Any Port In a Storm
Chapter V : A Dog in Sheep's Clothing
[colloquial title : the rarest kind of good ]
***
Frozen moments; suspended like dead men from nooses in my memory. The fibers of every nightmare that I have ever had would not be enough to weave Horrors akin to these. Horror it was, indeed; sheer horror, driving rivets through my eyes so that I could not look away. Every moment remains, to this day, etched in vivid detail on the inside of my skull; ghastly images burn against my inner eyes when I reach the threshold of the dreamscape -- flickering torchlight and ugly shadows cast across sneering, drunken faces ... his fingers, curled into the dirt of the cell like claws ... the gasping, the cursing, and the blood. Oh, the blood.
I had never held any delusions about Jack; I'd known all along what he was, and what he was capable. I was well aware that I had fallen in love with a thief and a murderer. Captain Jack Sparrow hadn't earned his reputation simply from looting and pillaging; when the Black Pearl took on a port, it's crewmen razed it to the ground. They left no stone unturned, no house un-looted, and no pretty girl a virgin. Jack either did things, or he didn't; if he was going to raid a city, he did it in true pirate fashion -- faster, greedier, and more ruthless than the last time.
But I'd pondered the details of it, never truly considered how many lives had been shattered at his hands. Jack was the rarest kind of Good that a man could be; for although he could nothing short of cruel, he was also nothing short of loyal -- once, of course, he felt that you'd earned it. He would go to Hell and back and Hell again for those distinctly rare few that earned his respect, his affections, and his trust. He'd done it for me, and for Elizabeth, and for this I loved him. I had fallen in love with him. He was a liar, a thief, a cutthroat and a killer -- but he was Mine, and he was beautiful, and he had gone to the ends of the earth for me and then come back again a second time. I would not have left him, then, even if I could have.
The four fingered soldier called Spencer was the first one through the door of his cell -- no sooner had he made it over the threshold, than he dealt Jack a swift and shocking blow to the stomach with the sole of his boot. Jack, who had still been feigning sleep, sensed the blow coming one fraction of a second too late; before he had time to utter a word, he was curled up and gasping.
"You remember me, *Captain* Sparrow?" This time, the boot connected with his jaw. The rest of the leering, drunken crew had assembled itself behind Spencer - one of them slammed shut the cell door with a resounding clang that sent shivers down my spine.
Jack, who was still incapable of making any noise save for an unnatural wheeze, did not respond. Spencer leaned down and grabbed a handful of his hair -- yanked his head up and brandished the other, crippled hand before his face. Jack gritted his teeth, exhaled in a fine spray of blood, and with a mammoth gasp managed to hiss "Why 'ello, Davey. How's the wife?"
"You son of a BITCH!" roared Spencer, slamming him to the floor again. Jack had recovered his wits quite quickly; he rolled away from him and sprang to his feet -- put a safe distance between himself and the posse, which placed him with his back nearly touching the bars that separated our cells. Only from this close could I tell that he was shaking a little. Nevertheless, I could nearly hear that cattish and infuriating smile light his features.
"Speaking of that ... however did Young Jack turn out? I do hope he has my nose, at least."
His backbone slammed against my fingers a split second later, trapping them painfully between his weight and the bars. Spencer had absolutely lost control of himself, now; hurtling across the cell and screaming curses in a blind rage, he swung at Jack for all he was worth.
All the kings horses and all the kings men, however, did not possess the combined combat experience that Captain Jack Sparrow possessed by himself. Ducking the first swing, he came up with both wrists upturned and braced together, cracking Spencer dead on in the mouth with the iron manacles and shoving him backward with a knee to the groin.
I thought I had seen Rage in Jack, when he spit the blood into Norrington's face. I had been wrong. This was something ten times as heated, as sinister, as deadly.
"Don't push your luck with me, Davey. You lived because she begged for your life, and nothing more. I always knew you were rotten luck. Look at you now, in your dashing red coat. You look right the part, don't you? And they don't know, I'm sure. None of them know, or else you'd be on the gallows aside me in three days time, eh?"
Silence. For a moment, no one moved, including me. And then Spencer said, in a decidedly less confident voice.
"I've changed my ways."
"Have you? See, that's the difference between you and I. I'm a dog and I know it. You're a dog in sheeps' clothing. You pretended to love her, and you brought her those rings. You remember the rings, don't you Davey? And I bet you remember where they came from, too, don't you? You care to tell your mates here about that?"
"I don't--"
"You see here, gents... Mr. Spencer here and I are old, old friends. He sailed under me on the Pearl for ... what was it, Davey, four years? Something close to that. Honestly, I thought you lot could smell a pirate by now."
He turned his full attention, now, to Spencer; who had drawn back into the safety of the ranks and looked a bit more than nervous. Jack advanced on him, bearing down slowly as he spoke.
"And a bloody awful pirate, you were. You pissed on the Code, mate; and you pissed in my eye when you took her as your wife."
"You didn't love her, either."
"Didn't I?"
Impossible, to see clearly what happened next. Pandemonium exploded like the crack of a cannon. The only two things that were clear were these; one, Jack had dealt the initial blow and, two, Spencer lost at least three teeth in the first . 03 seconds of the ensuing violence. I know this because two of them landed quite close to me, and another pinged off the bars some distance to my left.
When it was over, the majority of the guards were bleeding, as well, and they had Jack - bleeding by far the hardest, save perhaps for Spencer - firmly in their grip. Two held him by his upper arms, two more my the elbows, and one clamped a hand 'round the back of his neck from behind. It took Spencer a few moments to recover, and Jack regarded him with a steady, iron glare in the meantime.
"Love, Sparrow? You don't know a thing about love. You've never had a child. I could forgive you the finger. It was your bloody ring anyway. Damn the ring, and damn Grace. Damn all of you. But Jane ... you'll burn for what you did to her. I'll see to it that you burn."
"Your daughter was a whore, Davey. She begged for it."
The crack of Spencer's knuckles against Jack's face echoed through the dungeons, and faded into momentary silence. Now the soldier was very, very close to Jack's face; teeth bared, he hissed.
"You want a whore? I'll make you a whore."
"Strip him down, gents."
***
- to be continued -
Chapter V : A Dog in Sheep's Clothing
[colloquial title : the rarest kind of good ]
***
Frozen moments; suspended like dead men from nooses in my memory. The fibers of every nightmare that I have ever had would not be enough to weave Horrors akin to these. Horror it was, indeed; sheer horror, driving rivets through my eyes so that I could not look away. Every moment remains, to this day, etched in vivid detail on the inside of my skull; ghastly images burn against my inner eyes when I reach the threshold of the dreamscape -- flickering torchlight and ugly shadows cast across sneering, drunken faces ... his fingers, curled into the dirt of the cell like claws ... the gasping, the cursing, and the blood. Oh, the blood.
I had never held any delusions about Jack; I'd known all along what he was, and what he was capable. I was well aware that I had fallen in love with a thief and a murderer. Captain Jack Sparrow hadn't earned his reputation simply from looting and pillaging; when the Black Pearl took on a port, it's crewmen razed it to the ground. They left no stone unturned, no house un-looted, and no pretty girl a virgin. Jack either did things, or he didn't; if he was going to raid a city, he did it in true pirate fashion -- faster, greedier, and more ruthless than the last time.
But I'd pondered the details of it, never truly considered how many lives had been shattered at his hands. Jack was the rarest kind of Good that a man could be; for although he could nothing short of cruel, he was also nothing short of loyal -- once, of course, he felt that you'd earned it. He would go to Hell and back and Hell again for those distinctly rare few that earned his respect, his affections, and his trust. He'd done it for me, and for Elizabeth, and for this I loved him. I had fallen in love with him. He was a liar, a thief, a cutthroat and a killer -- but he was Mine, and he was beautiful, and he had gone to the ends of the earth for me and then come back again a second time. I would not have left him, then, even if I could have.
The four fingered soldier called Spencer was the first one through the door of his cell -- no sooner had he made it over the threshold, than he dealt Jack a swift and shocking blow to the stomach with the sole of his boot. Jack, who had still been feigning sleep, sensed the blow coming one fraction of a second too late; before he had time to utter a word, he was curled up and gasping.
"You remember me, *Captain* Sparrow?" This time, the boot connected with his jaw. The rest of the leering, drunken crew had assembled itself behind Spencer - one of them slammed shut the cell door with a resounding clang that sent shivers down my spine.
Jack, who was still incapable of making any noise save for an unnatural wheeze, did not respond. Spencer leaned down and grabbed a handful of his hair -- yanked his head up and brandished the other, crippled hand before his face. Jack gritted his teeth, exhaled in a fine spray of blood, and with a mammoth gasp managed to hiss "Why 'ello, Davey. How's the wife?"
"You son of a BITCH!" roared Spencer, slamming him to the floor again. Jack had recovered his wits quite quickly; he rolled away from him and sprang to his feet -- put a safe distance between himself and the posse, which placed him with his back nearly touching the bars that separated our cells. Only from this close could I tell that he was shaking a little. Nevertheless, I could nearly hear that cattish and infuriating smile light his features.
"Speaking of that ... however did Young Jack turn out? I do hope he has my nose, at least."
His backbone slammed against my fingers a split second later, trapping them painfully between his weight and the bars. Spencer had absolutely lost control of himself, now; hurtling across the cell and screaming curses in a blind rage, he swung at Jack for all he was worth.
All the kings horses and all the kings men, however, did not possess the combined combat experience that Captain Jack Sparrow possessed by himself. Ducking the first swing, he came up with both wrists upturned and braced together, cracking Spencer dead on in the mouth with the iron manacles and shoving him backward with a knee to the groin.
I thought I had seen Rage in Jack, when he spit the blood into Norrington's face. I had been wrong. This was something ten times as heated, as sinister, as deadly.
"Don't push your luck with me, Davey. You lived because she begged for your life, and nothing more. I always knew you were rotten luck. Look at you now, in your dashing red coat. You look right the part, don't you? And they don't know, I'm sure. None of them know, or else you'd be on the gallows aside me in three days time, eh?"
Silence. For a moment, no one moved, including me. And then Spencer said, in a decidedly less confident voice.
"I've changed my ways."
"Have you? See, that's the difference between you and I. I'm a dog and I know it. You're a dog in sheeps' clothing. You pretended to love her, and you brought her those rings. You remember the rings, don't you Davey? And I bet you remember where they came from, too, don't you? You care to tell your mates here about that?"
"I don't--"
"You see here, gents... Mr. Spencer here and I are old, old friends. He sailed under me on the Pearl for ... what was it, Davey, four years? Something close to that. Honestly, I thought you lot could smell a pirate by now."
He turned his full attention, now, to Spencer; who had drawn back into the safety of the ranks and looked a bit more than nervous. Jack advanced on him, bearing down slowly as he spoke.
"And a bloody awful pirate, you were. You pissed on the Code, mate; and you pissed in my eye when you took her as your wife."
"You didn't love her, either."
"Didn't I?"
Impossible, to see clearly what happened next. Pandemonium exploded like the crack of a cannon. The only two things that were clear were these; one, Jack had dealt the initial blow and, two, Spencer lost at least three teeth in the first . 03 seconds of the ensuing violence. I know this because two of them landed quite close to me, and another pinged off the bars some distance to my left.
When it was over, the majority of the guards were bleeding, as well, and they had Jack - bleeding by far the hardest, save perhaps for Spencer - firmly in their grip. Two held him by his upper arms, two more my the elbows, and one clamped a hand 'round the back of his neck from behind. It took Spencer a few moments to recover, and Jack regarded him with a steady, iron glare in the meantime.
"Love, Sparrow? You don't know a thing about love. You've never had a child. I could forgive you the finger. It was your bloody ring anyway. Damn the ring, and damn Grace. Damn all of you. But Jane ... you'll burn for what you did to her. I'll see to it that you burn."
"Your daughter was a whore, Davey. She begged for it."
The crack of Spencer's knuckles against Jack's face echoed through the dungeons, and faded into momentary silence. Now the soldier was very, very close to Jack's face; teeth bared, he hissed.
"You want a whore? I'll make you a whore."
"Strip him down, gents."
***
- to be continued -