and the others with a single piragua; he sighed heavily as that particular possibility shattered to bits.
Jack shifted away so he stood alongside AnaMaria, leaning a shoulder beside hers on the tree trunk, carefully relieving some of the pressure from his leg and ribcage. He rubbed gingerly at his side, saying more to himself than to the woman, "I could arrange for Remy to capture Schmidt and his men; but then their ship would be either confiscated or scuttled, and we'll need it to transport *Fury's* crew to safety. After we get them free."
"*Fury?*"
"Aye. And then there is the issue of us getting' back to Tortuga on your little boat. *Without* bein' fired upon by the British Navy." He sighed unhappily. "*Or* the rum runners."
AnaMaria studied his moonlit profile. "Who are you?" she finally asked.
A flash of white teeth, and gold, and Jack answered, "I'm nobody, luv. Just a poor lost mariner tryin' to make the best of a bad situation." He glanced regretfully at the nearby bottle of rum. A few more swallows would help deaden his aches and pains; pity was that he had thrown it down where he'd have to bend to get it.
"Untie me," the woman said. She raised her bound wrists toward him.
Sparrow considered her for a long moment. As if uncertain himself, almost pleading, he asked her, "We have an understanding, do we not? Because if you go runnin' off, luv, I can't chase you down just now."
In answer, AnaMaria's lips firmed and she thrust her wrists nearer.
"The sad truth," Jack admitted, "is that the storm battered me up a bit. If you go runnin' off and let Schmidt and his dull-eyed miscreants catch you alone, I'm afraid you'll get no gallant rescue from old Jack. Savvy?"
"Jack, is it? Untie me, Jack." Her gaze was level, direct. And her acquiescence notably absent.
Knowing he was making a mistake, still Sparrow reluctantly slashed through her bindings with his dagger. Scowling fiercely, AnaMaria removed the rope and threw it as far as she was able, an angry, defiant gesture. She rubbed at her bruised wrists, then turned scathing eyes back on the man before her.
Sparrow smiled amiably. "It really won't be that bad, luv. A little deception spread round the lot of 'em, and then you and I shall set sail for Tortuga. I'll even buy you something when we get there. A fine pretty dress maybe? Or maybe a sparkly necklace? What say you, Ana?"
The woman's scowl deepened as she asked flatly, "Do I look to you like I wear dresses?"
"Well ..." Jack grinned soothingly, "you look like you *could,* luv. Easily. And be the bell of any ball that you ..."
Without warning, AnaMaria whirled, caught up the rum bottle and whirled back with the bottle aimed squarely at his face. Sparrow stumbled aside, tripped when his leg failed him, and landed hard on the ground. Face crunched against the pain, he watched in dismay as his one and only ally scampered off into the darkness.
At least he could reach the rum now.
Lips twisting, he took up the bottle, uncorked it and drank long and deep, hoping the rum's medicinal qualities would kick in soon; he had a long walk back to the village and he didn't fancy tackling it sober. Moving with care, he eased his back against the tree trunk with his legs stuck straight out before him. And drank some more. Eventually he became aware that he was not alone.
AnaMaria's face peered through the shrubbery. When she realized he had seen her, she stepped cautiously from behind her leafy concealment and walked toward him, arms folded stubbornly across her chest.
"You're hurt," she said accusingly.
Glancing down, Sparrow saw the new stain spreading across the old one on his breeches, glistening wetly in the pale moonlight. "I told you I was, didn't I?" He frowned quizzically, studying the growing spot. "Though I didn't expect it to do that again. Oh well." He took a long draught of the rum.
AnaMaria stepped closer. She squatted, watching him drink. She pretzeled her legs and sat down facing him. When he lowered the bottle, she extended her hand to take it.
"Ah," Jack smiled, "a woman after me own heart." He stretched out his arm to give it to her.
Instead, she grabbed his arm with one hand and shoved up his sleeve with the other. There, emblazoned on the inside of his wrist, an utterly distinctive 'P' was branded into his flesh.
"You're a pirate," she said flatly, releasing him.
"Am I?" Jack said, feigning surprise. He glanced at his wrist, frowning. "Why bless me, so I am! I had no idea. Let's drink to piracy then, shall we, lass? What say ye to that?"
"So that's why you said Remy would hang you. What's your name?" she asked him sharply. She searched his face, seeking clues there.
"I am," he said, flourishing the bottle, "Captain Jack Sparrow, at your service, madam."
"Captain Jack Sparrow." Was that disbelief in her voice? Skepticism? "My husband used to talk about signing on with one of your ventures. Said you always delivered the prize, and never spilt unnecessary blood doing it." She took the bottle from Jack and upended it, taking a long swallow. She wiped her mouth on her sleeve and handed the bottle back again. "But he said Captain Sparrow was nigh seven feet tall with a voice that boomed like thunder and eyes that flashed lightning." She cast a doubting glance along Sparrow's smaller, less menacing frame and countenance.
Jack offered a disparaging smile. "You're not seein' me at my best tonight, luv." He frowned as her words sank in through the slowly growing alcohol haze. "Your husband's a pirate then?"
"*Was* a pirate," AnaMaria clarified, looking away.
"Ah." Sparrow nodded thoughtfully, his kohl-darkened eyes narrowing sympathetically. "I'm sorry, Ana. I know what its like, losin' someone you care for very much."
The woman offered only a huff of disgust at his consolation, turned back and said stiffly, "All those things you were saying earlier. All that drabble about the Royal Navy being here, and the natives starving. How much of it was true?" She took the rum, took another drink.
"Well, *all* of it, Ana. Do'ye think I could make up crazy stories like that?"
AnaMaria thrust the bottle back to him. Said determinedly, "Then let's leave here, Jack. You and me, in my boat. You got me away from Schmidt, so I'll get you away from this island. It'll square us, ye understand?"
Jack's thoughts were nicely fuzzy by then, with the rum's warmth singing in his blood. Though he technically wasn't yet drunk, he began to realize that blood loss and a diet of only fruit helped quicken the alcohol's progression. It was something to remember.
Oh, but AnaMaria had asked him something. Something important. She had offered him a deal.
Reluctantly, he shook his head. "I can't leave a friend's crew to die, Ana. I can't leave them with Remy." He looked deep into her eyes, and suddenly knew what would sway her. Softly, he added, "You were a pirate's wife yourself, luv. Any of those men could have been yours. Would ye have left your own dear husband to swing on the gallows? Would you have wanted me to?"
It moved her, just as he expected; if there was one thing Jack Sparrow understood it was women. He knew them; knew how to persuade them.
Her lips compressed. Her eyes were full of trepidation. But all AnaMaria said, her voice dripping sarcasm, was, "And I suppose you have a plan?"
Jack grinned sweetly. "I have a plan."
"Then tell me what it is."
"Not just yet, luv." He recorked the bottle. Flinching, he pulled himself more fully upright against the tree. "I'll tell you on the way back to the village." He raised his arm outward toward her, wincing as his ribs protested the movement. "I think I could use a little help getting up here. If you'd be so kind?" He put on his most endearing, his most charmingly helpless expression.
AnaMaria scowled deeply, but slipped obediently beneath his arm. Clasping his hand against her shoulder, she said, "On count of three then. One. Two. *Three."*
Sparrow kept from moaning when she helped haul him up. But he leaned heavily against the tree afterwards, unable to move until he'd gathered himself against the pain and the spinning landscape.
"You shouldn't have had so much to drink," AnaMaria chided him.
"Nonsense, darlin. Best medicine in the world. Me own mother used to feed me rum instead of milk when I was a teethin' baby."
"Oh. Well. That explains so much then, doesn't it?"
Jack pursed his lips as he considered her words. "You know, Ana, I think I might need some help getting' back to the village." He grinned crookedly and raised his arm again.
AnaMaria cast him a poisonous glare, but moved dutifully beneath his arm. A perfect fit, Sparrow thought, admiring moonlight's gleam on her black head and creamy brown skin. She was just the right size to fit there nicely. A man could get used to it.
Her eyes flashed his way. "Don't you be getting no funny ideas, Mr. Sparrow."
"*Captain* Sparrow," Jack reminded her.
"Captains have ships," AnaMaria said tersely as they started walking. "From what I gather, you don't."
Sparrow sighed. "Yes. I suppose once I get off this bloody rock I'll have to finally do somethin' about that."
********************