A Pirate's Story
Chapter 4
The Pirate, the Soldier, and the Blacksmith
Disclaimer: If I owned Orlando, would I really be wasting my time writing about him??! Ha!
General Story Note: I know this isn't technically an original story of mine, but I just feel the movie provides so much on its own to write about, and thoughts and ideas kept coming to me as I watched (oh, only the last twenty times!), that I think I can do it justice (I pray, anyway!). I've tried to be true to the movie itself, following every spoken word exactly (I've going to need to replace my DVD - ha!) But the fill-in thoughts are my own idea of what the characters are thinking and feeling, based on the material given. I hope you enjoy. This is my first published writing of any kind, so be gentle! But honest, constructively critical reviews are appreciated!
Chapter Note: I had a hard time describing Jack's particular personality, making him transfer from the screen to the page. So I hope I have succeeded in capturing his unique qualities and quirks accurately. I'm sorry if you die-hard Sparrow fans aren't satisfied.any suggestions are welcome. It has been a challenge in my writing to describe him! Sometimes one lift of a brow says an entire page, and at other times, his swagger and frown mask whatever he might be thinking.
Please enjoy.keep in mind that I wanted this to be like the movie on the page.an easy and vivid read, making you see the scenes in your head, as if they were in front of you! Enjoy reading, and please review!
~*~*~*~
A strong-shouldered man with long, dark hair stood atop the uppermost mast of a small sailboat, next to the tiny crow's nest, taking in the view as he sailed into Port Royal. He hardly noticed the wind whipping about his hair and the tails of the red bandana he had tied on his head, as he kept his black-rimmed, dark eyes on his destination. A very worn leather tri- cornered hat was jammed over the bandana, and a strand of colorful beads covered one lock of hair from his left temple. A feather and a few more beads hung from the right side. His skin was dark from years on the open seas in sun, wind, and rain, and also from probably not having seen a bath in weeks. A dark moustache and goatee graced his face, the goatee several inches long, and twisted into two points, the ends of each adorned with a couple small beads apiece. His entire outfit was one that drew attention and interest. Something about him suggested an idea entirely unwholesome - a pirate, maybe? - yet positively intriguing, to say the least. His white shirt was open low, revealing an expanse of bronze chest - or was that dirt? A wide-cuffed brown overcoat was flung over it, trimming his waist and flaring out past the hips. A red-and-white scarf circled his waist under a leather belt, the scarf leaving a foot-long tail down the front. He had a dagger and sundry other items tucked into his belt, and a buckled leather strap went over his right shoulder and across his chest. Dark pants and high boots finished the look, making for one interesting character as he sailed.
Glancing down at his craft from his perch, he made a face, grabbed a rope, and swung himself down to the deck, splashing into a good six inches of water. Grabbing a bucket, he made a few attempts at bailing, when he noticed something hanging from a bar laid between two outcroppings of rock, and throwing the bucket aside, stood to get a better look. As his boat came closer, he saw it to be the remains of three unfortunate souls, caught and hung to death for piracy, hardly more than skeletons now, with the rags of their clothes hanging from the bones, and blowing in the breeze. A crude, hand-painted sign hung next to them, a rope noose hanging from the sign: PIRATES BE YE WARNED. Well, he thought, I suppose it's what they deserved for doing something stupid like getting caught. In mock reverence, he doffed his hat, holding it to his chest with his right hand, and the fingers of his left hand gave a loose salute as he sailed on by.
Port Royal was a busy place, with several ships of various sizes anchored around the bay - naval ships full of soldiers and sailors, merchant vessels carrying goods for the markets. People teemed in the waters around them in smaller boats, merchants unloading goods and animals for sale, soldiers loading supplies. A sailor looked puzzled as a bucket floated by in the water, and then one by one, they all stopped to stare at the unusual sight of a man sailing into port, standing in the crow's nest, which was only a few feet from the water's surface. He had given up bailing the water out, and just rode the boat right up to the dock, it running aground just as he alighted from his perch.
He swaggered up the walkway as if he hadn't a care in the world, when an elderly gentleman, smartly dressed and white-wigged, called out to him, a small black boy at his elbow. "Hold up, there, you!" As the dark newcomer swung around, he informed him, "It's a schilling to tie up your boat at the dock," at this, they both looked over at his "boat," now only the top four feet of mast showing above water, " - and I shall need to know your name," he looked expectantly at the man's face.
Well, this won't do, the pirate thought. "What say you to three schillings," he plunked the coins atop the man's logbook, "and we forget the name." He smiled very swarthily, knowing he would win in the end, as he always did.
The young boy's eyes bulged at the money, and the gentleman barely paused to consider a moment, before proclaiming, "Welcome to Port Royal, Mr. Smith!" and clapped his book shut with finality, striding away with purpose.
The dark man put his palms together as a thank you to the older gentleman, and swung away, picking up his swagger again, pausing just long enough to lift a small money pouch off the desk there, jingle it, then saunter on.
~*~*~*~
The large stone fortress echoed with drums as a large company of soldiers fell into neat, ceremonial rows, their jackets making a sea of red against the grey and brown stones. Flutes joined the drums as they marched in formation, the promotion ceremony for Norrington already beginning. Elizabeth stood in a large group of ladies and non-military men, the ladies all fanning themselves in the tropical sun. She still struggled to get a decent breath in under her tight corset, and failing miserably to keep her attention on the proceedings. If anyone had cared to notice, her mind was only on how blastedly uncomfortable she was at that moment. How long did these stupid things go on, anyway? All she wanted to do was get out of this thing! I can't breathe!
~*~*~*~
The dark pirate glanced over at the fort from the dock, hearing all the drumming and fluting. Good, more distraction for me! He spotted a particularly nice vessel in the water, anchored right at the docks, and made his way nonchalantly down the gangway.
~*~*~*~
"Troops, halt! And about ... face!" The fort echoed with the commands, as the troops went through their drill, preparing to make the Captain a Commodore. From his vantage point on a higher platform, Governor Swan stood tall in a turquoise blue overcoat trimmed in gold braid, a white lace ruff at his throat, a grey wig of long curls hung past his shoulders, and a black tri-cornered had sporting a huge feather of a vivid hue matching his coat. He couldn't help a smirk of satisfaction at the successful career of his good friend. He only hoped Elizabeth appreciated his merits just as much. He knew the Commodore had had quiet hopes to marry her one day, waiting for her to grow up, and now she has - into a beautiful young lady. He was aware of their vast age difference, but that could be overlooked. Growing up without a mother had made Elizabeth more mature than her years would belie, and the Commodore was an upstanding gentleman with her best interests at heart. Nothing would make him happier than to see the two people he loved most getting married.
The line of soldiers parted, revealing Norrington calmly standing at attention, awaiting the line of swords to meet overhead and form his arched walkway for his grand entrance. The hip-length white vest was trimmed in thick gold braid and large brass buttons, setting off the navy-blue overcoat, also trimmed in gold and brass. His black tri-cornered hat had a feathery white trim all around, matching the white stockings showing beneath the creamy beige knee-breeches he wore, with black-buckled shoes finishing off the ensemble. Why were his palms sweaty? Surely it was only the heat of the day. He had been working and waiting for this day for years now. He only wished to make a good showing and show appreciation for this promotion. He didn't want to acknowledge it might be due to nervousness at his planned proposal afterwards. Elizabeth looked especially lovely today, and a positive answer from those full lips would make his cup of joy overflow. He started his long march down the sword- arched aisle.
Will this blasted heat ever let up? Elizabeth fanned herself with more fervor, wishing the whole ceremony would hurry up and be done. I'm sweltering here! While the Commodore accepted the gift of his new sword with appropriate seriousness, all she could think about was getting home and taking off this torturous corset! She tried to go unnoticed as she wiggled and scratched under her fan.
~*~*~*~
The dark pirate swaggered down the gangplank toward the docked ship, noticing two red-coated soldiers chatting easily off to the side. He sauntered right past them, hoping they would be too caught up in their conversation to pay him any mind, but they ran around him, planting themselves in his path, their bayonets standing tall.
The skinnier of the two, Jiles Martog, announced, "This dock is off-limits to civilians." His red ponytail clashed with the red of his coat, his white face long, his nose large.
"I'm terribly sorry, I didn't know," the swarthy man replied with a flourish of hands, "If I see one, I shall inform you immediately." He turned to continue down the dock, but the stubborn soldiers stepped in his way again. I guess I won't t away that easily. "Apparently there's some high-toned and fancy to-do up at the fort, ay? How could it be, that two upstanding gentleman such as yourselves, did not merit an invitation?"
They look stupefied for a moment before Martog answered, "Someone has to make sure this dock stays off-limits to civilians."
"It's a fine goal, to be sure, but - but it seems to me that a ship like that,' he stepped to the left and gestured to a ship farther out in the bay, the guards hurriedly side-stepping to stay in front of him, "makes this one here a bit superfluous, really," he pointed to the ship at dock just behind them.
"The Dauntless is the peril of these waters, true enough. But no ship can match the Inteceptor for speed." Jiles's voice held a hint of pride and challenge, as if daring the man to suggest a better ship.
Smith put a finger to his chin contemplatively, "I've heard of one. Supposed to be very fast - nigh uncatchable - the Black Pearl." He eyed them each to gauge their reaction to the name.
This brought a chuckle from Jiles' portly fellow soldier, Angus Mulroy, while Jiles himself just stared at him, unsure of what to say. Angus replied disbelievingly, "There's no real ship as can match the Interceptor."
Jiles turned to his companion, "The Black Pearl is a real ship."
"No - no, it's not." Angus contradicted, a big, indulgent smile on his face.
"Yes, it is, I've seen it."
"You've seen it?" This caught his attention.
"Yes."
"You haven't seen it!"
"Yes, I have!" Jiles insisted.
"You've seen a ship with black sails, that's crewed by the damned, and captained by a man so evil, that Hell itself spat him back out?" Angus eyed his friend.
Jiles was caught there, "No," he admitted rather sheepishly.
"No," Angus echoed him, and gave an "I told you so" look to him and Mr. Smith.
But Jiles couldn't drop it, "But I have seen a ship with black sails."
This got Angus's goat. "Oh!" He eyed Jiles contemptuously. "And no ship that's not crewed by a the damned, and captained by a man so evil, that Hell itself spat him back out could possibly have black sails, therefore couldn't possibly be any other ship than the Black Pearl. Is that what you're saying?"
Jiles took a moment to let that sink in, then grinned merrily, "No!"
Angus went on, "Like I said, there's no real ship, as can match the Inter - " he turned to Mr. Smith, only to find the man had disappeared.
Smith had eyed them both during the exchange, decided this was as good a time as any to slip away, and did. He managed to get all the way down the dock and onto the Interceptor's deck before they missed him.
The two turned and spotted him standing on the ship's deck, holding the wheel as if he belonged there, gazing at the lovely blue sky as if he had all the time in the world.
"Hey!" They shouted, running onto the ship. "You! Get away from there!" They cocked and pointed their bayonets right at his heart. "You don't have permission to be aboard there!"
"I'm sorry, it's just - it's such a pretty boat," he confessed. "Ship - " he corrected himself.
"What's your name?" Jiles demanded.
"Smith! Or, Smithy, if you like!"
Angus wasn't buying any of this. "What your purpose in Port Royal, Mr. Smith?"
"Yeah - and no lies!" Jiles interjected.
I may as well have a little fun, he figured. Stepping around the ship's wheel, he began striding toward them. "Well, then, I confess. It is my intention to commandeer one of these ships, pick up a crew in Tortuga, rape, pillage, plunder, and otherwise pilfer our weasly black guts out."
They began to back away as he stepped towards them, looking suddenly unsure, but keeping their weapons trained on his chest.
"I said no lies!" Jiles exclaimed, desperate to keep the upper hand of the situation, but oddly feeling like this pirate was getting the better of them in the end.
Angus answered Jiles in a voice half-disbelievingly, "I think he's tellin' the truth," he admitted, somewhat subdued.
That threw Mr. Smith for a loop, and he gave Angus a puzzled look, his brow furrowing slightly.
Jiles turned to correct Angus, "If he was tellin' the truth, he wouldn't 'ave told us."
Mr. Smith interjected, "Unless, of course, he knew you wouldn't believe the truth, even if he told it to you." Stick that in your pipe and smoke it!
They both were too dumbfounded to reply.
~*~*~*~
Back at the fort, a string ensemble played a lovely waltz as the reception was underway, continuing the day's celebration. The courtyard was a sea of color as people milled about, the women in fine dresses of silk and lace, the men in various colored coats, all trimmed in gold or silver, being waited on by white-wigged servers in light blue coats and red vests. Elizabeth stood apart form the crowd, still trying to stay upright and breathe. The Commodore's approach caught her off-guard.
"May I have a moment?" He was so proper! Did he ever have any fun?
He escorted her over to the outer wall, where they ascended a staircase that reached the platform of a cannon, where they had a view of they entire sapphire bay, as the fort's walls were built right on the shore, and went straight down to the sea, where some rocks could be seen below.
How did one begin a conversation that could change your life? He hadn't been this nervous even for his promotion! Starting small and simple always seemed a good plan. "You look lovely, Elizabeth." She was fluttering her fan coyly, probably battling the same nervous butterflies as he.
Elizabeth glanced the Commodore's direction, managing a small smile in acknowledgement of the compliment, then turning to gaze back over the bay, a scowl quickly covering her delicate features. Her left hand fluttered at her stomach, while her right hand continued pumping the fan, what little relief it gave her. He continued to drone on, not noticing her discomfort.
"I - uh - apologize if I seem forward, but I must speak my mind." Just a little breath! That's all I ask for! Will he ever shut up?
"This - promotion - throws into sharp relief that which I have not yet achieved - a marriage to a fine woman," he turned to look at her.
Elizabeth managed to look at him, not quite believing where the conversation was headed, surprised that the subject was coming up so soon. I've barely turned eighteen, you cradle-robber!
"You have become a fine woman, Elizabeth." It was the highest compliment he could pay her. He wanted her to know just how highly he thought of her, and wanted to give her the world. With a wife by his side as beautiful as she, what couldn't he conquer?
Drat him! I don't have time for this right now! "I - I - I can't breathe!" she gasped out, feeling everything around her growing dim.
Commodore Norrington smiled understandingly, as he turned to look across the water again, "Yes, I - I'm a bit nervous, myself."
Everything went black, and Elizabeth lost consciousness, as her body hurdled over the stone wall, and fell to the ocean below. Upon hearing a rustling, the Commodore turned around, only to find Elizabeth missing. "Elizabeth?"
Down on the Interceptor, Mr. Smith was giving the soldier pair a rousing good storytelling, " - and then they made me their chief." Upon hearing the splash, all three ran to the deck's railing.
Commodore also heard the splash, and realized what must've happened. "Elizabeth!" He yelled for all his might. It might not save her from the watery depths below, but it would rouse everyone's attention and set a rescue in motion. He began to struggle out of his heavy coat, but his first officer, Gillette, ran up behind him, laying a hand on his shoulder before he could plunge in after her.
"Sir, the rocks! It's miracle she missed them!" He stared helplessly down at the water for a moment, before turning and running out of the fort and down to the docks.
"Will you be saving her, then?" Mr. Smith questioned the soldiers.
"I can't swim!" confessed Portly, and Redhead only gave him a dumb look.
He looked disgusted at them before he started taking off his extra belongings. "Pro to the King's Navy, you are. Do not lose these," he commanded them, as he removed his hat, coat, sword belt, and single-shot pistol. Then he grabbed a rope to hoist himself up to the rail's edge, and did a graceful swan dive into the ocean.
Elizabeth slowly floated downward, the water wonderfully warm, soft, and incredibly blue. The pirate's medallion she still wore about her neck sent out a shuddering rumble of a signal that spread a ring of waves under the ocean's current, and could be felt by all nearby, all except Elizabeth, for she was still unconscious.
"What was that?" Redhead asked Portly, but he didn't have an answer. They noticed then that the wind had changed it's course, and picked up speed. Looking up, they saw the English flag, flying on the highest mast of the Interceptor, turn and fly in completely the opposite direction than it had been a moment before. They had to hold their hats to keep them from blowing away.
The warning skeletons ceaselessly hanging from their nooses started to wave and rattle, as she continued to float downward until she landed softly on the bay's white sandy floor.
Our friendly pirate found her lying there, and grasping her waist, started to pull her upward to the air. Just breaking the surface, he started for the shore when he could feel them sinking again. Realizing the dress was weighing them down, he ripped open the bodice ties in the front, and got it off her, leaving it behind as he broke the surface again.
The wind was really battering the palm trees as almost a dozen soldiers ran down the sidewalk to the docks. Portly and Redhead got there just as he was coming up the dock's ladder, with Elizabeth slung over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. They took her from him and laid her out on the dock. "Not breathing," announced Portly, and brushed wet tendrils of her hair from her face, not sure what else to do.
"MOVE!" Mr. Smith commanded, and produced a dagger from his belt. With one quick slice up her front, he slit the corset strings and ripped it from her body, tossing it to Redhead, who stood nearby, watching in amazement. This gave her lungs the freedom to take in what they had been lacking, and she instantly began gasping and coughing. They rolled her to the side, allowing her to spit out what water she had swallowed.
"I never would 'a' thought o' that," Portly admitted.
Mr. Smith looked at him as he was catching his breath and drolly observed, "Clearly you've never been to Singapore." Noticing a medallion hanging from around her neck, he picked it up and gave it a closer look, his brow furrowing in scrutiny. Elizabeth's eyes followed his hand as he ran his thumb over the skull, gazing up at him with uncertainty. What would he do with it? She was quite at his mercy, dripping and barely breathing as she was, with hardly a stitch on her back. Even under the circumstances, he still intrigued her. A large red scarf around his head topped a few beads hanging from some unruly locks of his hair, his dark eyes were smudged even darker by - what was that? - grease or dirt, probably. When was the last time this man had bathed? But all that paled next to the striking confidence and charisma the man exuded. Elizabeth was very curios now.
"Where did you get that?" he questioned, taking a closer look at the girl. She stared at him with a mixture of fear and defiance. He never got an answer to his question, however, for Norrington arrived, immediately drawing his blade and pointing it directly at Smith's throat.
"On your feet," Norrington commanded.
Looking up, Mr. Smith decided not to test the steely resolve in the man's eyes. He rose with his palms up.
Elizabeth warily watched him move away, just as she heard her father, "Elizabeth!" The Governor ran to her, helping her up and engulfing her with his coat, for all she had on were her chemise and petticoats, and they were soaked through, leaving little to the imagination! "Are you all right?"
"Yes, I'm fine," she continued to watch her mysterious rescuer, as the dock swarmed with more soldiers, and they all now had their bayonets pointed at his chest. Would he reveal what he had found? She tucked it back into her bodice as her father hugged her to his chest.
The Governor looked over at Redhead, noticing the torn corset still in his hands. Realizing what the Governor must be thinking, he dropped it like a hot potato and pointed to the dark stranger.
"Shoot him!" A father had a right to be angry!
"Father!" Elizabeth laid a hand on his arm. "Commodore, do you really intend to kill my rescuer?" She realized that reason was the best way to get through to Norrington. Why did she feel the need to speak out for his life? He was certainly like no one she had ever encountered!
He glanced at her before looking at Smith again, realizing it certainly wouldn't help his proposal any if he did something like this. Some gratitude for saving his future wife!
Smith turned to Elizabeth and gave his palm-together-thank-you, with a nod of his head, before turning back to Norrington. The Commodore was uneasy about the decision to stay his life, but wanted badly to please Elizabeth. Sheathing his new sword, he grudgingly admitted, "I believe thanks are in order," and held out his right hand, to shake Smith's.
He eyed the Commodore's hand warily, unsure if this was a trap. Slowly offering it, he laid his palm to Norrington's, who promptly grabbed it and yanked up the sleeve. A dark torn cloth was wrapped around his arm as a bracelet or cuff, but failed to conceal a brand on the skin just above it, an unmistakable "P," right in the top of the wrist.
"Had a brush with the East India Trading Company, did we? Pirate?" he couldn't keep the contempt out of his voice.
Smith gave a grimace at this discovery. This could really put a cramp in his plans.
The Governor and Elizabeth both stared at him in amazement. "Hang him!" Swan commanded, glad that he had an excuse to rid the man from their presence once and for all. Elizabeth, on the other hand, felt that this only confirmed her odd feelings about her curiosity in this man who had saved her.
"Keep your guns on him, men. Gillette! Fetch some irons!" A feeling of satisfaction filled the Commordore's heart. One less evil the world was rid of! Seeing a bit of blue above the branding, he pulled the sleeve up farther to reveal a tattoo of a sun, rising over waves, with a bird in flight over all.
"Well, well! Jack Sparrow, isn't it?" He practically threw the man's hand back at him.
The man smiled smugly, "Captain Jack Sparrow, if you please, sir."
Norrington looked around. "Well, I don't see your ship, Captain." He felt nothing but disdain for this breed of mankind. Could anyone be lower than pond scum?
"I'm in the market, as it were." The man could swagger while standing still!
Redhead offered some information, "He said he come to commandeer one."
"I told you he was tellin' the truth!" Portly rebutted. "These are his, sir," and he bent over to pick up Jack's items that he left with them before jumping off the Interceptor to save Elizabeth, handing them over for Norrington's inspection.
The Commodore perused through the items, one by one, growing more impatient and contemptuous as he went. Lifting the pistol off the pile, he ran down the list, "No additional shot, nor powder," opening an old box-style compass, "a compass that doesn't point north," giving Jack a disparaging smile, and pulling the sword from the hilt a few inches, "and I half- expected it to be made of wood." He slid the blade back home, "You are without doubt the worst pirate I've ever heard of."
With a smirk, Jack held up a finger, "But you have heard of me."
In reply, Norrington grabbed Jack's arm and turns to go, leading him away in a sea of red coats.
"Commodore! I really must protest!" Elizabeth broke out of her father's arms, and chased them down the dock. There was just something in her that compelled her to speak out, no matter how improper! She hated being the helpless damsel in distress.
"It can't be left undone," was his only reply. He had a mortal hatred of pirates, and wife or no wife, he wasn't going to let him get away with his crimes against the Crown.
Elizabeth positioned herself in between Norrington and Jack, while another officer was putting the irons on his wrists. "Pirate or not, this man saved my life."
"One good deed is not enough to redeem a man of a lifetime of wickedness."
Sparrow put in his two-cents worth, "Though it seems enough to condemn him."
They all turned to look at him, their argument immediately halting. "Indeed!" Norrington snottily replied.
Elizabeth turned to stare at the Commodore in shock and disbelief at his utter heartlessness as the officer finished putting Jack's wrist irons on, and stepped back to join the crowd behind Norrington.
"Finally," Jack comments, then promptly lifts his hands over Elizabeth's head and stretches the iron chain across her neck, taking everyone on dock by complete surprise. She gasps, trying to fight the pull of the chain, making her backside collide with Sparrow's body.
"No!" Swan couldn't hide the fear and panic in his voice. Twice in one day was too many to risk his only daughter's life. "Stop! Don't shoot!" for every soldier on that dock had stepped forward, ready and alert to draw swords, bayonets, and pistols.
"I knew you'd warm up to me," Jack have Swan a knowing smirk. "Commodore Norrington, my effects, please! And my hat!" He pointed a finger at Norrington. The man stared, as if unsure of the best course of action. "Commodore!" Jack called out in warning.
Norrington turned, and Portly gave him Sparrow's belongings.
Jack turned his attention to the sweet young lass in his grip. "Elizabeth? It is Elizabeth, isn't it?"
"It's Miss Swan," she gritted out. She wasn't going to let any dirty pirate cow her into submission, even if her life was on the line.
"Miss Swan, if you'd be so kind.." He indicated for her to take his belongings from Norrington and put them on him. "Come, come, dear, we don't have all day." Norrington handed her the bundle, and Jack grabbed his pistol off the top, spinning Elizabeth around to face him, and pointing the muzzle at her head. "Now, if you'll be very kind.." He watched her glare at him while jamming the hat in his head, and getting his sword belt around his waist. My, what he couldn't do with such a pretty maid, and what a spitfire! He smiled at her for a moment before looking over her shoulder at Norrington and Swan, giving a knowing smirk of satisfaction. Bet our dear Commodore's never been this close to her!
Swan stood fuming during the whole scene. It was bad enough that she be put through this, but with so many witnesses! Her reputation will be ruined! He glanced over at the Commodore when he saw Jack give a look over Elizabeth's shoulder. What was he thinking? Would he risk his life to save her?
Norrington stood helplessly by and watched while Elizabeth finished dressing him. He agonized over wanting to shove the bastard into the watery depths, but wavered, knowing that pistol did have at least one round in it, and he didn't want to test the man's resolve on firing it.
Elizabeth had decided that he may have her life in his hands, but she wasn't going down without a fight. She jerked and yanked on the belt and buckle, making every movement a non-verbal communications of her opinion on this matter. Sparrow grunted, "Easy on the goods, love," looking down at her face.
She gave a final yank and sneered up at him, "You're despicable."
"Sticks and stones, love. I saved your life, you saved mine. We're square." He spun her around and started backing away from the crowd.
"Gentleman! My lady," he addressed the crowd, "You will always remember this as the day you almost caught Captain - Jack - Sparrow!" With that, he lifted the manacle chain from the girl's neck and shoved her towards the Commodore, using the distraction to give him a moment's head start, and turned to make his getaway. A wooden pole-and-beam pulley system stood behind him, and had been used to haul the heavy iron cannons on board the Navy's ships in port. A rope hung behind Jack, tied to a cannon hanging in the air. He kicked at the pulley's stopper, and hung on while the cannon fell, and the weight pulled him high into the air, swinging him up and away from the crowd. He soared straight up, slamming into the huge square beam at the top, the jarring causing the crane start its round motion, swinging Sparrow in an arc over the crowd's heads. He looked around wildly for a moment, hanging on for dear life, getting at 360-degree view of the bay and the town.
"NOW will you shoot him?" Swan called out in irritation. Was Norrington just going to watch the scoundrel escape before their very eyes?
The Governor's question spurred him into action. "Open fire!" Norrington commanded his men. A volley of shots filled the air, while Jack swung crazily above their heads, every bullet miraculously missing him, Jack yelling like a banshee.
The rope swung around once more, and he managed to get close enough to land on the beam of the next pulley, spotting a rope tied from the top of the beam, all the way down to the ground, fifty feet away towards town. Scooting over, he swung the wrist-chains over one side of the rope, grasped it with both hands, and made a zipper line, sliding down the rope to the walk below, landing on the run towards town. The soldiers hurriedly form a firing line, and sent a volley of shots in his direction. Crossing a bridge, he ran through a crowd of people, hopping and flailing his arms like a maniac, managing to still miss being shot to death, while the poor townsfolk ran screaming for cover.
While the troop chased after him, Norrington had other plans. "Gillette!" The man was instantly at his side. "Mr. Sparrow has a dawn appointment with the gallows." He eyed Gillette meaningfully. "I would hate for him to miss it." Gillette nodded understanding, then jerked his head for Angus Mulroy and Jiles Martog to follow him.
Soon Port Royal's cobblestone streets were filled with red-coated soldiers carrying bayonets, searching for a rogue pirate. Jack waited for the troops to pass his hideout, then stepped out from behind a blacksmith statue with an anvil. He then saw more troops going down a side street, and he ducked into the first doorway, above which hung a shingle with tongs, hammer, and anvil painted on it, advertising the blacksmithing of "J. Brown."
Closing the massive planked door behind him, he sheathed his sword and surveyed the shop. A donkey stood harnessed to a huge pole that cranked a 10-foot horizontal gear overhead, a stone fireplace that burned brightly, and a wheeled flat-cart leaning against the entry's platform. The whole room wasn't more than twenty-by-twenty feet, with the sun peeking through cracks in the planks, lighting up the dust and hay from the dirt floor. He then spotted the anvil and hammer, and stepped down to try and remove the irons from his wrists. He had laid his hat down and grabbed the hammer, when a bottle dropped from a man's hand across the room. Jack spun around, startled, and spotted a short, slightly overweight, and very dirty man in a leather apron, passed out from drunkenness: Mr. J. Brown, at your service. Stepping towards him cautiously, Jack lightly poked his chest, watching for a reaction. The man mumbles something, but doesn't move. Jack turned as if to walk away, but suddenly turned back and shouted in the man's face. The man lay still as the dead. Satisfied that he won't be a bother, Jack went about attempting to free himself. After struggling with the anvil and hammer, they proved useless, and Jack pulled and jangled the chain in a dance of frustration. After taking a few deep breaths, he looked around and noticed the huge gear system to which the donkey was harnessed, standing quietly.
Jack eyeballed the red-hot iron he pulled from the fire, eyeballed the donkey, and the next sound the shop echoed with was the bray of the poor donkey as his rump met up with a sudden sensation of heat, immediately setting him and the gears into motion. As the large gear overhead started turning, Jack flung the chain over one of the spokes and walked with the turning, until the chain was crushed where the gears met. He was just getting ready to enjoy the free movement of his arms, when he heard the shop's door-latch creak up, and realized he would soon have company.
Will Turner shut his blacksmith shop's door, laying the latch down gently. He noticed his donkey running the gear, and stepped over to stop him, rubbing his muzzle affectionately to calm the poor beast. Unbuttoning his coat, he stepped behind the gears and looked at the sleeping drunk. "Right where I left you," giving the man a disparaging smile. Tossing his coat aside and loosening the top few buttons of his vest, he noticed his hammer laying in the anivl. "Not where I left you." And then he spotted a very worn leather tri-cornered hat hanging from his workbench. Reaching out to touch it, the blade of a sword slapped the back of his hand, making him flinch and spin around, instantly alert.
Jack stepped out from his hiding spot, keeping his sword pointed at the young man, causing him to back away, and Jack stepped with him, keeping the sword point on it's target. This might be easier than I thought.
Will couldn't prevent a sneer from curling his lip. "You're the one they're hunting. The pirate." The last word came out with unhidden contempt. He would never forget the childhood tragedy that made him an orphan.
Jack ignored the kid's tone. "You seem somewhat familiar. Have I threatened you before?"
"I make a point of avoiding familiarity with pirates." Softly spoken, but, oh, filled with hatred.
"Ah! Well, it would be a shame to put a black mark on your record, so if you'll excuse me." Jack turned to get his hat.
Will grabbed the unguarded opportunity to turn and snatch a sword from a rack behind him, swinging it around and aiming for the scoundrel's throat.
"Do you think this wise, boy? Crossing blades with a pirate?" He emphasized the last word, showing the upstart that he hadn't missed the kid's opinion on the subject. What was he thinking? This wasn't a child's game of swashbucklers with wooden toy swords.
Will never flinched. He eyed the dark man quietly. "You threatened Miss Swan." In his mind, it was reason enough to slit the man's throat.
Jack stepped towards him, sliding his sword up and down Will's blade, the rubbing of metal on metal echoing in the small shop. "Only a little," he assured the lad, a gleam in his eye. He figured on showing the kid who was boss, then waltzing out of there. Lunging quickly, they started across the shop - lunge - parry - lunge - parry - step, step, Will grabbed an opening and swung his blade wide, causing Sparrow to step back.
Pausing to retake their starting stances, Will pointed his swordtip at Sparrow's face, a menacing look in his eye. This time he stepped forward, and lunged Jack back across the room. They paused for another moment.
"You know what you're doing, I'll give you that," Jack begrudged him a compliment. "Excellent form. But how's your footwork?" He squinted his eyes in challenge. "If I step here."
They went through a series of maneuvered steps.Clink! Clink! Clink! CLANG! Will eyed Jack right back, making his own challenge. Another lunge - thrust - step, step. Jack paused a moment then gave one last surprise lunge, which Will easily glanced off.
"Ta!" Jack dismissed the boy and turned to go. He reached the door's platform just as Will threw his sword across the shop.
Jack stopped dead in his tracks at the door as the sword plunged deep into the wood, mere inches from his head. It rocked and wobbled where it was jammed into the door, blocking the latch-bar from being raised, trapping him. He turned and just about went cross-eyed at how close the sword had come to his head. Slapping his hand on the hilt, he yanked and wiggled and danced around trying to get it free, as Will stood calmly confident and watched.
Jack quickly gave up and swung around to face the kid. "That is a wonderful trick." Instead of taking the steps, Jack came jauntily down the flat wagon parked nearby, using it as a ramp. "Except once again, you are between me and my way out." He unsheathed his sword once more. "And now, you have no weapon," he pointed out, sweeping his arms out and giving Will a smirk.
Before Jack could move, Will swung around and grabbed an unfinished sword straight from the fireplace behind him, and pointed the red-white-hot tip at Jack's face. The donkey let out a bray upon recognizing the hissing sound of the hot metal meeting the cool air of the shop, remembering his not-so-pleasant experience only moments ago, and started to walk his roundabout path again, causing the gears to be set into motion again.
Jack grabbed the distraction to step away from Will, but Turner did a 360 swing-around, and stopped Sparrow's escape, the hot sword clinking on the gear's pole and spraying sparks into the air near the pirate's face. Jack backed up and matched him thrust for thrust, sparks flying. Jack pushed his blade to Will's, almost causing the hot sword to meet with the lad's own throat, but Will grabbed Jack's free wrist, pushing him away with a grunt. Will lunged at him again, but Jack reached behind the thrust and, grabbing the flat, dull side of the blade, near the hilt, managed to yank it out of Turner's hand and fling it away, across the shop.
Turner about-faced and somersaulted over a horizontal gear pole, about knee- high, just as Jack wiped at him again. Will grabbed another sword from the rack, turning and meeting Jack's charge around the main turnstile of the gear with a smile of self-satisfaction for his swiftness.
Jack stepped under the gear to charge Will again, and saw yet another rack of finished swords. "Who makes all these?" he asked in amazement.
Blocking the pirate's blows and stepping to another location, he leaned into a thrust and proudly answered, "I do!" Thrust! "And I practice with them-" Block! "-three hours a day!" He quickly stepped back to avoid a swipe across his midsection, leaping down off the gearcranks.
Jack lunged at him around the pole again, "You need to find yourself a girl, mate!" And take a breather, he thought. This kid was way too young to be this tense and serious!
They continued swiping, lunging, thrusting, and blocking each other's attempts, making their way out from under the gears and out onto the open floor, Jack grabbing and throwing things at Will, anything he could reach. Dodging and thrusting, Will grabbing a second sword as he went by the rack. He came at Jack with both now, and as Jack thrust at him again, he crossed his two blades, and the swords were blocked as Jack stepped closer, their arms in the air.
Jack paused a moment to comment, "Or - perhaps the reason you practice three hours a day is that you already found one-" Will glared at him for that remark, because that was true, he had found her, alright, "-but are otherwise incapable of wooing said strumpet. You're not a eunuch, are you?" He asked, frowning at the thought, glancing down at Will's lower region.
Will was good and fired up now. "I practice three hours a day," giving Jack a scathing look up and down, "so that when I meet a pirate - I can kill it!" he shouted viciously, taking a swipe at Jack's middle. The pirate backed out of the way, and found himself backing up onto the wheeled cart near the entrance.
When Will followed him, fighting the whole way, the stone wedged against the cart's wheels rolled away, and their continued fighting caused the cart to rock and move. The two fighters kept up their sparring, not letting the cart's unsteadiness deter them. They just wavered around and swung their arms more, trying to keep balanced while still attacking and defending each blow. Will managed to get the iron chain on Jack's left wrist wrapped around one of his blades, and thrust it up into an overhead beam, effectively pinning Sparrow in place. Jack swiped at Will a couple more times, before noticing a loose board on the bottom of the cart, and stepped on one end of it, the other end flying up and tossing Will to the dirt floor. He landed on his back with a thud and a small shake of his head, trying to clear his mind of the jarring.
With Will momentarily out of commission, Jack turned his attention to his imprisoned arm. He tried yanking his hand free, but realized that, like the sword thrown into the shop's door, it was buried too deep to budge. He swung up, and placing his boots against the beam, pulled on his arm with all his might. Will had now hopped up again, and stepped back onto the cart, just as Jack came down, flat on his back, and slammed onto the cart, his weight making the cart a springboard that sent Will flying into the shop's dusty rafters. Jack rolled off the cart and banged into the stone ledge of the entrance platform. He stood up again, ready to face his adversary, only to find him missing. Looking up, he saw Will looking down at him over a rafter beam. Now I've got you, he figured with a smirk. But that quickly disappeared when Will reached out with his sword and cut a rope holding up a large bundle of goods. It fell right on the cart where Will had stood, causing Jack to fly up to the rafters himself, hanging onto a beam by his armpits.
Jack managed to get upright on the beam, and he and Will hopped back and forth between beams, before landing on the same beam long enough to clash swords again. The shop resounded with more clinking as they hopped back and forth, up and down the beams. Jack knocked Will's sword loose, sending it to the floor below. After a look at each other, Jack turned to swing down off the end of the beam, and Will swung down by his knees, doing a back flip to the floor. Just as his hand reached the hilt, he turned in time to meet a face full of dirt and dust, as Jack swung the dirt bag, used to douse the fire, directly to Will's face, blinding him and filling the shop with a fog of dust. When Will cleared his vision and raised his sword for another attach, he turned to meet the barrel of a pistol at eye level. His dust-brown face instantly fell with disappointment.
"You cheated," he accused Sparrow, disappointed as much in himself for believing that a pirate would fight honorably, as he was in Jack for cheating, after such a good round of sparring.
"Pirate!" Jack none-too-delicately reminded him. Pirates are known for pillaging and murder. How honorable did the kid expect him to be?
They both looked over at the shop's doors as they began to shake from a band of soldiers outside tried to force their way in. Taking advantage of Jack looking elsewhere, Will moved into the path of Jack's only other escape from the shop: its boarded window.
Jack looked back, gun still raised, "Move away," he demanded.
"No," Will answered, sword still poised to strike.
"Please move!" Jack looked like he didn't really want to deal with this right now.
"No!" Will shouted, "I cannot just step aside and let you escape," he said, his voice edged in resolve. He glanced at the door again as it started to shutter from a battering ram. Jack cocked his pistol.
"This shot is not meant for you." Jack gritted his teeth in frustration. This one shot already had a named earmarked for it, and it wasn't some blacksmith.
An odd look came over Will's face, before a crash on Jack's head sent him collapsing to the floor. Had the pirate been begging him to move? What was so pressing that he needed to escape?
The drunken Mr. J. Brown stood there looking at his broken booze bottle as the shop door burst open and the small space flooded with soldiers, Norrington in the lead.
"Excellent work, Mr. Brown. You've assisted in the capture of a dangerous fugitive." The Commodore looked down his nose at the heap of Jack face- down on the floor.
"Just doing my civic duty, Sir," the rotund man slurred out, obviously still very must intoxicated.
Will, his face a pure brown from the dust blown at him, long hair disheveled, heaving from the workout he had just been through swordfighting with Jack, went unnoticed in the room as he rolled his eyes at the stupid drunk taking the credit due to Will. He let the whole town think that he did all the fine blacksmithing work his shop was so highly praised for, why shouldn't he take this small credit? Never mind his apprentice looking like he's been dragged through the streets a dozen times.
"Well, I trust that you will always remember this is the day that Captain Jack Sparrow almost escaped." He used Jack's own words, sneering at the title. "Take him away." He turned to go, dismissing the whole matter.
~*~*~*~
Chapter 4
The Pirate, the Soldier, and the Blacksmith
Disclaimer: If I owned Orlando, would I really be wasting my time writing about him??! Ha!
General Story Note: I know this isn't technically an original story of mine, but I just feel the movie provides so much on its own to write about, and thoughts and ideas kept coming to me as I watched (oh, only the last twenty times!), that I think I can do it justice (I pray, anyway!). I've tried to be true to the movie itself, following every spoken word exactly (I've going to need to replace my DVD - ha!) But the fill-in thoughts are my own idea of what the characters are thinking and feeling, based on the material given. I hope you enjoy. This is my first published writing of any kind, so be gentle! But honest, constructively critical reviews are appreciated!
Chapter Note: I had a hard time describing Jack's particular personality, making him transfer from the screen to the page. So I hope I have succeeded in capturing his unique qualities and quirks accurately. I'm sorry if you die-hard Sparrow fans aren't satisfied.any suggestions are welcome. It has been a challenge in my writing to describe him! Sometimes one lift of a brow says an entire page, and at other times, his swagger and frown mask whatever he might be thinking.
Please enjoy.keep in mind that I wanted this to be like the movie on the page.an easy and vivid read, making you see the scenes in your head, as if they were in front of you! Enjoy reading, and please review!
~*~*~*~
A strong-shouldered man with long, dark hair stood atop the uppermost mast of a small sailboat, next to the tiny crow's nest, taking in the view as he sailed into Port Royal. He hardly noticed the wind whipping about his hair and the tails of the red bandana he had tied on his head, as he kept his black-rimmed, dark eyes on his destination. A very worn leather tri- cornered hat was jammed over the bandana, and a strand of colorful beads covered one lock of hair from his left temple. A feather and a few more beads hung from the right side. His skin was dark from years on the open seas in sun, wind, and rain, and also from probably not having seen a bath in weeks. A dark moustache and goatee graced his face, the goatee several inches long, and twisted into two points, the ends of each adorned with a couple small beads apiece. His entire outfit was one that drew attention and interest. Something about him suggested an idea entirely unwholesome - a pirate, maybe? - yet positively intriguing, to say the least. His white shirt was open low, revealing an expanse of bronze chest - or was that dirt? A wide-cuffed brown overcoat was flung over it, trimming his waist and flaring out past the hips. A red-and-white scarf circled his waist under a leather belt, the scarf leaving a foot-long tail down the front. He had a dagger and sundry other items tucked into his belt, and a buckled leather strap went over his right shoulder and across his chest. Dark pants and high boots finished the look, making for one interesting character as he sailed.
Glancing down at his craft from his perch, he made a face, grabbed a rope, and swung himself down to the deck, splashing into a good six inches of water. Grabbing a bucket, he made a few attempts at bailing, when he noticed something hanging from a bar laid between two outcroppings of rock, and throwing the bucket aside, stood to get a better look. As his boat came closer, he saw it to be the remains of three unfortunate souls, caught and hung to death for piracy, hardly more than skeletons now, with the rags of their clothes hanging from the bones, and blowing in the breeze. A crude, hand-painted sign hung next to them, a rope noose hanging from the sign: PIRATES BE YE WARNED. Well, he thought, I suppose it's what they deserved for doing something stupid like getting caught. In mock reverence, he doffed his hat, holding it to his chest with his right hand, and the fingers of his left hand gave a loose salute as he sailed on by.
Port Royal was a busy place, with several ships of various sizes anchored around the bay - naval ships full of soldiers and sailors, merchant vessels carrying goods for the markets. People teemed in the waters around them in smaller boats, merchants unloading goods and animals for sale, soldiers loading supplies. A sailor looked puzzled as a bucket floated by in the water, and then one by one, they all stopped to stare at the unusual sight of a man sailing into port, standing in the crow's nest, which was only a few feet from the water's surface. He had given up bailing the water out, and just rode the boat right up to the dock, it running aground just as he alighted from his perch.
He swaggered up the walkway as if he hadn't a care in the world, when an elderly gentleman, smartly dressed and white-wigged, called out to him, a small black boy at his elbow. "Hold up, there, you!" As the dark newcomer swung around, he informed him, "It's a schilling to tie up your boat at the dock," at this, they both looked over at his "boat," now only the top four feet of mast showing above water, " - and I shall need to know your name," he looked expectantly at the man's face.
Well, this won't do, the pirate thought. "What say you to three schillings," he plunked the coins atop the man's logbook, "and we forget the name." He smiled very swarthily, knowing he would win in the end, as he always did.
The young boy's eyes bulged at the money, and the gentleman barely paused to consider a moment, before proclaiming, "Welcome to Port Royal, Mr. Smith!" and clapped his book shut with finality, striding away with purpose.
The dark man put his palms together as a thank you to the older gentleman, and swung away, picking up his swagger again, pausing just long enough to lift a small money pouch off the desk there, jingle it, then saunter on.
~*~*~*~
The large stone fortress echoed with drums as a large company of soldiers fell into neat, ceremonial rows, their jackets making a sea of red against the grey and brown stones. Flutes joined the drums as they marched in formation, the promotion ceremony for Norrington already beginning. Elizabeth stood in a large group of ladies and non-military men, the ladies all fanning themselves in the tropical sun. She still struggled to get a decent breath in under her tight corset, and failing miserably to keep her attention on the proceedings. If anyone had cared to notice, her mind was only on how blastedly uncomfortable she was at that moment. How long did these stupid things go on, anyway? All she wanted to do was get out of this thing! I can't breathe!
~*~*~*~
The dark pirate glanced over at the fort from the dock, hearing all the drumming and fluting. Good, more distraction for me! He spotted a particularly nice vessel in the water, anchored right at the docks, and made his way nonchalantly down the gangway.
~*~*~*~
"Troops, halt! And about ... face!" The fort echoed with the commands, as the troops went through their drill, preparing to make the Captain a Commodore. From his vantage point on a higher platform, Governor Swan stood tall in a turquoise blue overcoat trimmed in gold braid, a white lace ruff at his throat, a grey wig of long curls hung past his shoulders, and a black tri-cornered had sporting a huge feather of a vivid hue matching his coat. He couldn't help a smirk of satisfaction at the successful career of his good friend. He only hoped Elizabeth appreciated his merits just as much. He knew the Commodore had had quiet hopes to marry her one day, waiting for her to grow up, and now she has - into a beautiful young lady. He was aware of their vast age difference, but that could be overlooked. Growing up without a mother had made Elizabeth more mature than her years would belie, and the Commodore was an upstanding gentleman with her best interests at heart. Nothing would make him happier than to see the two people he loved most getting married.
The line of soldiers parted, revealing Norrington calmly standing at attention, awaiting the line of swords to meet overhead and form his arched walkway for his grand entrance. The hip-length white vest was trimmed in thick gold braid and large brass buttons, setting off the navy-blue overcoat, also trimmed in gold and brass. His black tri-cornered hat had a feathery white trim all around, matching the white stockings showing beneath the creamy beige knee-breeches he wore, with black-buckled shoes finishing off the ensemble. Why were his palms sweaty? Surely it was only the heat of the day. He had been working and waiting for this day for years now. He only wished to make a good showing and show appreciation for this promotion. He didn't want to acknowledge it might be due to nervousness at his planned proposal afterwards. Elizabeth looked especially lovely today, and a positive answer from those full lips would make his cup of joy overflow. He started his long march down the sword- arched aisle.
Will this blasted heat ever let up? Elizabeth fanned herself with more fervor, wishing the whole ceremony would hurry up and be done. I'm sweltering here! While the Commodore accepted the gift of his new sword with appropriate seriousness, all she could think about was getting home and taking off this torturous corset! She tried to go unnoticed as she wiggled and scratched under her fan.
~*~*~*~
The dark pirate swaggered down the gangplank toward the docked ship, noticing two red-coated soldiers chatting easily off to the side. He sauntered right past them, hoping they would be too caught up in their conversation to pay him any mind, but they ran around him, planting themselves in his path, their bayonets standing tall.
The skinnier of the two, Jiles Martog, announced, "This dock is off-limits to civilians." His red ponytail clashed with the red of his coat, his white face long, his nose large.
"I'm terribly sorry, I didn't know," the swarthy man replied with a flourish of hands, "If I see one, I shall inform you immediately." He turned to continue down the dock, but the stubborn soldiers stepped in his way again. I guess I won't t away that easily. "Apparently there's some high-toned and fancy to-do up at the fort, ay? How could it be, that two upstanding gentleman such as yourselves, did not merit an invitation?"
They look stupefied for a moment before Martog answered, "Someone has to make sure this dock stays off-limits to civilians."
"It's a fine goal, to be sure, but - but it seems to me that a ship like that,' he stepped to the left and gestured to a ship farther out in the bay, the guards hurriedly side-stepping to stay in front of him, "makes this one here a bit superfluous, really," he pointed to the ship at dock just behind them.
"The Dauntless is the peril of these waters, true enough. But no ship can match the Inteceptor for speed." Jiles's voice held a hint of pride and challenge, as if daring the man to suggest a better ship.
Smith put a finger to his chin contemplatively, "I've heard of one. Supposed to be very fast - nigh uncatchable - the Black Pearl." He eyed them each to gauge their reaction to the name.
This brought a chuckle from Jiles' portly fellow soldier, Angus Mulroy, while Jiles himself just stared at him, unsure of what to say. Angus replied disbelievingly, "There's no real ship as can match the Interceptor."
Jiles turned to his companion, "The Black Pearl is a real ship."
"No - no, it's not." Angus contradicted, a big, indulgent smile on his face.
"Yes, it is, I've seen it."
"You've seen it?" This caught his attention.
"Yes."
"You haven't seen it!"
"Yes, I have!" Jiles insisted.
"You've seen a ship with black sails, that's crewed by the damned, and captained by a man so evil, that Hell itself spat him back out?" Angus eyed his friend.
Jiles was caught there, "No," he admitted rather sheepishly.
"No," Angus echoed him, and gave an "I told you so" look to him and Mr. Smith.
But Jiles couldn't drop it, "But I have seen a ship with black sails."
This got Angus's goat. "Oh!" He eyed Jiles contemptuously. "And no ship that's not crewed by a the damned, and captained by a man so evil, that Hell itself spat him back out could possibly have black sails, therefore couldn't possibly be any other ship than the Black Pearl. Is that what you're saying?"
Jiles took a moment to let that sink in, then grinned merrily, "No!"
Angus went on, "Like I said, there's no real ship, as can match the Inter - " he turned to Mr. Smith, only to find the man had disappeared.
Smith had eyed them both during the exchange, decided this was as good a time as any to slip away, and did. He managed to get all the way down the dock and onto the Interceptor's deck before they missed him.
The two turned and spotted him standing on the ship's deck, holding the wheel as if he belonged there, gazing at the lovely blue sky as if he had all the time in the world.
"Hey!" They shouted, running onto the ship. "You! Get away from there!" They cocked and pointed their bayonets right at his heart. "You don't have permission to be aboard there!"
"I'm sorry, it's just - it's such a pretty boat," he confessed. "Ship - " he corrected himself.
"What's your name?" Jiles demanded.
"Smith! Or, Smithy, if you like!"
Angus wasn't buying any of this. "What your purpose in Port Royal, Mr. Smith?"
"Yeah - and no lies!" Jiles interjected.
I may as well have a little fun, he figured. Stepping around the ship's wheel, he began striding toward them. "Well, then, I confess. It is my intention to commandeer one of these ships, pick up a crew in Tortuga, rape, pillage, plunder, and otherwise pilfer our weasly black guts out."
They began to back away as he stepped towards them, looking suddenly unsure, but keeping their weapons trained on his chest.
"I said no lies!" Jiles exclaimed, desperate to keep the upper hand of the situation, but oddly feeling like this pirate was getting the better of them in the end.
Angus answered Jiles in a voice half-disbelievingly, "I think he's tellin' the truth," he admitted, somewhat subdued.
That threw Mr. Smith for a loop, and he gave Angus a puzzled look, his brow furrowing slightly.
Jiles turned to correct Angus, "If he was tellin' the truth, he wouldn't 'ave told us."
Mr. Smith interjected, "Unless, of course, he knew you wouldn't believe the truth, even if he told it to you." Stick that in your pipe and smoke it!
They both were too dumbfounded to reply.
~*~*~*~
Back at the fort, a string ensemble played a lovely waltz as the reception was underway, continuing the day's celebration. The courtyard was a sea of color as people milled about, the women in fine dresses of silk and lace, the men in various colored coats, all trimmed in gold or silver, being waited on by white-wigged servers in light blue coats and red vests. Elizabeth stood apart form the crowd, still trying to stay upright and breathe. The Commodore's approach caught her off-guard.
"May I have a moment?" He was so proper! Did he ever have any fun?
He escorted her over to the outer wall, where they ascended a staircase that reached the platform of a cannon, where they had a view of they entire sapphire bay, as the fort's walls were built right on the shore, and went straight down to the sea, where some rocks could be seen below.
How did one begin a conversation that could change your life? He hadn't been this nervous even for his promotion! Starting small and simple always seemed a good plan. "You look lovely, Elizabeth." She was fluttering her fan coyly, probably battling the same nervous butterflies as he.
Elizabeth glanced the Commodore's direction, managing a small smile in acknowledgement of the compliment, then turning to gaze back over the bay, a scowl quickly covering her delicate features. Her left hand fluttered at her stomach, while her right hand continued pumping the fan, what little relief it gave her. He continued to drone on, not noticing her discomfort.
"I - uh - apologize if I seem forward, but I must speak my mind." Just a little breath! That's all I ask for! Will he ever shut up?
"This - promotion - throws into sharp relief that which I have not yet achieved - a marriage to a fine woman," he turned to look at her.
Elizabeth managed to look at him, not quite believing where the conversation was headed, surprised that the subject was coming up so soon. I've barely turned eighteen, you cradle-robber!
"You have become a fine woman, Elizabeth." It was the highest compliment he could pay her. He wanted her to know just how highly he thought of her, and wanted to give her the world. With a wife by his side as beautiful as she, what couldn't he conquer?
Drat him! I don't have time for this right now! "I - I - I can't breathe!" she gasped out, feeling everything around her growing dim.
Commodore Norrington smiled understandingly, as he turned to look across the water again, "Yes, I - I'm a bit nervous, myself."
Everything went black, and Elizabeth lost consciousness, as her body hurdled over the stone wall, and fell to the ocean below. Upon hearing a rustling, the Commodore turned around, only to find Elizabeth missing. "Elizabeth?"
Down on the Interceptor, Mr. Smith was giving the soldier pair a rousing good storytelling, " - and then they made me their chief." Upon hearing the splash, all three ran to the deck's railing.
Commodore also heard the splash, and realized what must've happened. "Elizabeth!" He yelled for all his might. It might not save her from the watery depths below, but it would rouse everyone's attention and set a rescue in motion. He began to struggle out of his heavy coat, but his first officer, Gillette, ran up behind him, laying a hand on his shoulder before he could plunge in after her.
"Sir, the rocks! It's miracle she missed them!" He stared helplessly down at the water for a moment, before turning and running out of the fort and down to the docks.
"Will you be saving her, then?" Mr. Smith questioned the soldiers.
"I can't swim!" confessed Portly, and Redhead only gave him a dumb look.
He looked disgusted at them before he started taking off his extra belongings. "Pro to the King's Navy, you are. Do not lose these," he commanded them, as he removed his hat, coat, sword belt, and single-shot pistol. Then he grabbed a rope to hoist himself up to the rail's edge, and did a graceful swan dive into the ocean.
Elizabeth slowly floated downward, the water wonderfully warm, soft, and incredibly blue. The pirate's medallion she still wore about her neck sent out a shuddering rumble of a signal that spread a ring of waves under the ocean's current, and could be felt by all nearby, all except Elizabeth, for she was still unconscious.
"What was that?" Redhead asked Portly, but he didn't have an answer. They noticed then that the wind had changed it's course, and picked up speed. Looking up, they saw the English flag, flying on the highest mast of the Interceptor, turn and fly in completely the opposite direction than it had been a moment before. They had to hold their hats to keep them from blowing away.
The warning skeletons ceaselessly hanging from their nooses started to wave and rattle, as she continued to float downward until she landed softly on the bay's white sandy floor.
Our friendly pirate found her lying there, and grasping her waist, started to pull her upward to the air. Just breaking the surface, he started for the shore when he could feel them sinking again. Realizing the dress was weighing them down, he ripped open the bodice ties in the front, and got it off her, leaving it behind as he broke the surface again.
The wind was really battering the palm trees as almost a dozen soldiers ran down the sidewalk to the docks. Portly and Redhead got there just as he was coming up the dock's ladder, with Elizabeth slung over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. They took her from him and laid her out on the dock. "Not breathing," announced Portly, and brushed wet tendrils of her hair from her face, not sure what else to do.
"MOVE!" Mr. Smith commanded, and produced a dagger from his belt. With one quick slice up her front, he slit the corset strings and ripped it from her body, tossing it to Redhead, who stood nearby, watching in amazement. This gave her lungs the freedom to take in what they had been lacking, and she instantly began gasping and coughing. They rolled her to the side, allowing her to spit out what water she had swallowed.
"I never would 'a' thought o' that," Portly admitted.
Mr. Smith looked at him as he was catching his breath and drolly observed, "Clearly you've never been to Singapore." Noticing a medallion hanging from around her neck, he picked it up and gave it a closer look, his brow furrowing in scrutiny. Elizabeth's eyes followed his hand as he ran his thumb over the skull, gazing up at him with uncertainty. What would he do with it? She was quite at his mercy, dripping and barely breathing as she was, with hardly a stitch on her back. Even under the circumstances, he still intrigued her. A large red scarf around his head topped a few beads hanging from some unruly locks of his hair, his dark eyes were smudged even darker by - what was that? - grease or dirt, probably. When was the last time this man had bathed? But all that paled next to the striking confidence and charisma the man exuded. Elizabeth was very curios now.
"Where did you get that?" he questioned, taking a closer look at the girl. She stared at him with a mixture of fear and defiance. He never got an answer to his question, however, for Norrington arrived, immediately drawing his blade and pointing it directly at Smith's throat.
"On your feet," Norrington commanded.
Looking up, Mr. Smith decided not to test the steely resolve in the man's eyes. He rose with his palms up.
Elizabeth warily watched him move away, just as she heard her father, "Elizabeth!" The Governor ran to her, helping her up and engulfing her with his coat, for all she had on were her chemise and petticoats, and they were soaked through, leaving little to the imagination! "Are you all right?"
"Yes, I'm fine," she continued to watch her mysterious rescuer, as the dock swarmed with more soldiers, and they all now had their bayonets pointed at his chest. Would he reveal what he had found? She tucked it back into her bodice as her father hugged her to his chest.
The Governor looked over at Redhead, noticing the torn corset still in his hands. Realizing what the Governor must be thinking, he dropped it like a hot potato and pointed to the dark stranger.
"Shoot him!" A father had a right to be angry!
"Father!" Elizabeth laid a hand on his arm. "Commodore, do you really intend to kill my rescuer?" She realized that reason was the best way to get through to Norrington. Why did she feel the need to speak out for his life? He was certainly like no one she had ever encountered!
He glanced at her before looking at Smith again, realizing it certainly wouldn't help his proposal any if he did something like this. Some gratitude for saving his future wife!
Smith turned to Elizabeth and gave his palm-together-thank-you, with a nod of his head, before turning back to Norrington. The Commodore was uneasy about the decision to stay his life, but wanted badly to please Elizabeth. Sheathing his new sword, he grudgingly admitted, "I believe thanks are in order," and held out his right hand, to shake Smith's.
He eyed the Commodore's hand warily, unsure if this was a trap. Slowly offering it, he laid his palm to Norrington's, who promptly grabbed it and yanked up the sleeve. A dark torn cloth was wrapped around his arm as a bracelet or cuff, but failed to conceal a brand on the skin just above it, an unmistakable "P," right in the top of the wrist.
"Had a brush with the East India Trading Company, did we? Pirate?" he couldn't keep the contempt out of his voice.
Smith gave a grimace at this discovery. This could really put a cramp in his plans.
The Governor and Elizabeth both stared at him in amazement. "Hang him!" Swan commanded, glad that he had an excuse to rid the man from their presence once and for all. Elizabeth, on the other hand, felt that this only confirmed her odd feelings about her curiosity in this man who had saved her.
"Keep your guns on him, men. Gillette! Fetch some irons!" A feeling of satisfaction filled the Commordore's heart. One less evil the world was rid of! Seeing a bit of blue above the branding, he pulled the sleeve up farther to reveal a tattoo of a sun, rising over waves, with a bird in flight over all.
"Well, well! Jack Sparrow, isn't it?" He practically threw the man's hand back at him.
The man smiled smugly, "Captain Jack Sparrow, if you please, sir."
Norrington looked around. "Well, I don't see your ship, Captain." He felt nothing but disdain for this breed of mankind. Could anyone be lower than pond scum?
"I'm in the market, as it were." The man could swagger while standing still!
Redhead offered some information, "He said he come to commandeer one."
"I told you he was tellin' the truth!" Portly rebutted. "These are his, sir," and he bent over to pick up Jack's items that he left with them before jumping off the Interceptor to save Elizabeth, handing them over for Norrington's inspection.
The Commodore perused through the items, one by one, growing more impatient and contemptuous as he went. Lifting the pistol off the pile, he ran down the list, "No additional shot, nor powder," opening an old box-style compass, "a compass that doesn't point north," giving Jack a disparaging smile, and pulling the sword from the hilt a few inches, "and I half- expected it to be made of wood." He slid the blade back home, "You are without doubt the worst pirate I've ever heard of."
With a smirk, Jack held up a finger, "But you have heard of me."
In reply, Norrington grabbed Jack's arm and turns to go, leading him away in a sea of red coats.
"Commodore! I really must protest!" Elizabeth broke out of her father's arms, and chased them down the dock. There was just something in her that compelled her to speak out, no matter how improper! She hated being the helpless damsel in distress.
"It can't be left undone," was his only reply. He had a mortal hatred of pirates, and wife or no wife, he wasn't going to let him get away with his crimes against the Crown.
Elizabeth positioned herself in between Norrington and Jack, while another officer was putting the irons on his wrists. "Pirate or not, this man saved my life."
"One good deed is not enough to redeem a man of a lifetime of wickedness."
Sparrow put in his two-cents worth, "Though it seems enough to condemn him."
They all turned to look at him, their argument immediately halting. "Indeed!" Norrington snottily replied.
Elizabeth turned to stare at the Commodore in shock and disbelief at his utter heartlessness as the officer finished putting Jack's wrist irons on, and stepped back to join the crowd behind Norrington.
"Finally," Jack comments, then promptly lifts his hands over Elizabeth's head and stretches the iron chain across her neck, taking everyone on dock by complete surprise. She gasps, trying to fight the pull of the chain, making her backside collide with Sparrow's body.
"No!" Swan couldn't hide the fear and panic in his voice. Twice in one day was too many to risk his only daughter's life. "Stop! Don't shoot!" for every soldier on that dock had stepped forward, ready and alert to draw swords, bayonets, and pistols.
"I knew you'd warm up to me," Jack have Swan a knowing smirk. "Commodore Norrington, my effects, please! And my hat!" He pointed a finger at Norrington. The man stared, as if unsure of the best course of action. "Commodore!" Jack called out in warning.
Norrington turned, and Portly gave him Sparrow's belongings.
Jack turned his attention to the sweet young lass in his grip. "Elizabeth? It is Elizabeth, isn't it?"
"It's Miss Swan," she gritted out. She wasn't going to let any dirty pirate cow her into submission, even if her life was on the line.
"Miss Swan, if you'd be so kind.." He indicated for her to take his belongings from Norrington and put them on him. "Come, come, dear, we don't have all day." Norrington handed her the bundle, and Jack grabbed his pistol off the top, spinning Elizabeth around to face him, and pointing the muzzle at her head. "Now, if you'll be very kind.." He watched her glare at him while jamming the hat in his head, and getting his sword belt around his waist. My, what he couldn't do with such a pretty maid, and what a spitfire! He smiled at her for a moment before looking over her shoulder at Norrington and Swan, giving a knowing smirk of satisfaction. Bet our dear Commodore's never been this close to her!
Swan stood fuming during the whole scene. It was bad enough that she be put through this, but with so many witnesses! Her reputation will be ruined! He glanced over at the Commodore when he saw Jack give a look over Elizabeth's shoulder. What was he thinking? Would he risk his life to save her?
Norrington stood helplessly by and watched while Elizabeth finished dressing him. He agonized over wanting to shove the bastard into the watery depths, but wavered, knowing that pistol did have at least one round in it, and he didn't want to test the man's resolve on firing it.
Elizabeth had decided that he may have her life in his hands, but she wasn't going down without a fight. She jerked and yanked on the belt and buckle, making every movement a non-verbal communications of her opinion on this matter. Sparrow grunted, "Easy on the goods, love," looking down at her face.
She gave a final yank and sneered up at him, "You're despicable."
"Sticks and stones, love. I saved your life, you saved mine. We're square." He spun her around and started backing away from the crowd.
"Gentleman! My lady," he addressed the crowd, "You will always remember this as the day you almost caught Captain - Jack - Sparrow!" With that, he lifted the manacle chain from the girl's neck and shoved her towards the Commodore, using the distraction to give him a moment's head start, and turned to make his getaway. A wooden pole-and-beam pulley system stood behind him, and had been used to haul the heavy iron cannons on board the Navy's ships in port. A rope hung behind Jack, tied to a cannon hanging in the air. He kicked at the pulley's stopper, and hung on while the cannon fell, and the weight pulled him high into the air, swinging him up and away from the crowd. He soared straight up, slamming into the huge square beam at the top, the jarring causing the crane start its round motion, swinging Sparrow in an arc over the crowd's heads. He looked around wildly for a moment, hanging on for dear life, getting at 360-degree view of the bay and the town.
"NOW will you shoot him?" Swan called out in irritation. Was Norrington just going to watch the scoundrel escape before their very eyes?
The Governor's question spurred him into action. "Open fire!" Norrington commanded his men. A volley of shots filled the air, while Jack swung crazily above their heads, every bullet miraculously missing him, Jack yelling like a banshee.
The rope swung around once more, and he managed to get close enough to land on the beam of the next pulley, spotting a rope tied from the top of the beam, all the way down to the ground, fifty feet away towards town. Scooting over, he swung the wrist-chains over one side of the rope, grasped it with both hands, and made a zipper line, sliding down the rope to the walk below, landing on the run towards town. The soldiers hurriedly form a firing line, and sent a volley of shots in his direction. Crossing a bridge, he ran through a crowd of people, hopping and flailing his arms like a maniac, managing to still miss being shot to death, while the poor townsfolk ran screaming for cover.
While the troop chased after him, Norrington had other plans. "Gillette!" The man was instantly at his side. "Mr. Sparrow has a dawn appointment with the gallows." He eyed Gillette meaningfully. "I would hate for him to miss it." Gillette nodded understanding, then jerked his head for Angus Mulroy and Jiles Martog to follow him.
Soon Port Royal's cobblestone streets were filled with red-coated soldiers carrying bayonets, searching for a rogue pirate. Jack waited for the troops to pass his hideout, then stepped out from behind a blacksmith statue with an anvil. He then saw more troops going down a side street, and he ducked into the first doorway, above which hung a shingle with tongs, hammer, and anvil painted on it, advertising the blacksmithing of "J. Brown."
Closing the massive planked door behind him, he sheathed his sword and surveyed the shop. A donkey stood harnessed to a huge pole that cranked a 10-foot horizontal gear overhead, a stone fireplace that burned brightly, and a wheeled flat-cart leaning against the entry's platform. The whole room wasn't more than twenty-by-twenty feet, with the sun peeking through cracks in the planks, lighting up the dust and hay from the dirt floor. He then spotted the anvil and hammer, and stepped down to try and remove the irons from his wrists. He had laid his hat down and grabbed the hammer, when a bottle dropped from a man's hand across the room. Jack spun around, startled, and spotted a short, slightly overweight, and very dirty man in a leather apron, passed out from drunkenness: Mr. J. Brown, at your service. Stepping towards him cautiously, Jack lightly poked his chest, watching for a reaction. The man mumbles something, but doesn't move. Jack turned as if to walk away, but suddenly turned back and shouted in the man's face. The man lay still as the dead. Satisfied that he won't be a bother, Jack went about attempting to free himself. After struggling with the anvil and hammer, they proved useless, and Jack pulled and jangled the chain in a dance of frustration. After taking a few deep breaths, he looked around and noticed the huge gear system to which the donkey was harnessed, standing quietly.
Jack eyeballed the red-hot iron he pulled from the fire, eyeballed the donkey, and the next sound the shop echoed with was the bray of the poor donkey as his rump met up with a sudden sensation of heat, immediately setting him and the gears into motion. As the large gear overhead started turning, Jack flung the chain over one of the spokes and walked with the turning, until the chain was crushed where the gears met. He was just getting ready to enjoy the free movement of his arms, when he heard the shop's door-latch creak up, and realized he would soon have company.
Will Turner shut his blacksmith shop's door, laying the latch down gently. He noticed his donkey running the gear, and stepped over to stop him, rubbing his muzzle affectionately to calm the poor beast. Unbuttoning his coat, he stepped behind the gears and looked at the sleeping drunk. "Right where I left you," giving the man a disparaging smile. Tossing his coat aside and loosening the top few buttons of his vest, he noticed his hammer laying in the anivl. "Not where I left you." And then he spotted a very worn leather tri-cornered hat hanging from his workbench. Reaching out to touch it, the blade of a sword slapped the back of his hand, making him flinch and spin around, instantly alert.
Jack stepped out from his hiding spot, keeping his sword pointed at the young man, causing him to back away, and Jack stepped with him, keeping the sword point on it's target. This might be easier than I thought.
Will couldn't prevent a sneer from curling his lip. "You're the one they're hunting. The pirate." The last word came out with unhidden contempt. He would never forget the childhood tragedy that made him an orphan.
Jack ignored the kid's tone. "You seem somewhat familiar. Have I threatened you before?"
"I make a point of avoiding familiarity with pirates." Softly spoken, but, oh, filled with hatred.
"Ah! Well, it would be a shame to put a black mark on your record, so if you'll excuse me." Jack turned to get his hat.
Will grabbed the unguarded opportunity to turn and snatch a sword from a rack behind him, swinging it around and aiming for the scoundrel's throat.
"Do you think this wise, boy? Crossing blades with a pirate?" He emphasized the last word, showing the upstart that he hadn't missed the kid's opinion on the subject. What was he thinking? This wasn't a child's game of swashbucklers with wooden toy swords.
Will never flinched. He eyed the dark man quietly. "You threatened Miss Swan." In his mind, it was reason enough to slit the man's throat.
Jack stepped towards him, sliding his sword up and down Will's blade, the rubbing of metal on metal echoing in the small shop. "Only a little," he assured the lad, a gleam in his eye. He figured on showing the kid who was boss, then waltzing out of there. Lunging quickly, they started across the shop - lunge - parry - lunge - parry - step, step, Will grabbed an opening and swung his blade wide, causing Sparrow to step back.
Pausing to retake their starting stances, Will pointed his swordtip at Sparrow's face, a menacing look in his eye. This time he stepped forward, and lunged Jack back across the room. They paused for another moment.
"You know what you're doing, I'll give you that," Jack begrudged him a compliment. "Excellent form. But how's your footwork?" He squinted his eyes in challenge. "If I step here."
They went through a series of maneuvered steps.Clink! Clink! Clink! CLANG! Will eyed Jack right back, making his own challenge. Another lunge - thrust - step, step. Jack paused a moment then gave one last surprise lunge, which Will easily glanced off.
"Ta!" Jack dismissed the boy and turned to go. He reached the door's platform just as Will threw his sword across the shop.
Jack stopped dead in his tracks at the door as the sword plunged deep into the wood, mere inches from his head. It rocked and wobbled where it was jammed into the door, blocking the latch-bar from being raised, trapping him. He turned and just about went cross-eyed at how close the sword had come to his head. Slapping his hand on the hilt, he yanked and wiggled and danced around trying to get it free, as Will stood calmly confident and watched.
Jack quickly gave up and swung around to face the kid. "That is a wonderful trick." Instead of taking the steps, Jack came jauntily down the flat wagon parked nearby, using it as a ramp. "Except once again, you are between me and my way out." He unsheathed his sword once more. "And now, you have no weapon," he pointed out, sweeping his arms out and giving Will a smirk.
Before Jack could move, Will swung around and grabbed an unfinished sword straight from the fireplace behind him, and pointed the red-white-hot tip at Jack's face. The donkey let out a bray upon recognizing the hissing sound of the hot metal meeting the cool air of the shop, remembering his not-so-pleasant experience only moments ago, and started to walk his roundabout path again, causing the gears to be set into motion again.
Jack grabbed the distraction to step away from Will, but Turner did a 360 swing-around, and stopped Sparrow's escape, the hot sword clinking on the gear's pole and spraying sparks into the air near the pirate's face. Jack backed up and matched him thrust for thrust, sparks flying. Jack pushed his blade to Will's, almost causing the hot sword to meet with the lad's own throat, but Will grabbed Jack's free wrist, pushing him away with a grunt. Will lunged at him again, but Jack reached behind the thrust and, grabbing the flat, dull side of the blade, near the hilt, managed to yank it out of Turner's hand and fling it away, across the shop.
Turner about-faced and somersaulted over a horizontal gear pole, about knee- high, just as Jack wiped at him again. Will grabbed another sword from the rack, turning and meeting Jack's charge around the main turnstile of the gear with a smile of self-satisfaction for his swiftness.
Jack stepped under the gear to charge Will again, and saw yet another rack of finished swords. "Who makes all these?" he asked in amazement.
Blocking the pirate's blows and stepping to another location, he leaned into a thrust and proudly answered, "I do!" Thrust! "And I practice with them-" Block! "-three hours a day!" He quickly stepped back to avoid a swipe across his midsection, leaping down off the gearcranks.
Jack lunged at him around the pole again, "You need to find yourself a girl, mate!" And take a breather, he thought. This kid was way too young to be this tense and serious!
They continued swiping, lunging, thrusting, and blocking each other's attempts, making their way out from under the gears and out onto the open floor, Jack grabbing and throwing things at Will, anything he could reach. Dodging and thrusting, Will grabbing a second sword as he went by the rack. He came at Jack with both now, and as Jack thrust at him again, he crossed his two blades, and the swords were blocked as Jack stepped closer, their arms in the air.
Jack paused a moment to comment, "Or - perhaps the reason you practice three hours a day is that you already found one-" Will glared at him for that remark, because that was true, he had found her, alright, "-but are otherwise incapable of wooing said strumpet. You're not a eunuch, are you?" He asked, frowning at the thought, glancing down at Will's lower region.
Will was good and fired up now. "I practice three hours a day," giving Jack a scathing look up and down, "so that when I meet a pirate - I can kill it!" he shouted viciously, taking a swipe at Jack's middle. The pirate backed out of the way, and found himself backing up onto the wheeled cart near the entrance.
When Will followed him, fighting the whole way, the stone wedged against the cart's wheels rolled away, and their continued fighting caused the cart to rock and move. The two fighters kept up their sparring, not letting the cart's unsteadiness deter them. They just wavered around and swung their arms more, trying to keep balanced while still attacking and defending each blow. Will managed to get the iron chain on Jack's left wrist wrapped around one of his blades, and thrust it up into an overhead beam, effectively pinning Sparrow in place. Jack swiped at Will a couple more times, before noticing a loose board on the bottom of the cart, and stepped on one end of it, the other end flying up and tossing Will to the dirt floor. He landed on his back with a thud and a small shake of his head, trying to clear his mind of the jarring.
With Will momentarily out of commission, Jack turned his attention to his imprisoned arm. He tried yanking his hand free, but realized that, like the sword thrown into the shop's door, it was buried too deep to budge. He swung up, and placing his boots against the beam, pulled on his arm with all his might. Will had now hopped up again, and stepped back onto the cart, just as Jack came down, flat on his back, and slammed onto the cart, his weight making the cart a springboard that sent Will flying into the shop's dusty rafters. Jack rolled off the cart and banged into the stone ledge of the entrance platform. He stood up again, ready to face his adversary, only to find him missing. Looking up, he saw Will looking down at him over a rafter beam. Now I've got you, he figured with a smirk. But that quickly disappeared when Will reached out with his sword and cut a rope holding up a large bundle of goods. It fell right on the cart where Will had stood, causing Jack to fly up to the rafters himself, hanging onto a beam by his armpits.
Jack managed to get upright on the beam, and he and Will hopped back and forth between beams, before landing on the same beam long enough to clash swords again. The shop resounded with more clinking as they hopped back and forth, up and down the beams. Jack knocked Will's sword loose, sending it to the floor below. After a look at each other, Jack turned to swing down off the end of the beam, and Will swung down by his knees, doing a back flip to the floor. Just as his hand reached the hilt, he turned in time to meet a face full of dirt and dust, as Jack swung the dirt bag, used to douse the fire, directly to Will's face, blinding him and filling the shop with a fog of dust. When Will cleared his vision and raised his sword for another attach, he turned to meet the barrel of a pistol at eye level. His dust-brown face instantly fell with disappointment.
"You cheated," he accused Sparrow, disappointed as much in himself for believing that a pirate would fight honorably, as he was in Jack for cheating, after such a good round of sparring.
"Pirate!" Jack none-too-delicately reminded him. Pirates are known for pillaging and murder. How honorable did the kid expect him to be?
They both looked over at the shop's doors as they began to shake from a band of soldiers outside tried to force their way in. Taking advantage of Jack looking elsewhere, Will moved into the path of Jack's only other escape from the shop: its boarded window.
Jack looked back, gun still raised, "Move away," he demanded.
"No," Will answered, sword still poised to strike.
"Please move!" Jack looked like he didn't really want to deal with this right now.
"No!" Will shouted, "I cannot just step aside and let you escape," he said, his voice edged in resolve. He glanced at the door again as it started to shutter from a battering ram. Jack cocked his pistol.
"This shot is not meant for you." Jack gritted his teeth in frustration. This one shot already had a named earmarked for it, and it wasn't some blacksmith.
An odd look came over Will's face, before a crash on Jack's head sent him collapsing to the floor. Had the pirate been begging him to move? What was so pressing that he needed to escape?
The drunken Mr. J. Brown stood there looking at his broken booze bottle as the shop door burst open and the small space flooded with soldiers, Norrington in the lead.
"Excellent work, Mr. Brown. You've assisted in the capture of a dangerous fugitive." The Commodore looked down his nose at the heap of Jack face- down on the floor.
"Just doing my civic duty, Sir," the rotund man slurred out, obviously still very must intoxicated.
Will, his face a pure brown from the dust blown at him, long hair disheveled, heaving from the workout he had just been through swordfighting with Jack, went unnoticed in the room as he rolled his eyes at the stupid drunk taking the credit due to Will. He let the whole town think that he did all the fine blacksmithing work his shop was so highly praised for, why shouldn't he take this small credit? Never mind his apprentice looking like he's been dragged through the streets a dozen times.
"Well, I trust that you will always remember this is the day that Captain Jack Sparrow almost escaped." He used Jack's own words, sneering at the title. "Take him away." He turned to go, dismissing the whole matter.
~*~*~*~