Title: Deepest Circle of Hell (I
hate this title. If you can think of a
better one, PLEASE let me know!)
Author: Moi, The KoW
Pairings: None
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Let's just put it this way: If Jack belonged to me, would I
really be wasting my time writing this crap, or shagging the daylights out
of him *cough* mean, sailing off on a pirate ship? Shakespeare,
Dante, and all other authors/works mentioned belong to themselves and whoever
wrote them. Because, yet again, if *I* had written the Inferno, would I really
be doing this crap?
Summary: Jack learns how to read, inspired by the line "Worry about
your own fortunes, gentlemen. The deepest circle of hell is reserved for
betrayers and mutineers."
Dedication: Dante, who wrote really cool books. And is turning over in
his grave right now.
Feedback: Please, if you can think of any way
to improve this fic (and I'm sure you'll think of plenty!) let me know :)
One
of Captain Jack Sparrow's more eccentric jobs after losing the Black Pearl was the position of apprentice to an honest
but slightly senile book keeper. Underneath the man's guidance, Jack learned to
make sense of scribbles that turned themselves into letters, letters to words,
words to sentences, sentences to paragraphs, paragraphs to stories… Oh, and all
sorts of stories there were! All in large, leather bound books with musty
pages.
There were stories about things Jack had never even seen before: Long necked
giraffes, and snowstorms and maidens of old. There was Chaucer and Shakespeare
and even Homer. There were stories about far away places that Jack itched to
visit and made him long for his Pearl. There were stories of romance and
adventure, tragedy and comedy. There was even a book on pirates that featured
his very own self.
His favorite, however, was the story about Hell.
Jack wasn't a god-fearing man, nor a religious one, but the fire and the demons
fascinated him. He liked to pretend that Barbossa was Bocca, and he was the
hero, kicking his mutinous first mate right in the head. He would read the
passage over and over, savoring the moment with relish, a sardonic smile on his
face. But then, through the foggy haze of rum and scribbles, he would remember
exactly why he hated his former first mate, and restlessness would set in.
One morning, the book keeper woke to immediately find his apprentice and his
stash of gold had disappeared.
It took him some weeks, however, to discover the missing pages in his beloved
copy of Dante's Inferno, carefully torn out by the grubby hands of a pirate.