AN: I'm so sorry I haven't updated for a while; I hope you guys can remember the story! I've been busy with school and sport, the only reason I was able to get this chapter out is because it was thunder and lightning tonight and training was cancelled. Thanks for the reviews, champs! You guys rock!
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It was still early in the morning. A watery sun had tried to peek out from between the grey clouds but it had given up the struggle. Water dripped from the eaves of the ramshackle dwellings and plinked into the puddles remaining in the streets. Jack had fixed Annamaria up with a sling for her arm; while his rough medicine had clicked her shoulder back into place he could see that it would be several days before she could use that arm for anything. She really had been quite badly beaten; he wondered if he had been too easy on Murdock, but without knowing anything of the prior history between these two, he had felt it hard to be judge, jury and executioner.
"What precisely - " he stopped, and spun to face the other way. "I'm sorry, luv, I didn't notice you were falling behind."
He walked back the few steps to where Annamaria was. Her face betrayed little of the strain it was hiding, but her laboured breathing suggested otherwise.
"I'm sorry, Jack," Annamaria apologised, "but I'm still a little winded."
"You know, we don't have to do this straightaway," Jack suggested. "Commandeer a boat, I mean. We could rest up for a day to give you some time to recover."
"No, I'll be better soon," she replied valiantly. "It's happened before, though never as bad - but I'll mend soon enough. It's just my arm, and it's dangerous for you to stay here."
It wasn't just her shoulder, Jack could see that, but he accepted her decision. He had noticed in their short acquaintance that it was hard to gainsay Annamaria when she had that particular mulish gleam in her eyes. He took her hands in his own.
"I want you to promise me something, luv."
Annamaria could see that he didn't believe her appraisal of her injuries. She found it hard to raise her eyes to meet Jack's, and instead stared at his brown hands. "What is it, Jack?"
"That whenever we get on board, or we have a spare moment and aren't being pursued or in fear of our lives, you..." He paused for emphasis, gesturing with their hands. "...You will tell me who that man is and why he felt the need to batter you into a heap, savvy?"
Annamaria met Jack's smiling eyes then. She said defiantly, "I get a question too."
Jack let go then, in order to wave his own hands around theatrically.
"Anything my wife wants to know," he said, grinning.
"Why are you here? The famous pirate, in Port Royal Gaol, without his ship?" Annamaria asked curiously. She had wondered, ever since they had met in the gaol, but hadn't liked to ask during the night - but since he was determined to dredge up secrets...
It was as though, for a moment, the light went out of Jack's eyes, and his face was shuttered. Only for a split second, and then he bowed.
"It is a story worthy of the telling," he said bitterly. "Needs time, though."
They were nearing the quay. The streets were getting lighter, airier, as though they were as eager to flow out into the wide-open emptiness of the ocean as the sailors who lived in them. It was more likely now that they would meet someone, no matter how inconspicuous they were, and Annamaria did her best to walk quickly. However, a person materialised, walking towards them with brisk steps. Both Jack and Annamaria bowed their heads in greeting and made as if to walk by, but the stranger accosted them.
"Captain Jack Sparrow?" the man asked, looking up and down the street before he spoke.
Jack considered his answer. On the one hand, the man - well, not much more than a boy, really - had remembered his title, as so many rarely did. On the other hand, he was sure that he hadn't many friends in Port Royale - or any friends that wouldn't greet him with a slap or a noose.
"I believe you must be mistaken, young man," Jack said in a suitably pompous voice. "I am the Reverend William Walters, and this is my wife Philomena."
Then he winced as he felt Annamaria's good elbow hit his ribs. "I beg your pardon, my dear Philly." He smiled at the man. "She hates being called Philomena."
The young man looked impatient. "No, you aren't. You are Captain Jack Sparrow, of the ship the Black Pearl."
Annamaria was used to sizing people up on the spot, and instinctively she knew that it would be no use trying to deceive this direct young man. She studied him. He was of average height, tanned a dark brown, with hair so fair that it was almost white - an uncommon enough colour, but it was neither this, nor the clothes he was wearing (old-fashioned, even with the snail's pace at which men's styles changed) that drew her attention. It was his eyes. Whereas Jack's were dark and expressive, yet controlled, this man's were almost feverish in their tawny excitement. It was hard to describe their expression; it was as though this young man had lived through horrors and shrugged them off, yet still some vestiges remained and looked out. He had not learned to veil his emotions like thieves had to, or pirates, Annamaria concluded, coming back to earth with a jolt.
"Pardon?" she murmured, conscious that both men were looking to her for an answer.
"If he is Captain Jack Sparrow, who are you?" the man repeated.
She said, watching Jack nod at her, "I am someone he met in gaol."
"But you must have a name?" he persisted.
"I am Annamaria," she said uncertainly. "I have no surname."
"I haven't one either," the man said. "People call me Daniel."
"What do you call yourself?" Annamaria asked shrewdly, but the man smiled enigmatically at her, refusing to reply.
"Well, now that we're all introduced," Jack bowed to the two others, "would you mind awfully if I could steer this conversation towards telling us what you want?"
"I want to come with you."
"Mind if I ask why?" Jack said.
"At the moment - yes, I do," Daniel said calmly. There was a long pause, as Jack looked him up and down. Annamaria was shocked when Jack seemed to accept this non-answer, and extended his arm.
As he shook hands with the stranger, Jack pulled him in closer and said seriously, "I've never been wrong in my judgement of people - well, once - and I expect to be told within the next few days why you will be wanting to sail with me, agreed?"
Daniel nodded. "Agreed."
"Right!" Jack said brightly. "Is that all you'll be bringing, yourself...? No rum? Shame. Now that we're all friends, let's stroll down to the dock and see if we can't borrow a ship to get us out of this god-forsaken port."
Luck was on their side. As Jack and Annamaria approached the quay, arm in arm as befitting a young cleric and his wife (Daniel following them at a respectable distance as befitted their servant) they were hailed by a ship preparing to depart.
"Halloo! Reverend Walters, your berth!"
Jack took the time to raise his eyes to the sky and bless whatever gods had provided the real Reverend Walters with his terrible day. Then they walked to the end of the gangplank, and the voice that had hailed them continued hesitantly:
"Reverend Walters? You are late! Your trunk is already aboard, but we had no word that your wife and servant were joining us as well."
"I'm sorry," Jack said with no evidence of regret. "I must have omitted to write and tell you. Please, forgive me. My wife, Philomena, and my servant...Matthews. There will be room enough, won't there?"
The reply was in the affirmative. After they were quickly ushered up the gangplank, the ropes were cast off, and the ship began to move off from the quay. Daniel was taken to the cabin set aside for the real Reverend Walters, as was his trunk for the servant to unpack. Annamaria said nothing, apart from letting out a long sigh and running her hand up a rope to feel the roughness beneath her palm. Meanwhile, Jack's peculiar land gait seemed to have all but disappeared. As he took in a deep breath of blessed sea air, he looked back towards the diminishing Port Royale and fancied he could see the real Reverend dancing like an angry maggot amid the crates on the dock, arms gesticulating wildly in the air. Jack blew him a kiss, and turned his back.
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It was still early in the morning. A watery sun had tried to peek out from between the grey clouds but it had given up the struggle. Water dripped from the eaves of the ramshackle dwellings and plinked into the puddles remaining in the streets. Jack had fixed Annamaria up with a sling for her arm; while his rough medicine had clicked her shoulder back into place he could see that it would be several days before she could use that arm for anything. She really had been quite badly beaten; he wondered if he had been too easy on Murdock, but without knowing anything of the prior history between these two, he had felt it hard to be judge, jury and executioner.
"What precisely - " he stopped, and spun to face the other way. "I'm sorry, luv, I didn't notice you were falling behind."
He walked back the few steps to where Annamaria was. Her face betrayed little of the strain it was hiding, but her laboured breathing suggested otherwise.
"I'm sorry, Jack," Annamaria apologised, "but I'm still a little winded."
"You know, we don't have to do this straightaway," Jack suggested. "Commandeer a boat, I mean. We could rest up for a day to give you some time to recover."
"No, I'll be better soon," she replied valiantly. "It's happened before, though never as bad - but I'll mend soon enough. It's just my arm, and it's dangerous for you to stay here."
It wasn't just her shoulder, Jack could see that, but he accepted her decision. He had noticed in their short acquaintance that it was hard to gainsay Annamaria when she had that particular mulish gleam in her eyes. He took her hands in his own.
"I want you to promise me something, luv."
Annamaria could see that he didn't believe her appraisal of her injuries. She found it hard to raise her eyes to meet Jack's, and instead stared at his brown hands. "What is it, Jack?"
"That whenever we get on board, or we have a spare moment and aren't being pursued or in fear of our lives, you..." He paused for emphasis, gesturing with their hands. "...You will tell me who that man is and why he felt the need to batter you into a heap, savvy?"
Annamaria met Jack's smiling eyes then. She said defiantly, "I get a question too."
Jack let go then, in order to wave his own hands around theatrically.
"Anything my wife wants to know," he said, grinning.
"Why are you here? The famous pirate, in Port Royal Gaol, without his ship?" Annamaria asked curiously. She had wondered, ever since they had met in the gaol, but hadn't liked to ask during the night - but since he was determined to dredge up secrets...
It was as though, for a moment, the light went out of Jack's eyes, and his face was shuttered. Only for a split second, and then he bowed.
"It is a story worthy of the telling," he said bitterly. "Needs time, though."
They were nearing the quay. The streets were getting lighter, airier, as though they were as eager to flow out into the wide-open emptiness of the ocean as the sailors who lived in them. It was more likely now that they would meet someone, no matter how inconspicuous they were, and Annamaria did her best to walk quickly. However, a person materialised, walking towards them with brisk steps. Both Jack and Annamaria bowed their heads in greeting and made as if to walk by, but the stranger accosted them.
"Captain Jack Sparrow?" the man asked, looking up and down the street before he spoke.
Jack considered his answer. On the one hand, the man - well, not much more than a boy, really - had remembered his title, as so many rarely did. On the other hand, he was sure that he hadn't many friends in Port Royale - or any friends that wouldn't greet him with a slap or a noose.
"I believe you must be mistaken, young man," Jack said in a suitably pompous voice. "I am the Reverend William Walters, and this is my wife Philomena."
Then he winced as he felt Annamaria's good elbow hit his ribs. "I beg your pardon, my dear Philly." He smiled at the man. "She hates being called Philomena."
The young man looked impatient. "No, you aren't. You are Captain Jack Sparrow, of the ship the Black Pearl."
Annamaria was used to sizing people up on the spot, and instinctively she knew that it would be no use trying to deceive this direct young man. She studied him. He was of average height, tanned a dark brown, with hair so fair that it was almost white - an uncommon enough colour, but it was neither this, nor the clothes he was wearing (old-fashioned, even with the snail's pace at which men's styles changed) that drew her attention. It was his eyes. Whereas Jack's were dark and expressive, yet controlled, this man's were almost feverish in their tawny excitement. It was hard to describe their expression; it was as though this young man had lived through horrors and shrugged them off, yet still some vestiges remained and looked out. He had not learned to veil his emotions like thieves had to, or pirates, Annamaria concluded, coming back to earth with a jolt.
"Pardon?" she murmured, conscious that both men were looking to her for an answer.
"If he is Captain Jack Sparrow, who are you?" the man repeated.
She said, watching Jack nod at her, "I am someone he met in gaol."
"But you must have a name?" he persisted.
"I am Annamaria," she said uncertainly. "I have no surname."
"I haven't one either," the man said. "People call me Daniel."
"What do you call yourself?" Annamaria asked shrewdly, but the man smiled enigmatically at her, refusing to reply.
"Well, now that we're all introduced," Jack bowed to the two others, "would you mind awfully if I could steer this conversation towards telling us what you want?"
"I want to come with you."
"Mind if I ask why?" Jack said.
"At the moment - yes, I do," Daniel said calmly. There was a long pause, as Jack looked him up and down. Annamaria was shocked when Jack seemed to accept this non-answer, and extended his arm.
As he shook hands with the stranger, Jack pulled him in closer and said seriously, "I've never been wrong in my judgement of people - well, once - and I expect to be told within the next few days why you will be wanting to sail with me, agreed?"
Daniel nodded. "Agreed."
"Right!" Jack said brightly. "Is that all you'll be bringing, yourself...? No rum? Shame. Now that we're all friends, let's stroll down to the dock and see if we can't borrow a ship to get us out of this god-forsaken port."
Luck was on their side. As Jack and Annamaria approached the quay, arm in arm as befitting a young cleric and his wife (Daniel following them at a respectable distance as befitted their servant) they were hailed by a ship preparing to depart.
"Halloo! Reverend Walters, your berth!"
Jack took the time to raise his eyes to the sky and bless whatever gods had provided the real Reverend Walters with his terrible day. Then they walked to the end of the gangplank, and the voice that had hailed them continued hesitantly:
"Reverend Walters? You are late! Your trunk is already aboard, but we had no word that your wife and servant were joining us as well."
"I'm sorry," Jack said with no evidence of regret. "I must have omitted to write and tell you. Please, forgive me. My wife, Philomena, and my servant...Matthews. There will be room enough, won't there?"
The reply was in the affirmative. After they were quickly ushered up the gangplank, the ropes were cast off, and the ship began to move off from the quay. Daniel was taken to the cabin set aside for the real Reverend Walters, as was his trunk for the servant to unpack. Annamaria said nothing, apart from letting out a long sigh and running her hand up a rope to feel the roughness beneath her palm. Meanwhile, Jack's peculiar land gait seemed to have all but disappeared. As he took in a deep breath of blessed sea air, he looked back towards the diminishing Port Royale and fancied he could see the real Reverend dancing like an angry maggot amid the crates on the dock, arms gesticulating wildly in the air. Jack blew him a kiss, and turned his back.