Disclaimer: Yo ho, yo ho, a pirate's life for me. Not much else for me, though. Don't own but a few of the characters... don't make any profit...
Chapter 6: A Compass and a Captain's Duty
"It's pointing at you, luv."
Gwen stared at the misled compass for a moment, dumbfounded. She slowly raised her eyes to meet the captain's gaze. Whatever expression she was expecting to find on his face, she was startled by the look she met in his eyes, darkened with kohl and a cool, calculating stare. They were narrowed at her, and she could almost hear his mind turning as he sorted through things. Certainly he had more knowledge than she did about his mistaken device, and he was clearly puzzling through what he knew of it. She shook her head slightly, not willing to allow herself to get lost in his pirates' legends and wild stories.
"This is ridiculous," she said finally. She reached and snatched the compass from his hand to examine it more closely, though she was still unable to break her gaze from his wild eyes. However, when those eyes flicked down to the compass, which she now held loosely in her left hand, she couldn't resist glancing down at it herself.
"That's interesting," Captain Sparrow commented, his voice sounding low and distant.
The compass needle, which had been pointing undeniably straight at her middle, instantly spun as soon as she held it in her hand. It was now steadfastly pointing out a new direction. The captain turned to stare out over the starboard side of the ship, in the direction it indicated, half-hoping and almost expecting to find the answer to the mystery lurking on the horizon in the form of a ship or some magic-shrouded island. But there was nothing to be seen except sun and sea, the same basic elements he might normally expect of a Caribbean day.
"What's this all about?" Gwen asked accusingly.
He carefully lifted the compass from her palm, ignoring her question.
But the fickle needle immediately spun around to beg attention back to Gwen. When Jack dropped it back into her hand, the compass placidly shifted its focus once again to its new direction, starboard and toward the aft of the ship. Turning once again to peer at the horizon, Jack used the freshly-risen sun- east- to estimate that the compass' new favorite direction was about east-northeast. But he just as quickly turned back to Gwen.
"Looks like there's a thing or two ye forgot to mention, luv," he said, gently taking his compass back and fixing her with a suspicious glare. There was clearly something unnatural about her, or at least something abnormal, for his unnatural compass to be acting so strangely. Or, stranger than usual, that is. He closed the compass with a snap and tucked it safely away.
Gwen furrowed her brow, pointing an accusing finger at him. What on earth was he up to? She had already decided he was daft; all he was proving was that he was totally mad.
"It's your stupid compass! How am I responsible if it doesn't work correctly?"
"You-" he began, pointing his own finger between her eyes, but his words were interrupted.
"Captain." Gibbs approached the two, one hand suspiciously near his ever-present flask, oblivious to their little mystery with the compass.
Jack straightened and whirled to eye his first mate, half expecting that it was time for the daily reminders of all the things he had done recently to tempt fate. Not the least of which included having a woman on board, especially when they'd only just settled Anamaria with her own crew and a commandeered merchant vessel. And he'd cracked the edge of a mirror nearly a week ago. And Gibbs was still on about the fact that he'd had them leave port that one time, several months ago, close to midnight on a Thursday. Gibbs figured it was close enough to count as Friday, which was a terrible bad-luck day to begin a voyage.
But, surprisingly, his first mate had nothing to say of luck this morning. Or not yet, at least.
"Captain, we's just lookin' fer ye below deck. Smithy and ol' Cannon Tom are having a bit of a... disagreement, as usual, ye know, but a bit more rowdy than usual. Men are getting tired of 'em, need you to set 'em square."
"Ah," Jack said in enlightenment. "O' course." The compass momentarily forgotten in light of this, he eagerly moved off after Gibbs to perform one of the lesser-used powers of his title. Keeping the peace on his ship. Trouble should be started only with everyone else in the world, not with shipmates.
Not that Jack really held such very lofty ideals. The two men in question could quarrel all they wanted. He still actually found their constant antagonism rather amusing, and his men generally got along well enough besides. But this was a golden opportunity of a different sort he simply couldn't pass up, and he tramped along in sudden high spirits, leaving Gwen standing behind, confused and at a loss.
"What are ye doing?" Jack yelled in alarm. The galley was a bedlam. Men who had obviously just been eating were now on their feet, yelling about their overturned platters and spilt cups. One or two had taken to using parts of their disrupted meals as projectiles, throwing bits of bread and fruit at whomever they deemed culprits in the matter. One of the younger fellows, a more recent addition to the crew, as of six or seven months ago, had apparently been mopping at the crumb-covered floor, for it was now slick with a great deal of water spilled from his sudsy mopping basin. And the young man was dodging about with his dripping mop, doing a poor job of trying to remedy the situation, hollering unnecessary warnings about the obviously slippery floor. Card-players from one table were scrabbling and sliding about on the wet floor, collecting lost cards and gold and silver pieces that were continuously being knocked from the table. Others were still trying to defend the card-table from the commotion, no doubt since they had good hands in the game, and were defending it by making a fair racket of yelling themselves.
And in the midst of it all were two men, one of whom was now attempting to use the emptied mop-basin as a weapon against the other. The basin was a heavy wooden affair, one of the odd assortment of various basins and buckets the pirates procured from kind, if reluctant, contributing merchants. It was far too bulky to be of any real benefit as a weapon, though, and the man was simply lunging about swinging it haphazardly and slipping on the wet floor. The other man was doing his best to avoid the first man, scampering about and dodging blows that fell impartially on tables, chairs, benches, and, occasionally, unfortunate innocent men. Well, men innocent in this particular instance, anyway.
"What are ye doing to me ship?" Jack bellowed when his first cry went largely unnoticed. At the same time, he dove after Cannon Tom, catching the burly man about the neck to halt him and then wrenching the hefty basin away from him. Meanwhile, some of the card-players had been trying to catch Smithy, and as the man evaded them, he ducked near enough to Jack for him to snag the fleeing sailor by the shirt.
Both men now under some amount of control and finally listening, Jack shoved them none too gently toward a bench. "Sit," he growled.
He stalked toward one of the room's heavy supports, pulling a protruding dagger, one of theirs, no doubt, from the wood as carefully as though removing it from living flesh that could actually feel the prick of the blade. He paused to mournfully consider a medium-sized dent in the far wall, a souvenir of Tom's clumsy basin-weapon. His gaze flicked disdainfully down at the shining, slick floor. At least it was clean. If only it hadn't been flooded as well…
"Now," Jack began, switching instantly from disgruntled captain to unruffled peacemaker with an alacrity that made the two perpetrators uneasy. "You first," the captain said calmly to Tom, well aware that the every crew-member gathered in the galley at the moment was now watching the spectacle with merry fascination.
"It were Smithy here," Cannon Tom insisted immediately, jerking a thumb towards his shipmate. "Ever since 'e's been quartermaster, I've knowed he weren't dividin' the booty square. He keeps extry, Cap'n, what he don't split wi' the rest of us."
Had the accusation even been five-percent true, it would have caused a commotion of biblical proportions, as the other crew-members would certainly have attacked Smithy. However, there were only some eye-rolls and murmurs and little else. Jack took notice of the relative calm that followed his words. If the rest of the crew didn't react, then it probably wasn't a fair accusation.
"He lies! He don't know what he's on about," Smithy abruptly defended himself at the top of his lungs. "Naught but accusations, he got no proof. Like to see 'im prove it! Ask 'im, ask 'im to prove it!"
"You know better'n I what you've stole, you blaggart!" Tom began to shout while Smithy was still yelling.
"Gen'l'men." Jack shushed them with a finger at his lips, making soothing gestures with his other hand. "Now. Smithy, you've been accused by this-"
"Lying scoundrel," Smithy interjected spitefully.
"This loyal crewman," Jack went on, ignoring him, "who is merely concerned about the fairness of the treasure-sharing on board the Black Pearl, an honorable cause, to be sure-" (here he executed a small bow, hands pressed with palms together, toward Tom) "-of making a small error in your judgment of the value of the swag. What say you in defense?"
Smithy was a bit bewildered by his captain's manner of putting things- as was intended- and it took him a moment before he answered. "It's not true, Cap'n," he said more quietly, much pacified by Jack's talking-down. "He saw me keepin' back your own share not 'alf an hour afore I took it to ye four days ago, after the men all came about to claim their'n. Same as I allays do, sir, you know better'n me I allays brings your'n to ye right away, so's no one else gets it."
"Ah! There, you see?" Jack said, privately pleased he'd found the truth of the misunderstanding so easily.
"He had this very morning a gold watch I saw 'im keeping back from that last plunder extry above his own share," Tom insisted, not willing to let go yet. "If it were yours he were keeping it for, why's he got it this morning? says I."
"Well, that's very simple, me lad," Jack said with a grin. "Smithy and I traded a bit after he brought me share of the loot to me. Smithy's completely impartial, don't even know what he gives hisself. So we traded after we got a good look there in me cabin at what we had, same's any of ye do. He got the watch in exchange for a fair lady's necklace, for that wench o' his in Tortola," Jack added, gesturing grandly with his hands to mimic a lady putting on a necklace. The assembled crew chuckled appreciatively.
"So, we see," he concluded, "it were nothing but a misunderstanding. Cannon Tom, I thank ye for guarding the fairness of our treasury, and Smithy, I commend ye as always for kindly defending my share from the rest of bloody scallywags on this ship," he said with a smirk, swinging his arms about to include everyone in the room. The men, far from being insulted, laughed at his jeer.
"John, me boy!" Jack went on, summoning the mop-boy. "Bring forth some o' the brandy, and a pair o' mugs. This is an occasion what calls for the finest drink available."
When these were brought to him, Jack bid Tom and Smithy to share a few mugs together in celebration of their truce, as they were both honorable pirates, both only thinking of the best for their fellow-pirates, and weren't really all that different after all.
Jack left the galley in considerably better order than he found it in. The crewmen had recollected all of the things knocked off tables or thrown about, and the men were now in somewhat better spirits for Jack's subtle mockery, which had amused them. But best of all, he had accomplished his goal in foisting some more of that bloody brandy off on someone else. That was one less bottle his crew could send him with his dinner, as they'd been pretending it was too good for the likes of them and had replaced his normal rum with the high-nosed stuff. As a result, he'd nearly drunk all of the last of the secret stashes of rum he kept about his cabin.
In better spirits himself, he headed back above deck, thoughts of his demented compass far from his mind.