Mark The Earth With Ruin

Chapter 6

Jack contemplated the underdeck of the Seraph, trying to ignore the pain in his wrists where the shackles chafed. It was the blow to his pride that really hurt. "Gibbs?"

The older pirate coughed and answered. "Aye, Cap'n?"

"What the hell just happened?"

Gibbs essayed a low sigh. "Which thing, exactly?"

Jack looked at him, just able to make him out in the dim light of the hold. "Any of it. It doesn't make sense to me, Gibbs."

"Nor t' me, Cap'n, 'n' that's God's truth. We was careful enough fer any campaign. I dunno how it went so wrong."

It was Jack's turn to sigh. "I s'pose Ana's dead."

"Aye." Gibbs nodded. "Looked t' be."

"And the Pearl sunk."

"Barrin' a miracle." The mate nodded again morosely.

Jack slammed his fist against the wooden hull in frustration, setting his chains to rattling fiercely. "They jammed a ruddy cannon right against my Pearl's hull and blew her open while I was prancing about the deck looking to be a hero," he said bitterly. "It's no more 'n I deserve. Me, a bloody hero." He huffed out a disconsolate breath. "Been consorting with the gentry for too long, Gibbs. Young Will's begun to rub off on me."

Gibbs patted him on the shoulder. "Ye'll land on yer feet, Jack. Ye allus do."

The pirate captain shrugged his shoulders and shook his head. "It's got to end sometime, some way, Gibbs. Maybe – "

Gibbs cut him off. "Maybe nothin', Jack. Ain't nothin' can keep Captain Jack Sparrow down, ye 'member that." He grinned. "Savvy?"

Jack grinned back, feeling immeasurably better for the older man's faith in him, though the situation hadn't changed. "Aye, Gibbs. Savvy."

A slight commotion among the slaves crowding the hold caught their attention; the huge black man they'd pulled from the sea was making his way over slowly.

"Forgive the intrusion, gentlemen," he began as soon as he got close enough to whisper. "I apologize for interrupting your discourse, but I believe we have many things to discuss."

Jack blinked. Gibbs gaped. "How's yer what?" the latter said, his eyes round.

After a moment, Jack chuckled. "Ana said you spoke no English."

"Sounds t' me like he don't," Gibbs grumbled.

"Now, Gibbs," said Jack, trying not to smile. "What's on your mind, er…?"

"Zaid," the big slave supplied gravely. "And you are Captain Jack Sparrow. I am most pleased to make your acquaintance."

Jack took the hand Zaid offered him, watching in fascination as his own hand was completely engulfed by the other's fist. "How d'you come to know of me, Zaid?"

Zaid shrugged. "I am afraid I have been indulging in the most unmanly avocation of eavesdropping on our host," he said. "You are the prime topic of conversation: where you might be, what steps they should take that would be most likely to attract your attention."

"Really?" Jack stroked his beard. "That's interesting."

"I rather thought it might be." Zaid gave a nod. "Ultimately they determined on the course of action they eventually took, resulting in your capture."

"Aye." Jack frowned again, giving the huge slave a long, assessing look. "What were you doing, anyway, coming back over to the Seraph after I went to all the trouble to pull you out of the drink?"

There was a pause. An embarrassed one, Jack rather thought. "Attempting to warn you. Vastly ineffectively, as it turned out." Another pause. "I feel quite foolish about my failure."

"Now, now," said Gibbs companionably, having evidently decided to like Zaid. "'Tweren't yer fault. Yer swing coincided with that cutthroat Nicodemus scuttlin' the Pearl. Anyone'd be thrown by a thing like that."

Zaid sighed. " 'Tis kind of you to say so."

"So," Gibbs went on, watching the large black man roughly the way Jack imagined a cobra would stare at its charmer, "how does a – a – a fine man as ye are come t' find yerself among such… rough company as this?"

Zaid's expression grew faraway. "I was adopted as an infant by a lonely missionary's widow living near our village," he said, his deep voice warm. "She was a loving mother, if an exacting schoolmistress. I had the very best of everything available to her, and the greater part of that was her exceptional mind." He shrugged. "She died some years ago. I have been something of an itinerant schoolmaster myself, trying to open the ways of my people to the European world. Unfortunately," his large hands clenched, "the majority of Europeans think of us as no better than animals."

Jack tucked his shackled hands behind his head and leaned against the hull wall. "Aye, well, the majority of Europeans are jackasses in most ways, Zaid. Don't be taking it personally."

That got a rumbling chuckle out of the big African. "I do try not to, Captain Sparrow."

"Then they shouldn't take it personally when you stick a boot up their collective arse." He closed his eyes and yawned, lacing his fingers across his chest. "And call me Jack."

Gibbs scratched at his chest, then again at his leg. "Vermin," he muttered.

Jack raised his dark brows without opening his eyes. "That's a hell of a way to talk to your captain."

His mate snorted. "Ye're confusin' me with Anamaria." Jack looked at him then; they both grew sober at the mention of her name.

"He'd bloody well better not be," came a strident whisper from the direction of the stairs.

Jack sat straight up, dark eyes wide. "ANA!?"

"For God's sake, Jack, could you shout it any louder?" A panting, soaking wet, slightly bloodied Anamaria made her way carefully through the throngs of abused humanity to her captain.

Jack struggled to his feet, ignoring the shackles. He threw his bound hands around her, tugging her close. "Thank God, lass. I thought you dead."

She managed a thin smile, though her eyes were worried as she searched his face. "Just a graze. I thought the same about you, for a minute there."

Gibbs was patting her back with more enthusiasm than finesse. "How on earth did ye get aboard, lass?"

"Cannon port," Ana said shortly. "Same one they used to blow a hole through the Pearl." She looked back at Jack, her expression softer now. "She's not sunk yet, Jack. I saw her limping away. If Swale can make it to a beach, careen her somewhere…"

"A mighty slim chance of that," said Jack with a careless shrug that probably didn't fool anybody.

Ana disentangled herself from Jack's chains with some difficulty. "What's this all about, then? What's Nicodemus after?"

Gibbs answered. "Jack, accordin' to our friend here," he indicated Zaid with a jerk of his head.

Ana turned slowly and venomously looked the hapless Zaid up and down. "Oh, it's you, is it? My hero."

The large man hunched his shoulders as though trying to make himself smaller. "I really do apologize most profusely for not speaking sooner; it just seemed that immediate action was prudent, and—"

"And," Ana shot back at him caustically, "now I've been shot, tossed in the ocean, and am stuck having to rescue everybody from their own folly. Again." She dealt out glares to all and sundry, the impact of which was somewhat lessened by violent shivering and a jaw-cracking yawn. "Fine. Someone wake me when we're about to make berth. Think you men can handle that much?"

Still mumbling grumpily, she shoved Jack back down against the hull and proceeded to curl up on him as though he was a large and slightly uncomfortable pillow, giving his chest a couple of punches for good measure. With a diffident smile Jack placed his arms gently around her and lay one lean cheek against the top of her head.

Zaid looked at Gibbs, clearly nonplussed. "Quite a spitfire, eh?" he whispered.

Gibbs grinned. "That's nothin'. Ye ought t' see her when she gets mad."

~*~

Will blinked in surprise as the door to the Governor's mansion swung open. That wasn't Edmund's butler.

"May I help you, sir?" The middle-aged black man wore Edmund's livery, but it hung off him. The man was far too thin, with a hunched bearing bespeaking years of fear and abuse. Will frowned. Edmund didn't keep slaves, everyone knew that.

"I am Will Turner," he said firmly. "I'd like to see the Governor, please."

"Have you an appointment?"

What the hell? "No, I do not. I've never needed one." Will raised his chin, annoyed. "Will you please let the Governor know I'm here?"

The slave bowed, his very posture sad. "The Governor is too ill to see anyone, sir." He began to close the door, but Will stopped it with his palm, his dark eyes furious.

"Listen here," he said angrily, "I don't know who you are, but I do know the Governor would not want me turned away. Where are Edmund's regular staff?"

The slave flinched. "Gone, sir."

Will shoved the door open and stalked in past the man. "That doesn't make any sense. Gone where?"

"I'm afraid we had to send them away," came a voice from above, a low, feminine voice with just a hint of Scots. Will looked up to see Annie Palmer descending the staircase gracefully. "This disease has been so taxing on my poor husband. I could not risk a relapse."

Will stared. "Did you say – your husband?"

She colored delicately, her eyelids fluttering. "Of course we had to keep the ceremony most quiet, due to darling Edmund's ill health." She reached the landing and approached Will, looking up into his face with a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "I assured him you would understand."

Will struggled to keep his expression composed. "Of course. My felicitations to you both." He took her hand and kissed it, wondering at the small gasp she gave and the speed at which she jerked her hand free. He walked easily toward the staircase. "I'd like to congratulate Ned too, if I may…?"

And somehow she was at the bottom of the stairs before him. "He is resting now, I'm afraid. He'll be desolated to have missed you."

Really. Will folded his arms and looked her full in the face. "In that case, I can wait. I'm sure it's not good to upset him so early in his recovery."

That shook her. Annie's eyes narrowed. "Of – of course. Please, come into the drawing room; we can have some lemonade while you wait. It may be a while," she added, watching his reaction.

Will smiled. "I can wait as long as needed." His smile grew wider as instead of returning his smile, Annie visibly gritted her teeth.

"Very well." She preceded him into the drawing room and took a seat on a settee, patting the cushion next to her. Will took a chair. Annie pursed her lips. "May I ask you something, Will? I may call you Will, mayn't I? I know how close you and dear Edmund are." He inclined his head and waited. She smiled demurely. "Like brothers, are you not?"

"Yes."

Annie nodded. "May I ask you as a sister, then – what do you want?"

He raised his brows in surprise. Nothing like getting right to the heart of the matter. "I've been worried about Ned, and there's been no word for a few days, so I wanted to see how he is."

She laughed fetchingly. At least Will was sure she intended to be fetching. "Ah, no, you misunderstand me. Of course you are welcome here as you ever have been." Annie patted his arm, being careful, Will noticed, to touch only his clothes. "No, what I mean is – what do you want from life?"

He couldn't imagine what she thought she was getting at. "I don't know what you mean."

"Now, Will, my dear, as Edmund is older than you, you must allow me to guide you as an older sister would do." She gave another musical laugh. "Can you not tell me of your ambitions, what you strive for, what you long for?"

What a bizarre woman. Still and all, she was Ned's wife (good luck to him); so Will thought about the question. Finally, he shrugged. "Nothing. I have all I need."

Oddly, that answer seemed to please her. "Surely there must be something you want."

Will shook his head. "Were you to ask are there things I wish had happened differently, of course my answer would be yes. But as for what I have? I want for nothing. I have my daughter, I have Ned and John, I have my work and am respected for it. Truly, there is nothing I want."

Annie studied him, a speculative look on her face. "What of your wife? If you could see her, beyond the veil? Perhaps be touched by her?"

He smiled gently, remembering… and changed the subject. "Did you say there was lemonade?"

She gave a decisive nod and got to her feet, her skirts rustling. "Edmund!" she called.

Will stood hastily, confused. "Mrs. P – Norrington?"

Annie looked at him haughtily. "You wanted to see him; so you shall." The baize doors to the drawing room swung open, and there stood Edmund, slightly disheveled, his expression emotionless. "We leave for Rose Hall immediately," she snapped to the Governor. She jerked her head at Will. "Bring him."

And Edmund pulled a pistol from behind his back, aiming impassively for Will's head.