Hola, time again for Sarah's Masterpiece theater. We have for you now a reccomendation for an author who has far surpassed yours truly in the fine art of readable fan fic. This author, Erinya, has written a lovely compilation of---oh, screw it. Erinya's story, "Choices," is awesome. Some of the best fic I've ever read. If you're smart, you'll read it.
*Disclaimer* I do not own Will and/or Jack (Gee, THAT wasn't a spoiler!) I do, however, own Julie and the host of other characters that parade through this fic. The persons and situations in this fic are not based on real persons, places, or events. Oh, who are we kidding? They probably are. But I didn't mean it in a mean way.
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"Bugger!"
Will awoke to the sound of a crash, and sat straight up in bed. Or he tried to, anyway. The thick featherbed all but swallowed him, making normal motions impossible. Instead of the upright posture he hoped to acheive, he found his forehead being introduced to his knees, with his arms and legs extended, trying to get some kind of grasp on the bedsheets to no avail. Will gave up the hopeless battle and lay flat again. The thumping and swearing continued somewhere to his left. It was Julie, and she seemed more annoyed than alarmed. Will's trepidation was quickly replaced with curiosity, and he made a second attempt to fling himself off the bed that seemed determined to eat him alive. This one succeeded, and he finally came upright with an air of ruffled dignity.
It seemed that Julie had used one of the gunmetal-gray sheets the innkeeper had provided them with to section off a corner of the room. The raw curses and struggling noises floated from behind this makeshift partition.
"Julie? Are you all right?"
"I'm fine...Ow! Bollocks!"
"What are you doing, Julie?" Will wondered if she had been seized with some kind of fit. The sound of her reply was cut off by a loud thump. When the thump was followed by a whimper, Will decided it was time to intervene. He pushed back the curtain with one hand and peered into the small section of room. What he saw made him wonder whether he was drunk or dreaming.
Julie sat on the floor, nearly obscured in a pile of white cloth. Her face was flushed, and she carried a general air of frustration. Her lower lip was red and cracked, as if she had chewed it raw. Her stained canvas pants and tunic...were draped across the back of a dusty chair in the corner. Will suddenly realized what she was doing and looked away.
"Julie, what exactly are you thinking?" There was a sigh, and he heard shuffling as she stood.
"Captain Turner...this Tortuga place is a man's world. I saw enough last night to gather that. I've been to enough places like this on shore leave to know that while a woman is an object of interest, a boy scarcely exists. Unless he is fetching drinks or carrying gear, no one acknowledges a lug monkey."
"Ah. So you're seeking to be an...object of interest?"
"For the purpose of finding this Captain Sparrow and recovering our lost crew, yes. I'm decent, sir. I just can't seem to get my corset laced." At her exasperated tone, Will lifted his gaze slowly.
She was, indeed, covered from the neck down, although in more polite circles she was far from what was known as "decent." A thin, longsleeved cotton shift hung off her shoulders to about two inches above the ground. A petticoat was buttoned around her waist, but the corset was still undone and its ties hung loose, almost to the floor. As she reached around behind her to try and tighten the stays, the source of her muffled oaths became clear. Her muscles were obviously sore and stiff from the activities of the last few days, as evidenced by her wincing and lip-chewing. Lacing oneself into a corset, it seemed, took quite a lot of flexibility. It didn't take long before Will decided to have pity on her.
"Here...let me help you." He had watched Elizabeth being laced into her corsets more than once, and the process didn't look comfortable. Add to that a forty-foot drop into seawater and two days of rowing, both of which produced sore muscles, and he was surprised that she was able to move.
Julie only hesitated a moment before breathing out a sigh of relief and turning her back to him. She placed her hands on her waist and pushed the borders of the corset together.
"Thank you," she murmured. Between all her underclothes and the hopeless tangle of laces, her back looked like nothing more than an extensive wad of cotton and wool.
Will began to pull the stays tight. She didn't make a sound as the viselike materiel closed around her ribcage. Slowly, the fabric of her shift and petticoats was compressed and the gentle curve of her waist became evident. Will found himself wondering just how much of that was the corset's doing and how much was her own...anatomy.
"I'm afraid you're going to have to pull it tighter than this." Julie broke into his reverie. "The edges of the bodice need to meet." Will's eyes widened.
"If I pull it tigher than this, I'll hurt you."
He heard a chuckle come from Julie---she was actually laughing at him. Her head twisted slightly and she met his eyes.
"I've been wearing corsets since I was ten. Trust me when I say it won't hurt me." Will cringed inwardly. There was still almost an inch-wide gap that he apparently had to close before it would be acceptable to her. With great reluctance, he began to pull the stays again. He heard the air leave her lungs little by little, and couldn't escape the feeling that he was slowly strangling her.
At last, the edges of the fabric came together and Will was able to tie the strings. As he stepped back, he trailed his fingers down the stretch of lacing, amazed at the wire-tautness of the criss-crossed thongs. Julie again ran her fingers gently down the curve of her torso. This time, what she felt seemed to satisfy her, because she picked up the dress that had been draped in the same pile as her old clothes and slipped it over her head. After a moment of careful arranging and lacing, she turned around to look at him.
The finished effect was startling. She had apparently spent some time brushing her hair before he had awoken this morning. It was carefully arranged in a simple bun, but slender tendrils of hair had sprung loose and framed her face and temples. Her dress was a simple dark fawn color, and she wore no jewelry, but the gentle curve that began just below her arms and ran the length of her body was now disturbingly visible.
"Well, I suppose we should start looking. It's already almost three o'clock." Her voice was soft, and had regained that cultured tone that he remembered from the inn at Portsmouth. Her stance was straight, stiff, and bespoke discomfort. She couldn't seem to maintain eye contact with him. Her face had gone from flushed to suddenly pale. She shifted slightly under his scrutiny. "What is it?"
"You're frightened." His statement was simple and left no room for argument.
"It's nothing I haven't done before," she replied. "It's just hard to get used to again." There was a moment of uncomfortable silence. Will knew that what she said was true--a young lad wouldn't get very far on Tortuga. On the other hand, she knew all too well what the consequences of being a woman were. They were left without a choice.
Julie broke into the pause by brushing a hand over her skirts viciously. "Oh, bollocks! Let's just get on with it!"
She brushed past him and began stuffing a few small items into a pouch sewn into the waist of her dress. Will watched her for a moment, then moved to the door and began undoing the locks. He took care not to question why he was suddenly too warm, or why it took him three tries to slide back a simple deadbolt. Eventually, the door gave way and he held it open. Julie made another strangled noise of frustration and hurried out ahead of him.
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The sun was already creeping toward the west by the time they made it into the streets. The denizens of Tortuga were beginning to recover from last night's orgy enough to conduct business. The smell of tar, old hay, and rotting sugarcane from the rum distilleries mixed into a pungent cloud. It was the perfect background perfume for the island.
Here and there, small clusters of oddly-clad men bent over a barrel top, conducting whatever form of hodgepodge business they might have. Hawkers shouted their wares to passerbys that studiously ignored them. A whore or two stood on every street corner. There were drunkards everywhere. It was in this crush of people that they had to find one man.
"So what precisely should I be looking for?" Julie made her way forward beside Will, lifting her skirts free of the mud at their feet. Will scanned the streets ahead of them.
"Angry-looking women, for one. They seem to follow him in a cloud wherever he goes. He has dark, greasy hair kept in dreadlocks with trinkets woven into it, a short beard, and always walks like a drunk whether he is inebriated or not, although he usually is."
"Sounds about right. You said you've seen the "Pearl" before...why not just look for the ship in dock?"
"I intend to. However, you must remember that if someone unsavory is pursuing him, as there always is, he won't exactly be eager to have it known that his ship is here. He may even have gone as far as to have the ship anchored in another inlet."
"That's crazy."
"That, my friend, is Jack. Oh, and if you see him, be sure to address him as 'Captain Jack Sparrow!" Will rattled off the name with a mysterious air and straightened up to assume a noble posture.
"Just like that?"
"Just like that. He's very picky." Julie nodded seriously. Will continued. "Begin by asking anyone that looks unoccupied, from pigtenders all the way up to innkeepers. Quickly, we've already wasted too much time. And Julie?" He called to her as she began to walk away. She stopped and turned, and Will stepped closer to her again. "Do not leave my sight or hearing. If you feel threatened, call for me. You will not be a free whore today." Without waiting for her to reply, he turned and walked toward a small group of men passing the time of day on the side of the street.
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It took hours for Will to begin to realize that people on Tortuga were particularly tight-lipped about those of the pirate persuasion. Those that weren't reticent were drunk. Some of them knew Jack Sparrow, but most of them also claimed to know the pope. Julie had very little luck, though it was as she predicted the men were far more willing to talk to her.
Will soon found that the most reliable sources were the whores that beckoned to him every time he turned around. If he could work his way past their propositions, they were quite ready to talk about their former clients. None of them seemed to know where Jack was, however. The only thing they seemed to know is that he hadn't come to Tortuga for some time. Will couldn't decide whether that meant that he was not likely to return or if he was due for a visit.
The sun was beginning to go down and Will was almost ready to give up hope. A search of the nearby harbor was fruitless as he had feared, and the inhabitants were growing more drunk and the prostitutes more amorous as the streets darkened. He made up his mind to continue visiting merchents until the shops closed, and then retire for the night to decide what to do. With this in mind, he gave a quick glance in Julie's direction and ducked into a dimly-lit stall.
The crusty old woman inside the copper worker's booth lit up as he slipped in. Her wares were gathered around her like her family. Everything from pots and pans to small trinkets to beads gleamed in the dim light.
"Buenos Dias, Senor," she greeted him. Will made a cursory bow. She giggled in delight.
"Buenos Dias, Senora. Usted hablo Inglez?"
"Si...Un poquito...para un dinero!" She spoke a little English, she said...for a price. Then that toothless grin broke out and she giggled again, slapping the counter with a withered old hand. "Oy, I made a funny," she congratulated herself in the broadest cockney. Will chuckled and leaned against the counter.
"How's business today," he inquired politely.
"Eh, ye knaw 'ow it go, luv. It naver rains, then it bloody pours." Her voice reminded him of an old crow's call. Indeed, her twisted, withered hands looked like claws on a bird's foot. "Sometime, it be good, an' sometime bloody limey flock in 'ere an' don't buy a bleedin' thing." He nodded, fingering through her smaller wares.
"Tell me madame, how much for this?" He held up a tiny botswain's whistle, attached to a feather fob. She winked at him.
"Depends, lad. Wot wrappin' ye want it in, eh?"
"Now that you mention it...Would you happen to know a man by the name of Captain Jack Sparrow?"
The woman's hairless eyebrows rose up her forehead.
"Wot ye be wantin' wi' Cap'n Jack, laddie?"
"He's a friend of mine, and I need his help," he told her frankly. She raised a crooked finger at him.
"'Ey now, the kinder thing Cap'n Jack could be 'elpin' ye wi', me ol' bones can't take."
"All I need to know is if he's here on Tortuga. And I need to buy this whistle." Will dug out his small pouch of coins and placed a small silver one on the counter. The woman's eyes gleamed at the peice that was roughly ten times what the little whistle was worth. Her work-worn fingers reached out to take it. Will clapped his hand down on hers and looked into her eyes soulfully. She heaved a crackly sigh.
"Ah'm no' sayin' yea nor nay. Wot I am sayin', is iffn' ye wanted tae find 'im on land, ye'd look at the Tin Lion Inn."
"The Tin Lion Inn. Thank you very much, ma'am." With a beguiling grin, Will snatched up the whistle and turned to leave the stall.
Not bad, he thought. Not only had he managed to find his first piece of information all day, but he knew where to go for more information if need be. Now that the streets were darkening, they could simply stay in one spot and wait for Captain Jack.
A sharp cry snapped Will out of his one-track thought. It was the thin voice of a woman. Startled, Will scanned the streets for Julie. She was nowhere in sight.
"Damn...Julie!" He risked drawing attention to himself by calling her name. He strained to hear a reply over the cacophony of voices, and to see over the heads of the jostling crowd. As the seconds passed, he grew more desperate and began pushing people out of the way. As he broke through the mass of people to the other side of the street, his eyes were drawn to a small alleyway between buildings. As he strained his ears, he could swear he heard Julie's voice mingling with a throaty male growl. Will made a mental check of his boot knife and wished mightily for his sword as he ran toward the darkened passageway.
"Take your hands off me, you odious fly, or you'll not live to regret it!!" It was Julie, all right. Her voice was strident now that the garbled auditory miasma of the crowd was behind him. Will rounded the corner and skidded to a stop.
A thickly built, very sturdy-looking man had managed to corner Julie and now had hold of her. He had her wrists in a firm grasp and blocked every attempt she made to kick, knee, or bite.
"Easy down now, luv. I'll let ye go when I be done wi' ye." Will slipped behind him and crept closer. Julie still fought valiently and let out a screech or yelp any time she found the breath. Will reached down with infinite stealth and slipped the knife out of his boot. Thankfully, the man was no taller than he was, and it was a simple thing to grab the man's hair and press the blade into his neck.
"You'll let go of her now, I assure you," he hissed. There was a pause, during which the attacker remained absolutely still. Then Julie made a harsh sound and the man lurched as she kicked him away. Will used the momentum of her kick to turn the man around and shove him into the corner. The point of the knife was still pressed with dangerous firmness over his pulsating jugular.
"Are you all right, Julie?"
"I'm fine," she growled through clenched teeth.
"'Ey, mate. My apologies. Didn't knaw she were your tart." The man's voice had turned from throaty to hoarse. Will glanced at Julie. Her eyes brimmed with a sickeningly cold light. She stepped closer, and as Will shifted his position slightly, her hand closed around the hilt of the knife. The dimple beneath the blade deepened, and a drop of blood trickled down the man's neck.
"You coward." She growled.
"Miss Bloodworth, what would you like to do?" Will stood by eagerly, ready to assist. Julie stared at the man for a moment, like a snake watching a rat. He strained away from the knife, but the wall behind him effectively ensconced him in an immovable crib.
"Take his belt."
"That's all?" He made no effort to hide his disappointment.
"I would think that living in this squalid body would be punishment enough."
"Yes, but..."
"All right!" She gave a small sigh of mock exasperation. "Take his pants as well."
"You bloody whore..." The man managed to gather his dignity enough to speak. Julie raised an eyebrow.
"Will, what did he just call me?" Will began to unbuckle the man's belt.
"Not entirely certain, Miss Bloodworth, but I think he just called you a bloody whore."
"Oh yes, right. When you get his pants, rip them if you can."
"I think I can manage."
A few swift motions served to remove and shred the man's trousers. Julie curteously walked him to the end of the alley, and shoved him into the crowded mainstreet. Various hoots and whistles sounded.
Julie turned and wiped the blood smear off the boot knife, then handed it to Will. He slipped it back into his right boot, then straightened and examined her face.
"Are you sure you're all right? Turn into the light." That half-smile lit her features again, and she turned toward the west, into the nearly obsolete setting sun. The only mark on her face seemed to be a red mark on the curve of her jaw that she had apparently scraped in the struggle. Will gently touched the angular blemish to make sure it wasn't swelling.
"I'm all right. Really I am," she reasserted. "I wouldn't lie." Oh, the impish remarks he could make. Instead of yielding to Temptation's comely hand, Will simply breathed a sigh of relief and nodded.
"Well, let's go. I think I may have found what we need to know."
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Too long, Jack thought. Too bloody long since he had visited the endless rum rivers of the Turtle island. Too long since he had heard the trollops purring and waving, and one of his colleagues around every corner shouting and slapping him on the arm. Some meant it as a friendly greeting. Others meant it as a death threat. Neither one mattered much. He knew they were all glad to see him.
Gretchen had seemed glad enough to see him as well when she pressed her rather ample bosom against him and whispered into his ear that she would be looking for him later tonight. Yes, this was certainly shaping into a pulchritudinous break from the day-to-day. Hopefully, the crew that had decided to come ashore would feel the same way, and they would lose that stir-crazed look in their eyes.
His flask was nearly run dry, and he was ready to set about looking for fresh spirits. To this end he set out to find Great Scott, his newest old friend. On his last visit to Tortuga, they had shared a long string of...slightly enhanced acounts of their experiences over wheel of cheddar and a barrel of ale. It was the barrel of ale that had cemented their friendship, and Jack was looking to renew the bond.
Great Scott owned a ramshackle little repair shop tucked behind a few of the larger rope retailers. Although Jack could not quite figure out what it was that his friend repaired, he could really never see how it mattered.
The shop was dark, devoid of even the soft glow that the lamps in windows cast on the main streets. In the corner, a pitiful little salt lamp seemed only to cast deeper shadows on the piles of assorted, rusting objects.
"Keeping the place open late, Scott?" A stir came from within the shadows.
"Doin' some late readin', chum." Jack stifled laughter. It was hard to tell when the man was being serious.
"I see. Well, what say you take a break and buy your friend a mug of ale? We can talk about the old times we haven't had yet."
"Save yer hogwash, Jack. Got a visit from a lad today, said 'e were a friend of yours." Uh oh. Trouble. Jack tried to be casual.
"How nice. Did 'e say what 'e wanted?"
"Eh. Just said 'e wanted to talk to you. Real smarmy way o' talkin', pretty little English speak." Worse trouble. Could even be the British Navy. Great Scott leaned forward, showing his square face and sad spaniel eyes in the gloomy lamplight. "Sent 'im to ol' Rita, the coppersmith. She say she told 'im the Tin Lion. Ye kin git the jump on 'im if ye need tae." Jack leaned over the low counter, pressing his face in close to his informant's.
"Tell me, Great Scott, what did 'e look like?" Perhaps he could identify the person through sight.
"Oh...younger lad. Na' more than mid-twenty summers. Dark hair, pulled back. Nary an earring or necklace, no tattoos I could see." Now that was unusual. Tattoos were almost a given. Something about this description was ringing a bell. A thought, almost a voice from several years ago played through his head.
~The only way I should ever get a tattoo was if I were drunk and restrained.~
"Did 'e say anythin' else? Anythin' at all?" Scott's face scrunched in thought.
"Just that 'e 'ad some...er..what'd 'e call it...'ad some pull wi' ye, summat like that."
"Leverage?"
"Aye! Aye, that were it." Jack threw back his head and laughed.
"Know now why they call ye Great Scott, friend. Enjoy your book!" Jack patted the man on the head, then sprang upright. If he were lucky, he would get in a little hazing with his rum tonight.
*Disclaimer* I do not own Will and/or Jack (Gee, THAT wasn't a spoiler!) I do, however, own Julie and the host of other characters that parade through this fic. The persons and situations in this fic are not based on real persons, places, or events. Oh, who are we kidding? They probably are. But I didn't mean it in a mean way.
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"Bugger!"
Will awoke to the sound of a crash, and sat straight up in bed. Or he tried to, anyway. The thick featherbed all but swallowed him, making normal motions impossible. Instead of the upright posture he hoped to acheive, he found his forehead being introduced to his knees, with his arms and legs extended, trying to get some kind of grasp on the bedsheets to no avail. Will gave up the hopeless battle and lay flat again. The thumping and swearing continued somewhere to his left. It was Julie, and she seemed more annoyed than alarmed. Will's trepidation was quickly replaced with curiosity, and he made a second attempt to fling himself off the bed that seemed determined to eat him alive. This one succeeded, and he finally came upright with an air of ruffled dignity.
It seemed that Julie had used one of the gunmetal-gray sheets the innkeeper had provided them with to section off a corner of the room. The raw curses and struggling noises floated from behind this makeshift partition.
"Julie? Are you all right?"
"I'm fine...Ow! Bollocks!"
"What are you doing, Julie?" Will wondered if she had been seized with some kind of fit. The sound of her reply was cut off by a loud thump. When the thump was followed by a whimper, Will decided it was time to intervene. He pushed back the curtain with one hand and peered into the small section of room. What he saw made him wonder whether he was drunk or dreaming.
Julie sat on the floor, nearly obscured in a pile of white cloth. Her face was flushed, and she carried a general air of frustration. Her lower lip was red and cracked, as if she had chewed it raw. Her stained canvas pants and tunic...were draped across the back of a dusty chair in the corner. Will suddenly realized what she was doing and looked away.
"Julie, what exactly are you thinking?" There was a sigh, and he heard shuffling as she stood.
"Captain Turner...this Tortuga place is a man's world. I saw enough last night to gather that. I've been to enough places like this on shore leave to know that while a woman is an object of interest, a boy scarcely exists. Unless he is fetching drinks or carrying gear, no one acknowledges a lug monkey."
"Ah. So you're seeking to be an...object of interest?"
"For the purpose of finding this Captain Sparrow and recovering our lost crew, yes. I'm decent, sir. I just can't seem to get my corset laced." At her exasperated tone, Will lifted his gaze slowly.
She was, indeed, covered from the neck down, although in more polite circles she was far from what was known as "decent." A thin, longsleeved cotton shift hung off her shoulders to about two inches above the ground. A petticoat was buttoned around her waist, but the corset was still undone and its ties hung loose, almost to the floor. As she reached around behind her to try and tighten the stays, the source of her muffled oaths became clear. Her muscles were obviously sore and stiff from the activities of the last few days, as evidenced by her wincing and lip-chewing. Lacing oneself into a corset, it seemed, took quite a lot of flexibility. It didn't take long before Will decided to have pity on her.
"Here...let me help you." He had watched Elizabeth being laced into her corsets more than once, and the process didn't look comfortable. Add to that a forty-foot drop into seawater and two days of rowing, both of which produced sore muscles, and he was surprised that she was able to move.
Julie only hesitated a moment before breathing out a sigh of relief and turning her back to him. She placed her hands on her waist and pushed the borders of the corset together.
"Thank you," she murmured. Between all her underclothes and the hopeless tangle of laces, her back looked like nothing more than an extensive wad of cotton and wool.
Will began to pull the stays tight. She didn't make a sound as the viselike materiel closed around her ribcage. Slowly, the fabric of her shift and petticoats was compressed and the gentle curve of her waist became evident. Will found himself wondering just how much of that was the corset's doing and how much was her own...anatomy.
"I'm afraid you're going to have to pull it tighter than this." Julie broke into his reverie. "The edges of the bodice need to meet." Will's eyes widened.
"If I pull it tigher than this, I'll hurt you."
He heard a chuckle come from Julie---she was actually laughing at him. Her head twisted slightly and she met his eyes.
"I've been wearing corsets since I was ten. Trust me when I say it won't hurt me." Will cringed inwardly. There was still almost an inch-wide gap that he apparently had to close before it would be acceptable to her. With great reluctance, he began to pull the stays again. He heard the air leave her lungs little by little, and couldn't escape the feeling that he was slowly strangling her.
At last, the edges of the fabric came together and Will was able to tie the strings. As he stepped back, he trailed his fingers down the stretch of lacing, amazed at the wire-tautness of the criss-crossed thongs. Julie again ran her fingers gently down the curve of her torso. This time, what she felt seemed to satisfy her, because she picked up the dress that had been draped in the same pile as her old clothes and slipped it over her head. After a moment of careful arranging and lacing, she turned around to look at him.
The finished effect was startling. She had apparently spent some time brushing her hair before he had awoken this morning. It was carefully arranged in a simple bun, but slender tendrils of hair had sprung loose and framed her face and temples. Her dress was a simple dark fawn color, and she wore no jewelry, but the gentle curve that began just below her arms and ran the length of her body was now disturbingly visible.
"Well, I suppose we should start looking. It's already almost three o'clock." Her voice was soft, and had regained that cultured tone that he remembered from the inn at Portsmouth. Her stance was straight, stiff, and bespoke discomfort. She couldn't seem to maintain eye contact with him. Her face had gone from flushed to suddenly pale. She shifted slightly under his scrutiny. "What is it?"
"You're frightened." His statement was simple and left no room for argument.
"It's nothing I haven't done before," she replied. "It's just hard to get used to again." There was a moment of uncomfortable silence. Will knew that what she said was true--a young lad wouldn't get very far on Tortuga. On the other hand, she knew all too well what the consequences of being a woman were. They were left without a choice.
Julie broke into the pause by brushing a hand over her skirts viciously. "Oh, bollocks! Let's just get on with it!"
She brushed past him and began stuffing a few small items into a pouch sewn into the waist of her dress. Will watched her for a moment, then moved to the door and began undoing the locks. He took care not to question why he was suddenly too warm, or why it took him three tries to slide back a simple deadbolt. Eventually, the door gave way and he held it open. Julie made another strangled noise of frustration and hurried out ahead of him.
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The sun was already creeping toward the west by the time they made it into the streets. The denizens of Tortuga were beginning to recover from last night's orgy enough to conduct business. The smell of tar, old hay, and rotting sugarcane from the rum distilleries mixed into a pungent cloud. It was the perfect background perfume for the island.
Here and there, small clusters of oddly-clad men bent over a barrel top, conducting whatever form of hodgepodge business they might have. Hawkers shouted their wares to passerbys that studiously ignored them. A whore or two stood on every street corner. There were drunkards everywhere. It was in this crush of people that they had to find one man.
"So what precisely should I be looking for?" Julie made her way forward beside Will, lifting her skirts free of the mud at their feet. Will scanned the streets ahead of them.
"Angry-looking women, for one. They seem to follow him in a cloud wherever he goes. He has dark, greasy hair kept in dreadlocks with trinkets woven into it, a short beard, and always walks like a drunk whether he is inebriated or not, although he usually is."
"Sounds about right. You said you've seen the "Pearl" before...why not just look for the ship in dock?"
"I intend to. However, you must remember that if someone unsavory is pursuing him, as there always is, he won't exactly be eager to have it known that his ship is here. He may even have gone as far as to have the ship anchored in another inlet."
"That's crazy."
"That, my friend, is Jack. Oh, and if you see him, be sure to address him as 'Captain Jack Sparrow!" Will rattled off the name with a mysterious air and straightened up to assume a noble posture.
"Just like that?"
"Just like that. He's very picky." Julie nodded seriously. Will continued. "Begin by asking anyone that looks unoccupied, from pigtenders all the way up to innkeepers. Quickly, we've already wasted too much time. And Julie?" He called to her as she began to walk away. She stopped and turned, and Will stepped closer to her again. "Do not leave my sight or hearing. If you feel threatened, call for me. You will not be a free whore today." Without waiting for her to reply, he turned and walked toward a small group of men passing the time of day on the side of the street.
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It took hours for Will to begin to realize that people on Tortuga were particularly tight-lipped about those of the pirate persuasion. Those that weren't reticent were drunk. Some of them knew Jack Sparrow, but most of them also claimed to know the pope. Julie had very little luck, though it was as she predicted the men were far more willing to talk to her.
Will soon found that the most reliable sources were the whores that beckoned to him every time he turned around. If he could work his way past their propositions, they were quite ready to talk about their former clients. None of them seemed to know where Jack was, however. The only thing they seemed to know is that he hadn't come to Tortuga for some time. Will couldn't decide whether that meant that he was not likely to return or if he was due for a visit.
The sun was beginning to go down and Will was almost ready to give up hope. A search of the nearby harbor was fruitless as he had feared, and the inhabitants were growing more drunk and the prostitutes more amorous as the streets darkened. He made up his mind to continue visiting merchents until the shops closed, and then retire for the night to decide what to do. With this in mind, he gave a quick glance in Julie's direction and ducked into a dimly-lit stall.
The crusty old woman inside the copper worker's booth lit up as he slipped in. Her wares were gathered around her like her family. Everything from pots and pans to small trinkets to beads gleamed in the dim light.
"Buenos Dias, Senor," she greeted him. Will made a cursory bow. She giggled in delight.
"Buenos Dias, Senora. Usted hablo Inglez?"
"Si...Un poquito...para un dinero!" She spoke a little English, she said...for a price. Then that toothless grin broke out and she giggled again, slapping the counter with a withered old hand. "Oy, I made a funny," she congratulated herself in the broadest cockney. Will chuckled and leaned against the counter.
"How's business today," he inquired politely.
"Eh, ye knaw 'ow it go, luv. It naver rains, then it bloody pours." Her voice reminded him of an old crow's call. Indeed, her twisted, withered hands looked like claws on a bird's foot. "Sometime, it be good, an' sometime bloody limey flock in 'ere an' don't buy a bleedin' thing." He nodded, fingering through her smaller wares.
"Tell me madame, how much for this?" He held up a tiny botswain's whistle, attached to a feather fob. She winked at him.
"Depends, lad. Wot wrappin' ye want it in, eh?"
"Now that you mention it...Would you happen to know a man by the name of Captain Jack Sparrow?"
The woman's hairless eyebrows rose up her forehead.
"Wot ye be wantin' wi' Cap'n Jack, laddie?"
"He's a friend of mine, and I need his help," he told her frankly. She raised a crooked finger at him.
"'Ey now, the kinder thing Cap'n Jack could be 'elpin' ye wi', me ol' bones can't take."
"All I need to know is if he's here on Tortuga. And I need to buy this whistle." Will dug out his small pouch of coins and placed a small silver one on the counter. The woman's eyes gleamed at the peice that was roughly ten times what the little whistle was worth. Her work-worn fingers reached out to take it. Will clapped his hand down on hers and looked into her eyes soulfully. She heaved a crackly sigh.
"Ah'm no' sayin' yea nor nay. Wot I am sayin', is iffn' ye wanted tae find 'im on land, ye'd look at the Tin Lion Inn."
"The Tin Lion Inn. Thank you very much, ma'am." With a beguiling grin, Will snatched up the whistle and turned to leave the stall.
Not bad, he thought. Not only had he managed to find his first piece of information all day, but he knew where to go for more information if need be. Now that the streets were darkening, they could simply stay in one spot and wait for Captain Jack.
A sharp cry snapped Will out of his one-track thought. It was the thin voice of a woman. Startled, Will scanned the streets for Julie. She was nowhere in sight.
"Damn...Julie!" He risked drawing attention to himself by calling her name. He strained to hear a reply over the cacophony of voices, and to see over the heads of the jostling crowd. As the seconds passed, he grew more desperate and began pushing people out of the way. As he broke through the mass of people to the other side of the street, his eyes were drawn to a small alleyway between buildings. As he strained his ears, he could swear he heard Julie's voice mingling with a throaty male growl. Will made a mental check of his boot knife and wished mightily for his sword as he ran toward the darkened passageway.
"Take your hands off me, you odious fly, or you'll not live to regret it!!" It was Julie, all right. Her voice was strident now that the garbled auditory miasma of the crowd was behind him. Will rounded the corner and skidded to a stop.
A thickly built, very sturdy-looking man had managed to corner Julie and now had hold of her. He had her wrists in a firm grasp and blocked every attempt she made to kick, knee, or bite.
"Easy down now, luv. I'll let ye go when I be done wi' ye." Will slipped behind him and crept closer. Julie still fought valiently and let out a screech or yelp any time she found the breath. Will reached down with infinite stealth and slipped the knife out of his boot. Thankfully, the man was no taller than he was, and it was a simple thing to grab the man's hair and press the blade into his neck.
"You'll let go of her now, I assure you," he hissed. There was a pause, during which the attacker remained absolutely still. Then Julie made a harsh sound and the man lurched as she kicked him away. Will used the momentum of her kick to turn the man around and shove him into the corner. The point of the knife was still pressed with dangerous firmness over his pulsating jugular.
"Are you all right, Julie?"
"I'm fine," she growled through clenched teeth.
"'Ey, mate. My apologies. Didn't knaw she were your tart." The man's voice had turned from throaty to hoarse. Will glanced at Julie. Her eyes brimmed with a sickeningly cold light. She stepped closer, and as Will shifted his position slightly, her hand closed around the hilt of the knife. The dimple beneath the blade deepened, and a drop of blood trickled down the man's neck.
"You coward." She growled.
"Miss Bloodworth, what would you like to do?" Will stood by eagerly, ready to assist. Julie stared at the man for a moment, like a snake watching a rat. He strained away from the knife, but the wall behind him effectively ensconced him in an immovable crib.
"Take his belt."
"That's all?" He made no effort to hide his disappointment.
"I would think that living in this squalid body would be punishment enough."
"Yes, but..."
"All right!" She gave a small sigh of mock exasperation. "Take his pants as well."
"You bloody whore..." The man managed to gather his dignity enough to speak. Julie raised an eyebrow.
"Will, what did he just call me?" Will began to unbuckle the man's belt.
"Not entirely certain, Miss Bloodworth, but I think he just called you a bloody whore."
"Oh yes, right. When you get his pants, rip them if you can."
"I think I can manage."
A few swift motions served to remove and shred the man's trousers. Julie curteously walked him to the end of the alley, and shoved him into the crowded mainstreet. Various hoots and whistles sounded.
Julie turned and wiped the blood smear off the boot knife, then handed it to Will. He slipped it back into his right boot, then straightened and examined her face.
"Are you sure you're all right? Turn into the light." That half-smile lit her features again, and she turned toward the west, into the nearly obsolete setting sun. The only mark on her face seemed to be a red mark on the curve of her jaw that she had apparently scraped in the struggle. Will gently touched the angular blemish to make sure it wasn't swelling.
"I'm all right. Really I am," she reasserted. "I wouldn't lie." Oh, the impish remarks he could make. Instead of yielding to Temptation's comely hand, Will simply breathed a sigh of relief and nodded.
"Well, let's go. I think I may have found what we need to know."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Too long, Jack thought. Too bloody long since he had visited the endless rum rivers of the Turtle island. Too long since he had heard the trollops purring and waving, and one of his colleagues around every corner shouting and slapping him on the arm. Some meant it as a friendly greeting. Others meant it as a death threat. Neither one mattered much. He knew they were all glad to see him.
Gretchen had seemed glad enough to see him as well when she pressed her rather ample bosom against him and whispered into his ear that she would be looking for him later tonight. Yes, this was certainly shaping into a pulchritudinous break from the day-to-day. Hopefully, the crew that had decided to come ashore would feel the same way, and they would lose that stir-crazed look in their eyes.
His flask was nearly run dry, and he was ready to set about looking for fresh spirits. To this end he set out to find Great Scott, his newest old friend. On his last visit to Tortuga, they had shared a long string of...slightly enhanced acounts of their experiences over wheel of cheddar and a barrel of ale. It was the barrel of ale that had cemented their friendship, and Jack was looking to renew the bond.
Great Scott owned a ramshackle little repair shop tucked behind a few of the larger rope retailers. Although Jack could not quite figure out what it was that his friend repaired, he could really never see how it mattered.
The shop was dark, devoid of even the soft glow that the lamps in windows cast on the main streets. In the corner, a pitiful little salt lamp seemed only to cast deeper shadows on the piles of assorted, rusting objects.
"Keeping the place open late, Scott?" A stir came from within the shadows.
"Doin' some late readin', chum." Jack stifled laughter. It was hard to tell when the man was being serious.
"I see. Well, what say you take a break and buy your friend a mug of ale? We can talk about the old times we haven't had yet."
"Save yer hogwash, Jack. Got a visit from a lad today, said 'e were a friend of yours." Uh oh. Trouble. Jack tried to be casual.
"How nice. Did 'e say what 'e wanted?"
"Eh. Just said 'e wanted to talk to you. Real smarmy way o' talkin', pretty little English speak." Worse trouble. Could even be the British Navy. Great Scott leaned forward, showing his square face and sad spaniel eyes in the gloomy lamplight. "Sent 'im to ol' Rita, the coppersmith. She say she told 'im the Tin Lion. Ye kin git the jump on 'im if ye need tae." Jack leaned over the low counter, pressing his face in close to his informant's.
"Tell me, Great Scott, what did 'e look like?" Perhaps he could identify the person through sight.
"Oh...younger lad. Na' more than mid-twenty summers. Dark hair, pulled back. Nary an earring or necklace, no tattoos I could see." Now that was unusual. Tattoos were almost a given. Something about this description was ringing a bell. A thought, almost a voice from several years ago played through his head.
~The only way I should ever get a tattoo was if I were drunk and restrained.~
"Did 'e say anythin' else? Anythin' at all?" Scott's face scrunched in thought.
"Just that 'e 'ad some...er..what'd 'e call it...'ad some pull wi' ye, summat like that."
"Leverage?"
"Aye! Aye, that were it." Jack threw back his head and laughed.
"Know now why they call ye Great Scott, friend. Enjoy your book!" Jack patted the man on the head, then sprang upright. If he were lucky, he would get in a little hazing with his rum tonight.
