"... And Then They Made Me Their Chief ..."
Chapter THREE
by Saahira 10-11-03
"So the next morning was the big battle then. Right, Mr. Smith? The natives against the rum runners?"
Mullroy sighed. "Hadn't he been saying he was trying to avoid a fight? Don't you listen, Murtogg?"
The thin soldier pulled back, insulted. "Course I listen. I *always* listen. But how could he avoid it, with everybody being so bloodthirsty like they were?"
"Oh, I have a feeling he'll come up with something. Storytelling being what it is."
"You think Mr. Smith's lying then?"
"Actually," Jack interrupted, his eyes narrowing, "you're both right. I was tryin' to avoid a battle, but it was inevitable. After all, what can one poor man do against so many angry brutes?"
"So like I said, the next morning was the big battle. Was it terrible, Mr. Smith?"
"Oh, aye, it was awful. The natives spent the whole morning sharpening their weapons and puttin' on their wooden armor. And their war paint, they had that too."
"And the women was still naked?"
Sparrow grinned. "They was still naked. Bare to the skin and proud to be showin' it."
"And your new lady friends, Anna and Maria. How did they fare the night, poor things?"
"Ah yes, Anna and sweet Maria." He shrugged. "You might say they went native, as it were."
********************
"I feel *ridiculous!*" AnaMaria spat. She tugged on the sarong, pulling it down and out and up again, endlessly. It was a pretty piece of fabric, Jack thought, all in vibrant shades of red and purple and turquoise. It left her shoulders, arms and neck deliciously bare. Likewise her legs, which proved to be long and slender once the baggy trousers were removed. "I *hate* this! I feel naked!" Though she wasn't, damn the luck. And the sarong covered much more of her shapely body than it did Tula's rotund one. At least all her private bits were covered, even if it wasn't considered decent by so-called civilized standards.
"You look lovely, Ana. Truly." And she did. Though she probably wouldn't be pleased it if she knew how very much he appreciated the sight.
She rounded on him. For an instant, Sparrow thought she would hit him. But all she did was waggle an irate finger in his face and say, "Yes, I do. But that doesn't mean I like it."
Jack smiled placatingly. "You don't have to wear it for long, luv. Just for a *little* while. Just long enough to sell your story to our friend Captain Remy."
She glanced above to the jungle's leafy canopy, her lips crimping in embarrassment. Forlornly: "I hate this."
"It'll all be over soon, Ana." He started to touch her arm, a gesture of support and camaraderie, but quickly changed his mind. He rather fancied keeping the hand.
AnaMaria looked past their wall of shrubbery at the British encampment where Remy gave orders, men toiled, and the prisoners sat in despondent silence.
"Two appearances," Jack went on soothingly. "You can do it, luv."
AnaMaria sighed. "Tell me again why *you* aren't doing this."
Sparrow grinned broadly. "Well, for one thing I don't look as good in that little bit of cloth as you do." Her murderous glare vanquished his smile. More seriously, he added, "I told you, Remy knows me, luv. He'd arrest me straight away without listenin' to a single word of our story. Besides, you know I couldn't outrun his men just now." He winced melodramatically and hugged at his ribcage.
"When you are well again," AnaMaria promised grimly, "I'm going to beat the hell out of you."
Jack smiled. "Go on with you now, darlin. Spin your lovely tale for our friends and we can be on our way to Tortuga by this time tomorrow."
AnaMaria drew in a long, deep breath of courage. And thus fortified, she stepped out on the beach.
"Well, go on with you," Sparrow commanded gruffly, and a half dozen of Syull's scrawny, naked little comrades scampered out behind her. Tula, however, hung back.
"Jick ..." she began. She was frightened, afraid of Remy's men.
"Go on now, luv," Sparrow told her reassuringly. He took her hand, squeezed it gently. "You'll be fine, ye will. Just remember your part, aye? You're the most important part of our little ruse; we can't pull it off without ye."
Tula nodded bravely and waddled out behind the others.
The chief of the Cas'ambenga frowned up into Jack Sparrow's face. "I see why Queenies no want you. You crazy man."
Jack smiled cheekily. "So they say, mate."
"Making eye at mean stick woman, making no eye at pretty Tula." He shook his head sorrowfully.
Sparrow leaned conspiratorially close, saying, "After this mess is over and all the Queenies leave, you can start plumpin' your lovely daughter up even more, and soon she'll have so many fine suitors she won't even remember old Jack was ever here."
Syull sighed. "You right." He scrutinized Jack carefully. "Tula need pretty husband, make pretty babies. You look too much like Queenie."
Sparrow frowned slightly, unsure if he should be insulted or not.
But by then AnaMaria had caught the eye of *Majestic's* captain and crew and they stood facing one another on the sand, with his soldiers spread behind him, and with AnaMaria's naked gnomes behind her. The wind carried the sounds of their voices, but not the meanings. But since Jack Sparrow had scripted every word, every nuance of every word, had orchestrated every move and every gesture, he simply waited, not needing to hear it to know it.
There. That was AnaMaria declaring herself queen of the Cas'ambenga. And that wave of her hand, that was her indicating the extent of her domain and how proud she was of it as she welcomed the *Majestic's* crew to her island's sunny shores. Ah, yes ... the bowed head. The hint of sorrow in her voice.
It had begun.
She told the sad story of the plague cutting her people down. The agony, the fevers. The delirium and final convulsions. The pain-wracked, gruesome death that followed.
Especially the gruesome death.
She urged Remy and his men to depart her island kingdom. Or suffer the same heinous fate as her subjects.
Then it was Tula's turn. She turned as if only just spotting the prisoners. With a squeal of delight ... it didn't sound feigned, that lusty bellow; but then, everyone knew she had a soft spot for Queenies ... she wobbled, bounced. bobbled and shimmied toward them, then collapsed like a felled water buffalo in their midst.
"Syull?" Sparrow frowned curiously. "You did send someone to explain all this to Jenkins and his men last night, did you not?"
"I go, I tell. They know."
"Oh. Good then. I wouldn't want your bonny lass to catch them unawares."
AnaMaria screamed the girl's name and Tula turned, doing a fairly well- played approximation of shame. While Tula clamored ponderously to her feet and regretfully shuffled back to her tribe, AnaMaria quickly explained that Jenkins had wed the lass on the pirates' last stop at the island, before the onset of illness. But now, alack and alas, to the terrible dismay of everyone involved, this one brief contact with Tula meant that Jenkins and the other prisoners were quite thoroughly infected with the nasty and utterly pernicious disease currently killing her people. Cramps, fevers, and a tortuous demise to be had by all. Et cetera, etc.
The lovely queen of the Cas'ambenga graciously offered to remove the contagion from *Majestic's* crew by removing the prisoners to die within the confines of her own village. Naturally enough, a doubting Remy refused, and who could blame him? He was the shining gem in Britain's royal crown. He was a man who would not be fooled so easily.
When AnaMaria and the others returned, Jack Sparrow beamed his pleasure at them. "That went fine, mates! Just fine!"
"Fine?" AnaMaria, still tugging at the sarong, glowered at him. "How can you say that? They didn't give up the prisoners."
"But they will, luv. Just give 'em time."
"Tula do good?" Tula inquired hopefully.
"Did you slip the bag to Jenkins like I told ye?"
"UhHuh," she answered. Then corrected herself to, "Aye, Kiptin!"
"There's a good lass." He patted her cheek, and she nearly swooned with pleasure.
"So now what?" AnaMaria asked, casting a dismissive glance at the smitten island girl.
"We wait," Sparrow told her. "Until this afternoon. By tonight it'll all be over."
"How can you sound so certain?" AnaMaria asked him.
Sparrow grinned proudly. "That's simple, luv. I'm Captain Jack Sparrow. Savvy?"
********************
"And so the battle raged, gentlemen. For six days and seven nights, the rum runners and the natives slaughtered one another."
"*Sure* they did. They waged war on a little speck of an island without Captain Remy and his men ever catching wind of it?"
"Mr. Smith said it was a big island, remember?"
"It couldn't be that big. Could it, *Mr. Smith?*"
The man called Mullroy was definitely getting on Jack Sparrow's nerves. A bloody Doubting Thomas, that's what he was, not believing a single word Jack said. A damned nuisance, that! Still, he was gullible enough to sit there with his partner listening to tales told by a pirate rather than minding his post. That fact boded quite well for *Interceptor's* forthcoming liberation. It shouldn't even be too difficult. Sparrow would visit Port Royal's taverns that night and pick a likely-looking man or two to aid him. By morning, the ship would be his. He'd sail for Tortuga, acquire a proper crew and provisions, and *Interceptor* would be well on her way to becoming a first class pirate vessel. She wasn't the *Black Pearl* ... no ship could ever take his lovely *Pearl's* place ... but she would serve him well enough until the day Barbossa fell. And after all, with a ship of his own with which to chase the *Pearl* down, it wouldn't be much longer before she was his again, would it?
"No answer, Mr. Smith?"
"What?" Jack shook himself back to awareness. Both men were staring at him expectantly; one anxious for the story to continue, one for the story not to. Sparrow offered an easy grin, an almost flirtatious grin, and said, "Sorry, lads. Private thoughts."
Mullroy persisted, "So how did you keep *Majestic* out of the conflict?"
"Oh, that. I didn't have to."
"And *why* didn't you have to?"
"Because God did it for me."
"God, Mr. Smith?" the thinner soldier inquired. "How's that?" While the bloody Doubting Thomas rolled his eyes heavenward.
"He set a contagion upon them. They was incapacitated by illness, as it were."
"We heard about that!" Murtogg exclaimed excitedly. "You remember, Mullroy? About six months ago, just like Mr. Smith here says!"
"Hmmm," the heavier soldier replied noncommittally.
"And a fierce disease it was, mates. It swept through *Majestic's* ranks, droppin' men left and right."
"I heard they had no casualties from it." Mullroy again, damn him.
"That's right," Jack quickly temporized. "They turned their rudder to the island and left it before the disease could strike them worse. If they'd stayed any longer, they'd have all been dead men."
********************
By late that afternoon, Remy's camp was in chaos. A very calm, orderly and well-orchestrated sort of military chaos, but chaos nonetheless. *Majestic's* hull repairs had been completed earlier in the day, and soldiers were carrying provisions back aboard with abnormal haste. Like industrious little worker ants, Jack Sparrow decided with satisfaction, the men almost bumbling into one another in their rush. All while their chained prisoners languished in the sand, their faces and bodies covered with grievously noticeable pustules.
Thank God for besalaya berries. That one bagful which Tula had dropped for the men to eat had been more than enough to confirm their contagion.
"And ye poured a bit of berry juice on those carcasses too, eh?" Sparrow inquired, watching as the hogs and hens were also taken aboard ship.
"Lots of juice," Syull agreed.
"Good," Jack grinned. "Wouldn't want our friends decidin' they'd been tricked after all. A little outbreak at sea should cure them of those nigglin' thoughts." As the last of the supplies were removed from the beach and Captain Remy prepared to follow them, Sparrow turned to AnaMaria. "You're on, darlin."
"I hate you," AnaMaria said fervently, a sentiment made no less ardent by her half-clad, sarong-wrapped state.
Jack smiled charmingly. "You only say that now, luv. You'll change your mind later."
"No, I won't." Lips firmed and hands fisted, she strode out on the beach.
"Go on," Jack told the straggling natives, "and don't forget to make it look good."
Tula and a half-dozen scrawny men ... all of them pocked from eating besalaya berries ... followed behind AnaMaria. As the "Queen" went into her impassioned diatribe, one of the little men began shaking. Sparrow grimaced, because he looked more like he suffered from bugs in his breeches than convulsions from sickness. Still, it needn't be an award winning performance to be effective. As the poor fellow leapt into the air and then collapsed in the sand, struggling valiantly against death, Tula shrieked an ear-splitting shriek, tossed her pudgy arms wide and fell spread-eagled. She began twitching spasmodically, the movement causing her flesh to roll like waves on a stormy ocean. The tongue sticking out the side of her mouth was a nice touch; he'd have to remember to compliment her on that one later.
AnaMaria, right on cue, again offered to take the hopelessly ill prisoners to her village to die far away from Remy and the HMS *Majestic's* loyal crew. After all, there was no sense infecting men who might otherwise escape contagion; not for the sake of prisoners destined for the gallows anyway. She asked only that the key to their chains be left so that the men could be buried individually as they died, rather than waiting until they had all perished. Digging a huge mass grave was ever so much more bothersome than digging small single ones.
Jenkins suddenly began doing a bit of convulsing himself. Sparrow smiled, pleased that the man showed such initiative. When Samuels joined him, and then some of the others, Jack Sparrow's chest swelled with gladness. Never had he been so proud to be a pirate.
The end came swiftly. A toss of a key to the sand. The sand billowing from the heels of men retreating (running) to the safety of their ship. Captain Remy did not run, but he did walk at a fairly clipped pace.
Ah. The glory of a well-laid plan come to fruition.
***
"Sorry, Rich," Jack Sparrow panted. He glanced behind his shoulder as if anticipating something awful. "They're close on our tails. Couldn't help it. Remy's as cagey as they say he is. And dangerous, mate."
Schmidt's worried gaze followed Sparrow's toward the jungle. He glanced at AnaMaria who, dressed in her comfortable shirt, breeches and boots again, gave a fair performance herself of looking flushed and frightened. Captain Arriaga's men simply looked tired.
"And you svear those spots are just food poisoning, ja?" It was a sign of Schmidt's trust in Jack that he would take the pirate's word regarding something so potentially devastating to a ship.
"I swear it, Rich, on my life. Its these blasted berries." He thrust a fistful into Schmidt's hand. "They make the spots. I thought if *Fury's* crew looked diseased, Remy would leave 'em behind. But Remy's a monster, he is. So damned concerned with carryin' out the law, he don't even care if his own men die doin' it. I swear it's the truth, Rich." He gave the smuggler captain big, innocent, desperately sincere eyes. It *was* the truth, after all. Well, most of it.
"I believe you," Schmidt said very slowly. Worriedly, he took Neddy's hand in his while the boy pressed closer against him, round-eyed with terror.
Sparrow nodded, swallowing dramatically hard. "There's not much time, Rich. Ye have to forget about your cache. Hell, forget ye ever *seen* this bloody island! Board your ship and set sail now, man. *Now!* Before the Royal Navy sweeps down on all of us."
Schmidt nodded to Phillipe and his other crewmen. They moved to their longboats, taking Jenkins and the others with them. "Alright then, Jack. You and the voman come along."
"No." Sparrow shook his head. "I promised I'd let no harm befall ye, Rich, and I'm a man of my word. The woman and I will stay behind. We'll distract Remy's men long enough for you to get away. It's the least I can do for getting' ye into this mess."
Schmidt frowned. "But vhat if they catch you, Jack? They'll hang you."
"Well, I don't plan on getting caught," Jack assured him truthfully. His eyes narrowed. "But this'll square us, eh, Rich? My help getting' you safely away from Remy's soldiers *instead* of payin' ye gold. That's worth one little chit, innit?"
The rum runner turned appraising eyes on AnaMaria. Jack held his breath.
But then Neddy was tugging on Schmidt's hand, anxious to leave, and Schmidt surrendered to his catamite's terror. "Alright. Yes, ve're square, Jack. Be careful though, ja?"
"I will." The two men shook hands on their agreement, and Jack watched smugly as the whole crew of them rowed out to their waiting ship. "Ah," the pirate sighed, "now *that* was a job well-done."
AnaMaria shook her head. "I can't believe you pulled it off. The navy is gone, the smugglers are gone, the natives are safe again. And none of them the wiser." She shrugged, smiling wryly. "What now, Jack Sparrow?"
"Now," Sparrow grinned, "we have a cache of rum to find. And then we'll celebrate."
"Celebrate?"
"We'll drink to our success," he affirmed happily. "And then we'll drink some more."
"Sounds fair enough." AnaMaria turned to go.
"Oh, wait up, luv!" Jack called after her. He balanced his weight on one leg, hopping slightly and holding one arm aloft. He smiled endearingly. "Some help here, please?"
AnaMaria scowled. She said flatly, "You walked over here just fine all on your own."
"True," Jack answered quickly, "but I think it was too strenuous for me wounds. I don't think I can make it back without your help." He smiled again, adding a piteous turn to his mouth.
The woman sighed heavily ... really more of a disgusted huff ... but dutifully slipped beneath Jack Sparrow's upraised arm. She ignored the man's pleased grin, and she ignored the intimate way he studied her profile. "Don't get no funny ideas," she muttered angrily.
His grin broadened. "Nuthin funny about what I'm thinking, luv."
***
The moon was high, the bonfire roared, the air was thick with the aroma of roasting meats abandoned by the rum runners, and the rum flowed free and easy. Naked little men brandishing bottles of rum danced clumsy jigs around the flames. Round-faced and -bodied women drank and ate and sang songs to encourage their men's wild gyrations. It was a wonderful night. A magnificent party. A glorious end to a brilliantly well-laid plan.
Captain Jack Sparrow reclined on a blanket spread on the white sand of the beach. For the first time since *Majestic's* attack on the *Fury* his belly was filled with real food, his head was nicely muddled, and all was right with the world. All that, *and* he had a beautiful woman resting on the blanket beside him.
AnaMaria raised her bottle in a wobbling salute. "To the Casuari ... um ... Casapara ..." She grimaced, struggling to form a fuzzy tongue and fuzzier mind around the word. "Casaba, Casemba, Casuba. Casabussa?"
"Cas'ambenga, darlin," Jack supplied helpfully.
"That's it!" AnaMaria exclaimed happily. "To ... *them.*" And she drank more rum.
Jack studied her face in the flickering glow of the bonfire. She had already finished almost half her first bottle of rum. Her face was flushed and rosy, her eyes black, her hair and clothing disheveled, and she was thoroughly off-balance and giddy. Jack Sparrow had never seen a lovelier vision.
"You'd best slow down, Ana," he suggested. "You'll regret drinkin' so much come morning."
"What?" she drawled drunkenly, swaying beside him. "Ye think I can't hold my liquor, Jack Sparrow? I'll have ye know I was a pirate's wife for three years. I've been a pirate myself."
"Oh?"
"I dressed as a boy and snuck aboard with my husband. Worked as a pirate for more'n two years, I did. Nobody ever knew."
"I find it hard to believe no one noticed, luv," Sparrow replied, appreciatively eyeing the womanly curves not concealed by her bulky men's clothing.
AnaMaria followed his glance and smiled. Sober, it would have been a beautifully seductive smile. Drunk, it looked more silly than coy. She unbuttoned the top button of her shirt and leaned forward suggestively. "C'mere Jack," she murmured.
Sparrow leaned close, intent on kissing her.
"Jjjjick!" Syull staggered toward them, tripped and fell face first in the sand.
AnaMaria frowned and pulled back. Sparrow sighed heavily.
"What'dye want, Syull?"
"Gooooood," Syull slurred, freeing one hand from the sand long enough to hold aloft a nearly emptied bottle of rum. He spat sand out of his mouth and lifted his beach-crusted face high enough to grin, "Rummmm gooooood."
"Oh yes," Sparrow agreed. "There's none better. Now be a good lad and ..."
"Gooo- *oood gooo-* oood gooo- *oood.*" Syull chanted the word over and over in an off-kilter rhythm as he raised, dropped, struggled onto all fours. He tripped up to his feet and stood swaying precariously. Jack winced up at him, absolutely certain that with a whole beach to pass out on, the little man would topple on top of him. "Jjjjick brinnng juice of godddz." Syull hiccupped loudly.
"Not from the gods exactly," Jack was quick to point out. Syull was turning decidedly green around the edges. It was not a good sign.
"*Godddz!*" Syull affirmed loudly, swinging the bottle about. He stopped abruptly and stared into Jack's face. His curiously crossed eyes grew moist with tears. "I givvve Jick Tulllla!" Hearing her name, the chief's daughter lumbered crookedly to her feet, staggered heavily, tried to catch herself by counterbalancing with her own already emptied rum bottle, then collapsed sideways into a group of little men who were crushed like bugs beneath her. Not noticing, Syull went on, "I givvve Jick Tula. Make ..." he burped hugely, "... make Jjjjick chief of Cas'ambenga." He burped again. No, not good at all.
"Is he crazy?" AnaMaria asked. "Making you chief?"
"He's drunk, luv. Just like you."
"I am *not* drunk, Jack Sparrow!" she protested, drinking more rum.
"Jick," Syull screamed shrilly, thrusting his arms skyward, "is new chief!" Then he burped again and the green won; he collapsed on all fours, vomiting heroically in the defenseless sand.
Watching with distaste, Sparrow became aware of someone tugging on his arm.
"Dance with me, Jack Sparrow."
"Ana," he replied, turning to face her, "I'm not sure that's a good idea just now."
"Are ye afraid of me?" She breathed the words against his lips.
"I just don't want ye spewin' on me, darlin."
Holding one of his hands, she struggled to her feet. "Dance with me, Jack Sparrow."
Jack let himself be coaxed up. She moved into his arms ... fell into them, really ... and began swaying to a tune only she could hear. But her body was warm, and she clung to him so sweetly. He decided dancing wasn't such a bad idea after all.
Then she passed out in his arms and his ribs vociferously protested the woman's dead weight. He lowered AnaMaria back to the sand, sighing sadly.
***
The little piragua caught the wind in her single sail and moved as swiftly and gracefully as one of her larger sisters might. She rode an easy ocean wave, headed for Tortuga.
Jack reclined, enjoying the gentle flapping of the single sail above him. He closed his eyes, turning his face up to catch the sunlight. Beside him were several bottles of confiscated rum. Only one of them was opened, and AnaMaria held it.
She sat across from him. She too was relaxed, leaning her back against the piragua's inner hull, enjoying the warm breeze against her face.
"Headache any better?" Jack inquired, squinting one eye in the woman's direction.
"A little," she replied. She opened her eyes, blinking gingerly. "You were right about the 'hair of the dog' helping."
"Of course I was right, luv. I'm Captain Jack Sparrow."
"Captains have ships," AnaMaria muttered, shutting her sensitive eyes again, "and you have none."
"Well," Jack said, "I was goin' to buy me one with the spoils from San Lucia. Now I 'spose I'll have to steal one."
"Steal one? A *ship?*"
"I hear Port Royal has an excess."
AnaMaria made a rude sound.
"Course, I'll need a way to get to Port Royal in the first place. And since all my wealth is currently residing on the bottom of the ocean ..."
"No."
Sparrow frowned. "You don't know what I was goin' to ask you, darlin."
"The answer is still no. Absolutely no. No."
"No?"
"No way in hell," she elucidated with abundant clarity.
Jack's lips pursed, contemplating this unexpected obstacle in his as yet unformed plans.
"Besides," AnaMaria continued more hotly, "you should be ashamed of yourself, Jack Sparrow. You took advantage of those people."
"*My* people, darlin. Syull made me their chief."
"He was falling-down drunk when he did it. He also offered you his daughter's virtue and I *know* he didn't mean *that.* He probably doesn't even *remember* any of it."
Grinning smugly, Sparrow reminded her, "I seem to recall that you also offered to sacrifice your virtue, Ana."
The woman blushed furiously. "That doesn't count. I was drunk. But those poor people ..."
"I saved their lives, luv. I made sure the Royal Fleet designates their island as quarantined, and I made sure the bloody rum runners don't ever come back neither. I saved their entire culture, Ana." He grinned smugly. "Making me their chief was the only right and proper way folks like them could show their gratitude." He shrugged. "S'not like I'm stayin' there to run things, ye know."
She looked at him askance. "They made you their chief because you got them stinking drunk, Jack! You introduced rum to those poor innocent natives! Those people are like children and you've just managed to make sots of the whole lot of them!"
Sparrow pointed a single finger skyward for emphasis. "Aye. *But* ... the way they're going, the rum won't last another week. After that, things'll settle back down for them. Go back to normal, as it were. A year from now me and the rum'll be naught but a fond memory." He smiled as a thought occurred. "Ye think they'll make me their god of rum, Ana? With altars and ceremonies and ..."
AnaMaria grimaced. "It's a long way to Tortuga. Please just be quiet, Jack. Please?" She leaned back again, sipping delicately at the bottle, looking decidedly hungover.
Sparrow studied her face, admiring the play of sunlight and shadow across her smooth, coffee-toned skin and the jet black wealth of her hair. He eased forward, moving weight onto his knees. He leaned nearer, careful not to upset the little piragua's balance.
Her eyes opened when Jack was only a breath away. She watched as he eased nearer, as his lips brushed lightly across hers. Settled on her cheek; nuzzling his way slowly back to her mouth. When she started kissing him back, Jack Sparrow lost himself in the pleasure of it. Her mouth was soft, and sweet with the flavor of rum. She leaned into him, the force of her passion pushing him back to his side of the boat. "Ana," he murmured, reaching for her.
A resounding blow to the side of his face extinguished the romance. AnaMaria knelt above him, her eyes flaming. "Touch me again," she threatened quietly, pointing a stiff finger in his face, "and I will make you a eunuch." Thrusting the bottle his way, not caring if he caught it or not, she stalked to the far end of the boat.
"You're the one who said it was a long trip back to Tortuga," Jack called after her, pouting. "I only meant to make it a little more pleasant for us both."
"Pleasant would be dumping you overboard," she retorted hotly.
"'Pleasant would be dumping you overboard,'" Jack mimicked in a whispered sing-song. He sighed unhappily and contemplated the bottle of rum. "Looks like its you and me, luv. Till we get to Tortuga anyway. And then ..." He paused, eyeing the piragua. A slow smile spread his lips.
********************
"The ceremony lasted well into the night," Jack Sparrow told the soldiers. "There was a huge feast, and plenty of rum courtesy of the rum runners."
"I can't believe they'd just give up their whole cache as a peace offering," Murtogg commented admiringly. "Those natives must've been some pretty fierce warriors, Mr. Smith."
"Oh, aye," Jack confirmed. "Even in their celebration, the men danced with their spears jabbin' about, and they hooted and screamed war cries instead of songs."
"Frightening," Murtogg agreed. Mullroy rolled his eyes.
"It was at the stroke of midnight when their leader offered me the sacrifice of a virgin."
"A virgin?" Mullroy said. "They killed a girl for *you?*"
"Now I didn't say that, did I?" Sparrow grinned cheekily and winked an eye.
Mullroy huffed. "I'm surprised there were any virgins left, the way you talk."
"There was only one left, and she was the most beautiful woman of all. The leader's daughter."
"And she was naked?" Murtogg asked, wide-eyed.
Mullroy barked, "Of course she was naked! Ain't *all* Mr. Smith's women naked?"
Sparrow ignored the boorish comment. "Of course I was gracious in my acceptance of the lass. So gracious, in fact, that Syull offered me his whole harem of wives."
"And you took them?" Murtogg asked. "*All* of them?"
"I'm only one man," Sparrow admitted sorrowfully, "so I had to give some of them back."
"Mighty generous of you," Mullroy grumbled sourly.
"But he insisted I be given some other great honor as well. So in a brilliant ceremony full of dancin' and carousin' and cavorting, they gave me a tribal name; the name of their favorite god, as a matter of fact; said nuthin less would do. And then they made me their chief ..."
There was a loud splash as something large hit the water, and Sparrow turned to see what it was. High atop the cliff, leaning over the ramparts of Fort Charles, a blue-clad naval officer was screaming a woman's name. Jack rushed to the side of the ship, accompanied by Murtogg and Mullroy who stood one on either side of him.
"*Elizabeth!!!*" came another desperate scream.
Eyes fixed on the center of that rippling wake, Jack leaned toward Mullroy, pointing vaguely outward. "Will you be savin' her then?"
"I can't swim," came the chagrined response.
Jack looked to Murtogg, who only shook his head. Sparrow said disgustedly, "Pearl of the king's navy you are." He began jerking off his weapons, coat and hat, thrusting them into the care of the befuddled soldiers. "Hold these. Do *not* lose them!" He leapt atop the ship's railing and dived overboard.
The *Interceptor's* liberation would just have to wait until later ...
Fin
Chapter THREE
by Saahira 10-11-03
"So the next morning was the big battle then. Right, Mr. Smith? The natives against the rum runners?"
Mullroy sighed. "Hadn't he been saying he was trying to avoid a fight? Don't you listen, Murtogg?"
The thin soldier pulled back, insulted. "Course I listen. I *always* listen. But how could he avoid it, with everybody being so bloodthirsty like they were?"
"Oh, I have a feeling he'll come up with something. Storytelling being what it is."
"You think Mr. Smith's lying then?"
"Actually," Jack interrupted, his eyes narrowing, "you're both right. I was tryin' to avoid a battle, but it was inevitable. After all, what can one poor man do against so many angry brutes?"
"So like I said, the next morning was the big battle. Was it terrible, Mr. Smith?"
"Oh, aye, it was awful. The natives spent the whole morning sharpening their weapons and puttin' on their wooden armor. And their war paint, they had that too."
"And the women was still naked?"
Sparrow grinned. "They was still naked. Bare to the skin and proud to be showin' it."
"And your new lady friends, Anna and Maria. How did they fare the night, poor things?"
"Ah yes, Anna and sweet Maria." He shrugged. "You might say they went native, as it were."
********************
"I feel *ridiculous!*" AnaMaria spat. She tugged on the sarong, pulling it down and out and up again, endlessly. It was a pretty piece of fabric, Jack thought, all in vibrant shades of red and purple and turquoise. It left her shoulders, arms and neck deliciously bare. Likewise her legs, which proved to be long and slender once the baggy trousers were removed. "I *hate* this! I feel naked!" Though she wasn't, damn the luck. And the sarong covered much more of her shapely body than it did Tula's rotund one. At least all her private bits were covered, even if it wasn't considered decent by so-called civilized standards.
"You look lovely, Ana. Truly." And she did. Though she probably wouldn't be pleased it if she knew how very much he appreciated the sight.
She rounded on him. For an instant, Sparrow thought she would hit him. But all she did was waggle an irate finger in his face and say, "Yes, I do. But that doesn't mean I like it."
Jack smiled placatingly. "You don't have to wear it for long, luv. Just for a *little* while. Just long enough to sell your story to our friend Captain Remy."
She glanced above to the jungle's leafy canopy, her lips crimping in embarrassment. Forlornly: "I hate this."
"It'll all be over soon, Ana." He started to touch her arm, a gesture of support and camaraderie, but quickly changed his mind. He rather fancied keeping the hand.
AnaMaria looked past their wall of shrubbery at the British encampment where Remy gave orders, men toiled, and the prisoners sat in despondent silence.
"Two appearances," Jack went on soothingly. "You can do it, luv."
AnaMaria sighed. "Tell me again why *you* aren't doing this."
Sparrow grinned broadly. "Well, for one thing I don't look as good in that little bit of cloth as you do." Her murderous glare vanquished his smile. More seriously, he added, "I told you, Remy knows me, luv. He'd arrest me straight away without listenin' to a single word of our story. Besides, you know I couldn't outrun his men just now." He winced melodramatically and hugged at his ribcage.
"When you are well again," AnaMaria promised grimly, "I'm going to beat the hell out of you."
Jack smiled. "Go on with you now, darlin. Spin your lovely tale for our friends and we can be on our way to Tortuga by this time tomorrow."
AnaMaria drew in a long, deep breath of courage. And thus fortified, she stepped out on the beach.
"Well, go on with you," Sparrow commanded gruffly, and a half dozen of Syull's scrawny, naked little comrades scampered out behind her. Tula, however, hung back.
"Jick ..." she began. She was frightened, afraid of Remy's men.
"Go on now, luv," Sparrow told her reassuringly. He took her hand, squeezed it gently. "You'll be fine, ye will. Just remember your part, aye? You're the most important part of our little ruse; we can't pull it off without ye."
Tula nodded bravely and waddled out behind the others.
The chief of the Cas'ambenga frowned up into Jack Sparrow's face. "I see why Queenies no want you. You crazy man."
Jack smiled cheekily. "So they say, mate."
"Making eye at mean stick woman, making no eye at pretty Tula." He shook his head sorrowfully.
Sparrow leaned conspiratorially close, saying, "After this mess is over and all the Queenies leave, you can start plumpin' your lovely daughter up even more, and soon she'll have so many fine suitors she won't even remember old Jack was ever here."
Syull sighed. "You right." He scrutinized Jack carefully. "Tula need pretty husband, make pretty babies. You look too much like Queenie."
Sparrow frowned slightly, unsure if he should be insulted or not.
But by then AnaMaria had caught the eye of *Majestic's* captain and crew and they stood facing one another on the sand, with his soldiers spread behind him, and with AnaMaria's naked gnomes behind her. The wind carried the sounds of their voices, but not the meanings. But since Jack Sparrow had scripted every word, every nuance of every word, had orchestrated every move and every gesture, he simply waited, not needing to hear it to know it.
There. That was AnaMaria declaring herself queen of the Cas'ambenga. And that wave of her hand, that was her indicating the extent of her domain and how proud she was of it as she welcomed the *Majestic's* crew to her island's sunny shores. Ah, yes ... the bowed head. The hint of sorrow in her voice.
It had begun.
She told the sad story of the plague cutting her people down. The agony, the fevers. The delirium and final convulsions. The pain-wracked, gruesome death that followed.
Especially the gruesome death.
She urged Remy and his men to depart her island kingdom. Or suffer the same heinous fate as her subjects.
Then it was Tula's turn. She turned as if only just spotting the prisoners. With a squeal of delight ... it didn't sound feigned, that lusty bellow; but then, everyone knew she had a soft spot for Queenies ... she wobbled, bounced. bobbled and shimmied toward them, then collapsed like a felled water buffalo in their midst.
"Syull?" Sparrow frowned curiously. "You did send someone to explain all this to Jenkins and his men last night, did you not?"
"I go, I tell. They know."
"Oh. Good then. I wouldn't want your bonny lass to catch them unawares."
AnaMaria screamed the girl's name and Tula turned, doing a fairly well- played approximation of shame. While Tula clamored ponderously to her feet and regretfully shuffled back to her tribe, AnaMaria quickly explained that Jenkins had wed the lass on the pirates' last stop at the island, before the onset of illness. But now, alack and alas, to the terrible dismay of everyone involved, this one brief contact with Tula meant that Jenkins and the other prisoners were quite thoroughly infected with the nasty and utterly pernicious disease currently killing her people. Cramps, fevers, and a tortuous demise to be had by all. Et cetera, etc.
The lovely queen of the Cas'ambenga graciously offered to remove the contagion from *Majestic's* crew by removing the prisoners to die within the confines of her own village. Naturally enough, a doubting Remy refused, and who could blame him? He was the shining gem in Britain's royal crown. He was a man who would not be fooled so easily.
When AnaMaria and the others returned, Jack Sparrow beamed his pleasure at them. "That went fine, mates! Just fine!"
"Fine?" AnaMaria, still tugging at the sarong, glowered at him. "How can you say that? They didn't give up the prisoners."
"But they will, luv. Just give 'em time."
"Tula do good?" Tula inquired hopefully.
"Did you slip the bag to Jenkins like I told ye?"
"UhHuh," she answered. Then corrected herself to, "Aye, Kiptin!"
"There's a good lass." He patted her cheek, and she nearly swooned with pleasure.
"So now what?" AnaMaria asked, casting a dismissive glance at the smitten island girl.
"We wait," Sparrow told her. "Until this afternoon. By tonight it'll all be over."
"How can you sound so certain?" AnaMaria asked him.
Sparrow grinned proudly. "That's simple, luv. I'm Captain Jack Sparrow. Savvy?"
********************
"And so the battle raged, gentlemen. For six days and seven nights, the rum runners and the natives slaughtered one another."
"*Sure* they did. They waged war on a little speck of an island without Captain Remy and his men ever catching wind of it?"
"Mr. Smith said it was a big island, remember?"
"It couldn't be that big. Could it, *Mr. Smith?*"
The man called Mullroy was definitely getting on Jack Sparrow's nerves. A bloody Doubting Thomas, that's what he was, not believing a single word Jack said. A damned nuisance, that! Still, he was gullible enough to sit there with his partner listening to tales told by a pirate rather than minding his post. That fact boded quite well for *Interceptor's* forthcoming liberation. It shouldn't even be too difficult. Sparrow would visit Port Royal's taverns that night and pick a likely-looking man or two to aid him. By morning, the ship would be his. He'd sail for Tortuga, acquire a proper crew and provisions, and *Interceptor* would be well on her way to becoming a first class pirate vessel. She wasn't the *Black Pearl* ... no ship could ever take his lovely *Pearl's* place ... but she would serve him well enough until the day Barbossa fell. And after all, with a ship of his own with which to chase the *Pearl* down, it wouldn't be much longer before she was his again, would it?
"No answer, Mr. Smith?"
"What?" Jack shook himself back to awareness. Both men were staring at him expectantly; one anxious for the story to continue, one for the story not to. Sparrow offered an easy grin, an almost flirtatious grin, and said, "Sorry, lads. Private thoughts."
Mullroy persisted, "So how did you keep *Majestic* out of the conflict?"
"Oh, that. I didn't have to."
"And *why* didn't you have to?"
"Because God did it for me."
"God, Mr. Smith?" the thinner soldier inquired. "How's that?" While the bloody Doubting Thomas rolled his eyes heavenward.
"He set a contagion upon them. They was incapacitated by illness, as it were."
"We heard about that!" Murtogg exclaimed excitedly. "You remember, Mullroy? About six months ago, just like Mr. Smith here says!"
"Hmmm," the heavier soldier replied noncommittally.
"And a fierce disease it was, mates. It swept through *Majestic's* ranks, droppin' men left and right."
"I heard they had no casualties from it." Mullroy again, damn him.
"That's right," Jack quickly temporized. "They turned their rudder to the island and left it before the disease could strike them worse. If they'd stayed any longer, they'd have all been dead men."
********************
By late that afternoon, Remy's camp was in chaos. A very calm, orderly and well-orchestrated sort of military chaos, but chaos nonetheless. *Majestic's* hull repairs had been completed earlier in the day, and soldiers were carrying provisions back aboard with abnormal haste. Like industrious little worker ants, Jack Sparrow decided with satisfaction, the men almost bumbling into one another in their rush. All while their chained prisoners languished in the sand, their faces and bodies covered with grievously noticeable pustules.
Thank God for besalaya berries. That one bagful which Tula had dropped for the men to eat had been more than enough to confirm their contagion.
"And ye poured a bit of berry juice on those carcasses too, eh?" Sparrow inquired, watching as the hogs and hens were also taken aboard ship.
"Lots of juice," Syull agreed.
"Good," Jack grinned. "Wouldn't want our friends decidin' they'd been tricked after all. A little outbreak at sea should cure them of those nigglin' thoughts." As the last of the supplies were removed from the beach and Captain Remy prepared to follow them, Sparrow turned to AnaMaria. "You're on, darlin."
"I hate you," AnaMaria said fervently, a sentiment made no less ardent by her half-clad, sarong-wrapped state.
Jack smiled charmingly. "You only say that now, luv. You'll change your mind later."
"No, I won't." Lips firmed and hands fisted, she strode out on the beach.
"Go on," Jack told the straggling natives, "and don't forget to make it look good."
Tula and a half-dozen scrawny men ... all of them pocked from eating besalaya berries ... followed behind AnaMaria. As the "Queen" went into her impassioned diatribe, one of the little men began shaking. Sparrow grimaced, because he looked more like he suffered from bugs in his breeches than convulsions from sickness. Still, it needn't be an award winning performance to be effective. As the poor fellow leapt into the air and then collapsed in the sand, struggling valiantly against death, Tula shrieked an ear-splitting shriek, tossed her pudgy arms wide and fell spread-eagled. She began twitching spasmodically, the movement causing her flesh to roll like waves on a stormy ocean. The tongue sticking out the side of her mouth was a nice touch; he'd have to remember to compliment her on that one later.
AnaMaria, right on cue, again offered to take the hopelessly ill prisoners to her village to die far away from Remy and the HMS *Majestic's* loyal crew. After all, there was no sense infecting men who might otherwise escape contagion; not for the sake of prisoners destined for the gallows anyway. She asked only that the key to their chains be left so that the men could be buried individually as they died, rather than waiting until they had all perished. Digging a huge mass grave was ever so much more bothersome than digging small single ones.
Jenkins suddenly began doing a bit of convulsing himself. Sparrow smiled, pleased that the man showed such initiative. When Samuels joined him, and then some of the others, Jack Sparrow's chest swelled with gladness. Never had he been so proud to be a pirate.
The end came swiftly. A toss of a key to the sand. The sand billowing from the heels of men retreating (running) to the safety of their ship. Captain Remy did not run, but he did walk at a fairly clipped pace.
Ah. The glory of a well-laid plan come to fruition.
***
"Sorry, Rich," Jack Sparrow panted. He glanced behind his shoulder as if anticipating something awful. "They're close on our tails. Couldn't help it. Remy's as cagey as they say he is. And dangerous, mate."
Schmidt's worried gaze followed Sparrow's toward the jungle. He glanced at AnaMaria who, dressed in her comfortable shirt, breeches and boots again, gave a fair performance herself of looking flushed and frightened. Captain Arriaga's men simply looked tired.
"And you svear those spots are just food poisoning, ja?" It was a sign of Schmidt's trust in Jack that he would take the pirate's word regarding something so potentially devastating to a ship.
"I swear it, Rich, on my life. Its these blasted berries." He thrust a fistful into Schmidt's hand. "They make the spots. I thought if *Fury's* crew looked diseased, Remy would leave 'em behind. But Remy's a monster, he is. So damned concerned with carryin' out the law, he don't even care if his own men die doin' it. I swear it's the truth, Rich." He gave the smuggler captain big, innocent, desperately sincere eyes. It *was* the truth, after all. Well, most of it.
"I believe you," Schmidt said very slowly. Worriedly, he took Neddy's hand in his while the boy pressed closer against him, round-eyed with terror.
Sparrow nodded, swallowing dramatically hard. "There's not much time, Rich. Ye have to forget about your cache. Hell, forget ye ever *seen* this bloody island! Board your ship and set sail now, man. *Now!* Before the Royal Navy sweeps down on all of us."
Schmidt nodded to Phillipe and his other crewmen. They moved to their longboats, taking Jenkins and the others with them. "Alright then, Jack. You and the voman come along."
"No." Sparrow shook his head. "I promised I'd let no harm befall ye, Rich, and I'm a man of my word. The woman and I will stay behind. We'll distract Remy's men long enough for you to get away. It's the least I can do for getting' ye into this mess."
Schmidt frowned. "But vhat if they catch you, Jack? They'll hang you."
"Well, I don't plan on getting caught," Jack assured him truthfully. His eyes narrowed. "But this'll square us, eh, Rich? My help getting' you safely away from Remy's soldiers *instead* of payin' ye gold. That's worth one little chit, innit?"
The rum runner turned appraising eyes on AnaMaria. Jack held his breath.
But then Neddy was tugging on Schmidt's hand, anxious to leave, and Schmidt surrendered to his catamite's terror. "Alright. Yes, ve're square, Jack. Be careful though, ja?"
"I will." The two men shook hands on their agreement, and Jack watched smugly as the whole crew of them rowed out to their waiting ship. "Ah," the pirate sighed, "now *that* was a job well-done."
AnaMaria shook her head. "I can't believe you pulled it off. The navy is gone, the smugglers are gone, the natives are safe again. And none of them the wiser." She shrugged, smiling wryly. "What now, Jack Sparrow?"
"Now," Sparrow grinned, "we have a cache of rum to find. And then we'll celebrate."
"Celebrate?"
"We'll drink to our success," he affirmed happily. "And then we'll drink some more."
"Sounds fair enough." AnaMaria turned to go.
"Oh, wait up, luv!" Jack called after her. He balanced his weight on one leg, hopping slightly and holding one arm aloft. He smiled endearingly. "Some help here, please?"
AnaMaria scowled. She said flatly, "You walked over here just fine all on your own."
"True," Jack answered quickly, "but I think it was too strenuous for me wounds. I don't think I can make it back without your help." He smiled again, adding a piteous turn to his mouth.
The woman sighed heavily ... really more of a disgusted huff ... but dutifully slipped beneath Jack Sparrow's upraised arm. She ignored the man's pleased grin, and she ignored the intimate way he studied her profile. "Don't get no funny ideas," she muttered angrily.
His grin broadened. "Nuthin funny about what I'm thinking, luv."
***
The moon was high, the bonfire roared, the air was thick with the aroma of roasting meats abandoned by the rum runners, and the rum flowed free and easy. Naked little men brandishing bottles of rum danced clumsy jigs around the flames. Round-faced and -bodied women drank and ate and sang songs to encourage their men's wild gyrations. It was a wonderful night. A magnificent party. A glorious end to a brilliantly well-laid plan.
Captain Jack Sparrow reclined on a blanket spread on the white sand of the beach. For the first time since *Majestic's* attack on the *Fury* his belly was filled with real food, his head was nicely muddled, and all was right with the world. All that, *and* he had a beautiful woman resting on the blanket beside him.
AnaMaria raised her bottle in a wobbling salute. "To the Casuari ... um ... Casapara ..." She grimaced, struggling to form a fuzzy tongue and fuzzier mind around the word. "Casaba, Casemba, Casuba. Casabussa?"
"Cas'ambenga, darlin," Jack supplied helpfully.
"That's it!" AnaMaria exclaimed happily. "To ... *them.*" And she drank more rum.
Jack studied her face in the flickering glow of the bonfire. She had already finished almost half her first bottle of rum. Her face was flushed and rosy, her eyes black, her hair and clothing disheveled, and she was thoroughly off-balance and giddy. Jack Sparrow had never seen a lovelier vision.
"You'd best slow down, Ana," he suggested. "You'll regret drinkin' so much come morning."
"What?" she drawled drunkenly, swaying beside him. "Ye think I can't hold my liquor, Jack Sparrow? I'll have ye know I was a pirate's wife for three years. I've been a pirate myself."
"Oh?"
"I dressed as a boy and snuck aboard with my husband. Worked as a pirate for more'n two years, I did. Nobody ever knew."
"I find it hard to believe no one noticed, luv," Sparrow replied, appreciatively eyeing the womanly curves not concealed by her bulky men's clothing.
AnaMaria followed his glance and smiled. Sober, it would have been a beautifully seductive smile. Drunk, it looked more silly than coy. She unbuttoned the top button of her shirt and leaned forward suggestively. "C'mere Jack," she murmured.
Sparrow leaned close, intent on kissing her.
"Jjjjick!" Syull staggered toward them, tripped and fell face first in the sand.
AnaMaria frowned and pulled back. Sparrow sighed heavily.
"What'dye want, Syull?"
"Gooooood," Syull slurred, freeing one hand from the sand long enough to hold aloft a nearly emptied bottle of rum. He spat sand out of his mouth and lifted his beach-crusted face high enough to grin, "Rummmm gooooood."
"Oh yes," Sparrow agreed. "There's none better. Now be a good lad and ..."
"Gooo- *oood gooo-* oood gooo- *oood.*" Syull chanted the word over and over in an off-kilter rhythm as he raised, dropped, struggled onto all fours. He tripped up to his feet and stood swaying precariously. Jack winced up at him, absolutely certain that with a whole beach to pass out on, the little man would topple on top of him. "Jjjjick brinnng juice of godddz." Syull hiccupped loudly.
"Not from the gods exactly," Jack was quick to point out. Syull was turning decidedly green around the edges. It was not a good sign.
"*Godddz!*" Syull affirmed loudly, swinging the bottle about. He stopped abruptly and stared into Jack's face. His curiously crossed eyes grew moist with tears. "I givvve Jick Tulllla!" Hearing her name, the chief's daughter lumbered crookedly to her feet, staggered heavily, tried to catch herself by counterbalancing with her own already emptied rum bottle, then collapsed sideways into a group of little men who were crushed like bugs beneath her. Not noticing, Syull went on, "I givvve Jick Tula. Make ..." he burped hugely, "... make Jjjjick chief of Cas'ambenga." He burped again. No, not good at all.
"Is he crazy?" AnaMaria asked. "Making you chief?"
"He's drunk, luv. Just like you."
"I am *not* drunk, Jack Sparrow!" she protested, drinking more rum.
"Jick," Syull screamed shrilly, thrusting his arms skyward, "is new chief!" Then he burped again and the green won; he collapsed on all fours, vomiting heroically in the defenseless sand.
Watching with distaste, Sparrow became aware of someone tugging on his arm.
"Dance with me, Jack Sparrow."
"Ana," he replied, turning to face her, "I'm not sure that's a good idea just now."
"Are ye afraid of me?" She breathed the words against his lips.
"I just don't want ye spewin' on me, darlin."
Holding one of his hands, she struggled to her feet. "Dance with me, Jack Sparrow."
Jack let himself be coaxed up. She moved into his arms ... fell into them, really ... and began swaying to a tune only she could hear. But her body was warm, and she clung to him so sweetly. He decided dancing wasn't such a bad idea after all.
Then she passed out in his arms and his ribs vociferously protested the woman's dead weight. He lowered AnaMaria back to the sand, sighing sadly.
***
The little piragua caught the wind in her single sail and moved as swiftly and gracefully as one of her larger sisters might. She rode an easy ocean wave, headed for Tortuga.
Jack reclined, enjoying the gentle flapping of the single sail above him. He closed his eyes, turning his face up to catch the sunlight. Beside him were several bottles of confiscated rum. Only one of them was opened, and AnaMaria held it.
She sat across from him. She too was relaxed, leaning her back against the piragua's inner hull, enjoying the warm breeze against her face.
"Headache any better?" Jack inquired, squinting one eye in the woman's direction.
"A little," she replied. She opened her eyes, blinking gingerly. "You were right about the 'hair of the dog' helping."
"Of course I was right, luv. I'm Captain Jack Sparrow."
"Captains have ships," AnaMaria muttered, shutting her sensitive eyes again, "and you have none."
"Well," Jack said, "I was goin' to buy me one with the spoils from San Lucia. Now I 'spose I'll have to steal one."
"Steal one? A *ship?*"
"I hear Port Royal has an excess."
AnaMaria made a rude sound.
"Course, I'll need a way to get to Port Royal in the first place. And since all my wealth is currently residing on the bottom of the ocean ..."
"No."
Sparrow frowned. "You don't know what I was goin' to ask you, darlin."
"The answer is still no. Absolutely no. No."
"No?"
"No way in hell," she elucidated with abundant clarity.
Jack's lips pursed, contemplating this unexpected obstacle in his as yet unformed plans.
"Besides," AnaMaria continued more hotly, "you should be ashamed of yourself, Jack Sparrow. You took advantage of those people."
"*My* people, darlin. Syull made me their chief."
"He was falling-down drunk when he did it. He also offered you his daughter's virtue and I *know* he didn't mean *that.* He probably doesn't even *remember* any of it."
Grinning smugly, Sparrow reminded her, "I seem to recall that you also offered to sacrifice your virtue, Ana."
The woman blushed furiously. "That doesn't count. I was drunk. But those poor people ..."
"I saved their lives, luv. I made sure the Royal Fleet designates their island as quarantined, and I made sure the bloody rum runners don't ever come back neither. I saved their entire culture, Ana." He grinned smugly. "Making me their chief was the only right and proper way folks like them could show their gratitude." He shrugged. "S'not like I'm stayin' there to run things, ye know."
She looked at him askance. "They made you their chief because you got them stinking drunk, Jack! You introduced rum to those poor innocent natives! Those people are like children and you've just managed to make sots of the whole lot of them!"
Sparrow pointed a single finger skyward for emphasis. "Aye. *But* ... the way they're going, the rum won't last another week. After that, things'll settle back down for them. Go back to normal, as it were. A year from now me and the rum'll be naught but a fond memory." He smiled as a thought occurred. "Ye think they'll make me their god of rum, Ana? With altars and ceremonies and ..."
AnaMaria grimaced. "It's a long way to Tortuga. Please just be quiet, Jack. Please?" She leaned back again, sipping delicately at the bottle, looking decidedly hungover.
Sparrow studied her face, admiring the play of sunlight and shadow across her smooth, coffee-toned skin and the jet black wealth of her hair. He eased forward, moving weight onto his knees. He leaned nearer, careful not to upset the little piragua's balance.
Her eyes opened when Jack was only a breath away. She watched as he eased nearer, as his lips brushed lightly across hers. Settled on her cheek; nuzzling his way slowly back to her mouth. When she started kissing him back, Jack Sparrow lost himself in the pleasure of it. Her mouth was soft, and sweet with the flavor of rum. She leaned into him, the force of her passion pushing him back to his side of the boat. "Ana," he murmured, reaching for her.
A resounding blow to the side of his face extinguished the romance. AnaMaria knelt above him, her eyes flaming. "Touch me again," she threatened quietly, pointing a stiff finger in his face, "and I will make you a eunuch." Thrusting the bottle his way, not caring if he caught it or not, she stalked to the far end of the boat.
"You're the one who said it was a long trip back to Tortuga," Jack called after her, pouting. "I only meant to make it a little more pleasant for us both."
"Pleasant would be dumping you overboard," she retorted hotly.
"'Pleasant would be dumping you overboard,'" Jack mimicked in a whispered sing-song. He sighed unhappily and contemplated the bottle of rum. "Looks like its you and me, luv. Till we get to Tortuga anyway. And then ..." He paused, eyeing the piragua. A slow smile spread his lips.
********************
"The ceremony lasted well into the night," Jack Sparrow told the soldiers. "There was a huge feast, and plenty of rum courtesy of the rum runners."
"I can't believe they'd just give up their whole cache as a peace offering," Murtogg commented admiringly. "Those natives must've been some pretty fierce warriors, Mr. Smith."
"Oh, aye," Jack confirmed. "Even in their celebration, the men danced with their spears jabbin' about, and they hooted and screamed war cries instead of songs."
"Frightening," Murtogg agreed. Mullroy rolled his eyes.
"It was at the stroke of midnight when their leader offered me the sacrifice of a virgin."
"A virgin?" Mullroy said. "They killed a girl for *you?*"
"Now I didn't say that, did I?" Sparrow grinned cheekily and winked an eye.
Mullroy huffed. "I'm surprised there were any virgins left, the way you talk."
"There was only one left, and she was the most beautiful woman of all. The leader's daughter."
"And she was naked?" Murtogg asked, wide-eyed.
Mullroy barked, "Of course she was naked! Ain't *all* Mr. Smith's women naked?"
Sparrow ignored the boorish comment. "Of course I was gracious in my acceptance of the lass. So gracious, in fact, that Syull offered me his whole harem of wives."
"And you took them?" Murtogg asked. "*All* of them?"
"I'm only one man," Sparrow admitted sorrowfully, "so I had to give some of them back."
"Mighty generous of you," Mullroy grumbled sourly.
"But he insisted I be given some other great honor as well. So in a brilliant ceremony full of dancin' and carousin' and cavorting, they gave me a tribal name; the name of their favorite god, as a matter of fact; said nuthin less would do. And then they made me their chief ..."
There was a loud splash as something large hit the water, and Sparrow turned to see what it was. High atop the cliff, leaning over the ramparts of Fort Charles, a blue-clad naval officer was screaming a woman's name. Jack rushed to the side of the ship, accompanied by Murtogg and Mullroy who stood one on either side of him.
"*Elizabeth!!!*" came another desperate scream.
Eyes fixed on the center of that rippling wake, Jack leaned toward Mullroy, pointing vaguely outward. "Will you be savin' her then?"
"I can't swim," came the chagrined response.
Jack looked to Murtogg, who only shook his head. Sparrow said disgustedly, "Pearl of the king's navy you are." He began jerking off his weapons, coat and hat, thrusting them into the care of the befuddled soldiers. "Hold these. Do *not* lose them!" He leapt atop the ship's railing and dived overboard.
The *Interceptor's* liberation would just have to wait until later ...
Fin