Chapter 5 - Never say Never
We pillage, we plunder, we rifle and loot.
Drink up me 'earties, Yo Ho!
We kidnap and ravage and don't give a hoot.
Drink up me 'earties, Yo Ho!
Jack was in strange mood, mumbling to himself and stalking around the cabin. It seemed to involve something to with Aztecs and Englishmen, but between the low voice and the accent Giles couldn't pick up much more than that. He put up with nearly two hours of it before he decided that outside was safer for the time being, going out on the forecastle deck for a little fresh air.
Most of the men aboard ignored him, a few making signs to ward off the evil eye before turning away. Isabella must have been chatty lately. The redhead waved from where he was coiling rope by the main mast, and Giles hurried on. He would admit to being slightly curious as to the man's name, but was afraid to ask for fear of someone taking it as an expression of interest.
The weather had been evening out as they sailed south and east, becoming closer to what he'd grown used to in California. For once Giles was neither chilled by the wind or fried by the sun, even with his shirtsleeves rolled up to show the whitest arms of anyone present. He still had peeling skin on the back of his neck and on his nose from the last time he'd stood on the deck and been burned to a fine crisp, and he scratched irritably at his neck as he watched the flock of gulls that had been following the ship since morning. Jack had said that he expected to sight land before the afternoon was up, and it looked like the man might actually be right about something.
Giles had been out for nearly an hour when Jack finally emerged from the cabin to take up his usual spot behind the wheel. He couldn't just stand like any normal person, but struck a heroic pose with his feet braced and shoulders back, staring at the horizon with one hand on the worn brass-strapped wheel knobs as if he actually needed to steer. With the way the wind was going the man could have stayed abed until after four and the ship would still be on course, but even Giles had to admit that he looked very...Captain-y at the moment. There. Buffy and Xander would both be proud. He'd made up his very own adjective.
He quickly found himself with some company as the crew made a general migration away from the still-muttering Captain. Those who could fled down below, the gymnastically gifted went up, and the rest came to stand by Giles. He didn't mind Mr. Gibbs, and he was starting to get on good terms with the parrot, but he could have done without the dwarf. He wasn't sure if he should stand with his back or his front to the bowsprit, but decided that he could best defend himself from grabby little hands from the front.
This is good sailing we're having, Mr. Gibbs said, as way of making conversation. The dwarf nodded in agreement.
Not like what we had afore, that's certain.
Was the going that rough before I arrived? The storm Giles had arrived in hadn't been pleasant, but he hadn't heard anything to indicate that the ship had been in trouble before that.
Both men spoke at once, and there was conviction in their voices.
Dead men tell no tales, said the parrot, it's human perch shifting slightly with an unsettled expression.
Well, I'm glad I missed that then. Tell me, what do you think the weather will be like for the rest of the trip?
I've never been to Malta myself, but I've heard it's as nice a trip as it can be, considering who yer neighbors are in that part of the world.
Malta? Who had ever mentioned Malta? Are we stopping over there for supplies? He was confused, and it came through in his tone.
The dwarf looked at him as though he'd been in his cups already. That's where we're headed plain. Cap'n said we'll get ourselves a letter from the Knights, get paid to chase down some of the corsairs as though we're reg'lars drawing pay.
Cap'n keeping secrets! the parrot screeched.
I would have thought he'd have told you, seeing as how you two spend so much time together. Mr. Gibbs was obviously curious as to why this wasn't so.
He only mentioned Cyprus to me. Giles might as well have said that they dressed up in ladies' clothes and sung broadway show tunes into the wee hours of the night. The dwarfs eyes widened, Mr. Gibbs sputtered, and the parrot starting going on about dead men and tales. Parrots were quite loud when they wanted to be, especially when you were right next to one.
The parrot had gotten the attention of several more of the crew, and Giles eyed the growing crowd with no small amount of apprehension. What had he said wrong? Surely they knew that they were sailing for Cyprus. Jack would have said something if he was supposed to lie, wouldn't he?
What is it he said we'd be doing, once we're near Cyprus. The man who spoke was tall, his bare chest covered in tattoos that were reminiscent of the ta moko Giles had seen in books about the Maori. His voice was low and rumbling, with an edge to it.
Giles briefly considered claiming no knowledge and retreating, but even more of the crew was gathering around him, and the expressions on their faces didn't bode well for him if he gave the wrong answer.
He wants to go to Kato Paphos, to see the ruins of Saranta Kolones.
That was obviously the wrong answer.
What's there for us? Mr. Gibbs demanded, stepping closer to Giles. Angry murmurs were starting to run through the crew.
Well, um, treasure. Gold and jewels and the sort. He backed up a step and slipped sideways behind the parrot, but the crowd just rearranged themselves to put him in the center again. He could see Isabella starting to approach.
Why hasn't anyone picked up this treasure before, what with people crawling all over the place? The dwarf sounded suspicious.
Is it cursed? someone demanded. Someone else muttered , and the angry sounds coming from the men grew.
No, not cursed. Just.. Now how to wiggle free of this one? It was hard to avoid giving the wrong answer when you didn't know what it was you were avoiding.
It is cursed! He's jus fraid to say it! Isabella yelled from the back.
The crew had heard all they needed to hear, and Giles was no longer the center of attention. He escaped from the crowd with no little relief, and hurried along the main deck to where Jack was standing, still looking heroic and completely oblivious to reality. The shouts from the crew were growing louder.
I think we may be in trouble, he told Jack. The pirate merely raised on eyebrow, and continued to stare through Giles. The crew seemed to be under the impression that we were sailing to Malta.
That got his attention. Seemed to be? As in they no longer are?
Giles gestured to the angry mob. Yes, quite. They were not pleased to learn that we are sailing for Cyprus.
You told them we were sailing for Cyprus? He looked sick.
That is what I just said. They looked like they might revolt.
Jack said absent-mindedly, his full attention now on the crew. Nautical term.
Do you think they will? The redhead had his marlinspike raised over his head, and was leading the rest in a steady chant. Other men were gathering what weapons they could. This was not going to end well.
he shook his head, face sliding back into the old annoying mask of perfect confidence, they'd never do that to Jack Sparrow, not after what we went through before. This is just a spot of trouble, we'll get through it. Just have to talk to them, is all.
+
Cursing at it isn't going to make the ship come back. Have some more rum, relax. Giles decided to go through with that suggestion himself. Stuff wasn't so bad after the first half bottle. Got even better once you started in on the second. Nice of Mr. Gibbs to leave them a case of the stuff. Going to have to remember to send him a Christmas card. Man was a right gentleman, he was. Much unlike the git he was presently keeping company with.
Jack had lost his hat at some point during the process of being tossed overboard, and his braids flew in every direction as he shook his fist. Shook his whole arm, really. Man put his entire body into everything he did. She's sailing away from me, AGAIN! Arrrgh! He hopped up and down a few times, then went back to pacing and kicking at rocks. This wasn't having any particular effect on the rocks, but it had resulted in a noticeable hitch in the pirate's stride.
Suit yourself. Giles shrugged, and took another long pull on the rum bottle. Corvo had fresh water, rabbits and whatnot running around for dinner, and it wasn't a ship. As far as he was concerned they had just moved up a step in life.
This is your fault, Jack growled, coming to a stop just in front of the rock Giles was sitting on. He pointed at him, finger nearly touching Giles's nose. The pirate was snarling, nostrils flared like a winded horse. If you had kept your bloody trap shut we'd be busy fixing the Pearl up now and I would STILL HAVE MY SHIP.
Giles swatted his hand away, unconcerned. You're the one who wanted to crash the bloody ship in the first place, and you're the one who decided to make the soddin' cover story the biggest secret of all. All this, he swung the bottle high and wide, encompassing the tiny island in his gesture, is entirely your fault. If you'd thought to tell me that I was supposed to be telling the crew we was on for Malta, then I wouldn't have told them we were headed for Cyprus, now would I?
Jack stared at him for a few seconds, mouth working as he tried to think up a solid comeback. He finally settled for grabbing Giles's arm and wrenching him up to his feet. What the hell do you know? You're drunk.
And you aren't? Giles countered. Jack Sparrow accusing someone of being too pissed was like having Ethan lecture him on the evils of drug use.
Not as drunk as you, Jack muttered. We'll not even be able to catch supper until your breath clears up a bit.
He began rummaging around in his jacket, which was still sopping wet. Giles had gone quietly when Isabella and the dwarf had ordered him onto shore, managing to keep himself dry and warm in the process. It had taken four men to pry Jack's hands off of the wheel and toss him over the side, with Jack kicking and screaming every step of the way. He finally found what he was after in an inside back pocket, pulling his compass out with a smirk of satisfaction and waving it in Giles's general direction, as if it was supposed to prove something.
And those are the current leadership qualifications then? Least drunk leads? He might not be operating at full capacity, but he still knew that a compass was supposed to point north.
No luv, man with the gun and the cutlass leads. He patted the pistol and the short sword that were tucked through his sash, looking entirely too smug. If Giles had been twenty-years younger and sober, he'd have set the man on his ass for that look. He settled for a strongly disapproving look, and a clenched fist.
Jack checked the compass, then started walking towards the south (which was east on the compass), dragging Giles along with him. There's a nice cove on the far side of his place, might be another ship there. Let's go. His tone made it clear that the last bit wasn't optional. Giles went, since he was looking a little psychotic around the edges. Or rather, more. More psychotic.
What are we going to do if we do find a ship? Look at it and say it's pretty? He fell in behind the pirate. It was hard for him to match the man's long stride, and every muscle from heel to hip strongly protested the swift pace. Weeks of malnutrition hadn't helped anything, although if he survived he'd have no trouble getting back into those slacks he'd had put away since his early thirties. Of course, even if he did fit back into them, having the children see him in leather might cause permanent psychological damage. They rarely handled it well when they caught glimpses of his early years. Poor Willow still shuddered whenever she saw he had purchased candy for a fundraiser, and even the most paranoid would have trouble pinning anything on the local Brownie troop.
Jack seemed to take pity on Giles after the first mile, or maybe the constant mumbling was becoming annoying. In any case he did an abrupt about-face, throwing an arm over Giles's shoulder and drawing him close. I'm not happy about walking away from rum either, mate, he said gently, patting Giles on the shoulder as if consoling a small child. Giles stuck his elbow into the man's ribs, to no effect. But right now, we need to be clever and get ourselves free of this place. You do want off this island, don't you?
Does getting off the island mean getting on another ship? He'd gleaned enough from Jack and the crew to know that the Black Pearl was a spacious and well-equipped ship, by the day's standards. Odds were that any other ship he boarded would mean even worse living accommodations.
Aye, that it does.
Then, no. It's rather picturesque. I like it here. And there's rum, back that way. Giles crossed his arms firmly, and nodded. Going to die anyway, if I get on another boat with you. Might as well go out happy.
Oh, for-! He shoved Giles away and threw up his hands, pleading with some unknown divinity for patience. Giles sought to keep a straight face. Wouldn't do to laugh at the man with the gun and the cutlass after all. Even if the thought of Jack Sparrow praying was better then that Polaroid he had of Ethan passed out drunk wearing a corset and pink bunny slippers. You're too drunk to know what you want. Keep walking, he snapped.
Why won't you just sod off and leave me be, he snapped right back. The whole plan was ruined. They had no chance of ever making it to Cyprus, not that they had any to begin with. Was the man's hair braided too tightly? Couldn't he see that?
Well luv, that really requires two people to work properly in the first place. Giles stepped back slightly. People with teeth in that condition shouldn't show them when they leered. And in any case, I'll not be sailing on to Cyprus alone.
You'll not be sailing to Cyprus at all! Are you insane? It was such a simple concept to grasp, really. No crew plus no ship equals no sailing.
Well, yes, but I don't see what that has to do with anything. Quit dragging your feet, we don't have much daylight left. He set off at an even faster pace then before, and Giles found himself having to jog every third or fourth step to keep even with the man. The terrain was mostly level, only the occasional small hill to distort the flat line of the horizon. Still, it was hard going with no road. He had to watch to step around rocks and bushes, judge how far his foot would sink (sand that held his weight and sand that didn't being remarkably similar in appearance) and deal with all the slight unevenness that the land held, since only land altered by men was plumb level.
A rock managed to worm its way into the split seam between his left shoe's sole and leather upper. He hopped on one foot for a few feet, hoping to dislodge it, then finally stopped and pulled the shoe off. It was a pointy rock, and there was already a bruise forming where it had been sticking him right at the base of his big toe. As if I didn't already have enough injured body parts. He called for Jack to hold up, since the pirate was quickly disappearing from view, but the man just sped up his walk. Sodding bastard. No reason for his attitude, none at all. How was Giles supposed to know that using the words magic' and treasure' together in the same sentence would spook the crew so badly?
He had to run to catch back up to the pirate, pushing his glasses back in place after every few strides. The frames had been bent all to hell and back, and it was a minor miracle he'd made it this far without loosing them. He prayed his luck held up in that regard.
Corvo wasn't much larger than the city of Sunnydale, and by the time the last light slipped over the horizon the two had covered nearly the entire perimeter. Giles was tired, thirsty, and had a headache that would lay Moloch low. They were coming up on a small harbor formed by a crack in the cliffs, with some familiar looking scenery in the distance. He was fairly sure that if he squinted, he could just make out the rock he'd been sitting on that morning, with the crate of rum still next to it. Nice to know he'd gone on that hike for absolutely no bloody reason whatsoever.
While the harbor was obvious from this side, he could see that the lay of the land would have hid it from anyone on the other. There were small wind distorted trees growing up to about twenty feet from the edge, then bare rock. Jack slowed as he neared the edge, crouching lower before dropping to his belly, crawling up to the edge of the cliff. Giles followed suit, feeling fairly stupid as he did so. Bits of dirt and rock found their way into his shirt almost immediately, and he came to a stop with a bush touching him somewhere women only got to put their hands on after the third date or sixth beer. There just wasn't any possible way to crawl and retain any dignity whatsoever.
Now will you look at her, love? Have you ever seen a prettier sight then that lass down there? Jack sounded as if he was lusting after the damned thing, and Giles was almost surprised to see that both of the man's hands were still visable.
Giles looked down. Between the moonlight and the raging bonfire taking up a goodly portion of the beach, it wasn't hard to see. Even with dinged up glasses. There was a boat in the small harbour, bobbing gently in the incoming tide. A rather short and squat boat, with dirty sails.
He threw his head back and clasped one hand over his heart. Oh, how sings my soul! No woman will ever live up to the glorious splendor that besieges my eyes on this sweet summer night. But alas-! She is taken! I must gather up the splintered shards of my heart and limp back into the darkness to cry out my sorrow to the heavens above. The little boat had a guard around it that was wholly out of proportion to it's ugliness. Rough looking men, all armed to the teeth and then some. Possibly the only thing worse then the thought of sailing into open waters on that glorified rubber ducky was the prospect of having to fight for the privilege. Can we go back to the rum now?
Jack scowled, and tapped Giles alongside the temple with the butt of his pistol. Any more then a tap and Giles would have probably still been face down in the dirt come morning, as it was he merely swayed a bit before catching himself on his elbows. He should have seen that coming. Two weeks without suffering head trauma? He had been grossly overdue.
What the bloody hell was that for?
We need to be serious now, mate. I'll not go riding the black maria on account of you being stupid.
Whatever it was you just said, I assure you that your worries are fruitless. He'd gladly swap the pirate's life for a half-eaten bran muffin, but as long as his own well-being was tied to the bastard he wasn't going to do anything to get him killed. Now, you are planning what, exactly?
We'll just tiptoe our way in there, he used two fingers to demonstrate the path they would take down the cliffs, drawing a small map in the dirt that covered the rock. There was a staircase carved into the rock to their left, but it had been done long ago, the wind having taken it's toll on what were once sharp edges and flat surfaces. Giles wouldn't have been thrilled about going down it even with full climbing gear. Once we're down, we commandeer the ship. Easy as breathing.
Is there any other way down? Besides falling.
Jack thought on it for a moment. Well it's risky, you see, but we could go around the base of the cliff edge and on to the beach that ways. Just have to watch the tide and make it quick.
Giles quickly weighed drowning versus falling in his mind. How to we make it down to the base?
Walk back a short bit, and there's a path.
And the men guarding the ship? Someone down below had brought out some rum, and the men were downing it at an incredible rate. That would reassure him, but for the time he'd spent on the Pearl. Pirates could function remarkably well with a blood alcohol level that should have been fatal five times over.
Jack shrugged, as if the concern was of no consequence. Slip right on by them, maybe knock a few on the head on our way through.
Shouldn't we put a little more thought into this? Dead men don't make very good sailors, and I fear we're rapidly approaching that condition.
They're better then you think, better indeed. Sides, odds aren't as bad as what you're thinking.
Now granted, Giles hadn't received the highest marks in his statistics class back at Oxford, but he was fairly sure that two versus twelve wasn't what was generally accepted to be good odds. If he hadn't been tired, sore, unarmed and half-starved, and if Jack had been a certain slim blonde girl from California, he might have been willing to give it a go. He glanced over at Jack again. I'm going to die.
Something of his thoughts must have come through to his face, because the pirate gave what was supposed to be a reassuring grin, and clasped a hand around Giles's upper arm. Kohl was running down the sides of Jack's face courtesy of his impromptu bath, and the water had made rivets in the dirt of his cheeks, transforming him into a vision even Dante would have flinched back from.
Relax mate, you're with Cap-
Don't say, he hissed, making a sharp sideways motion with his hand to cut Jack off. Just don't say it. Luck hates us as it is, no need to go poking at the woman with a stick. He sighed, running a hand through his hair. It didn't go through as smoothly as it should. If he survived this, he was going to put some deli goods in a little cooler, take it with him into the shower, and camp in there for about a week. With the water running full blast. And massive quantities of antibacterial soap at hand. Let's just get this over with, shall we?