"Nothing for it, Captain. Not a single blessed soul left alive." Gibbs rested a hand on his knee as he stared out across the water, to the stained hull of the coffin-ship. The crew of the Black Pearl had gone aboard, searched every deck for signs of life, and found none. Elizabeth had tried to keep her cabin boy from going over, but he'd insisted he was man enough to face the Dutch ship's demons; right up until he vomited into the lifeboat.
"They hung the cat, too." he whispered, close to tears.
Jack was silent, waiting for something, a ghost perhaps. Or a stray wind.
"Aye."
"There's some goods left in the hold… should we bother ta'go through and…"
"No !" Elizabeth gasped, turning shocked eyes on Gibbs, who shrugged. Life goes on, he seemed to say. She faced Jack, shoulders proud and square, sure that he would be gazing across at Gibbs with an honorable seaman's righteous indignation. Instead, he was staring at her.
She realized, in that moment, that he'd been thinking of taking the items as well. His gentle face, which rarely, if ever, showed shame, seemed to draw inward slightly; and he turned away.
"No." Jack's dark orbs lowered to the water. "No. We'll not take a farthing. They deserve that much."
"Yessir."
"In fact," he added, "We'll burn the bodies, and sink whatever's left of the ship. And Mr. Gibbs, please make certain that there is no powder or shot left on board when you do so." he sighed, and a flicker of warmth resurfaced in his eyes. "We're burying them, not making powdered Dutchmen."
I wonder about him, sometimes. I wonder who he used to be, if there was ever a small Jack Sparrow that climbed trees, had lessons in a schoolhouse; one that ran errands for a farthing and knelt down next to his bed at night, said prayers, wished for a toy sword and a pocket full of sweets. I wonder if he lived by the sea, and what his father did for a living. I wonder if there was a Jack who wanted to be a merchant, or a barrister, or a father.
But this is only when he is asleep. Such a Jack could never have existed in the daylight; not awake. I will never ask him what he was, because I'm certain that some part of him does not remember the actual truth. Any childhood I learned about would be the one Jack dreamed of having; ever the scallywag, ever the man on top. I love the man, and he loves me; but he couldn't help the half-truths, the embellishments, and the tale-telling.
The only truly honest things about him are his scars; and his eyes; and his body.
But this is only when he is asleep.
"I saw a ship like that."
This is the first thing he has spoken since the morning, and it startles her out of a dreamy reverie. Elizabeth raises her head off of his chest, and stares at him. "I saw a ship like that," he continues "when I was a boy. The crew, all dead. Nothing taken, really, just some supplies. It was a pirate ship, not a merchant vessel, and they'd been raiding for a few weeks up and down the coast of Jamaica. Their hull was nearly full."
"Full ?" she said, stupidly, and blinked the sleep out of her eyes. He went on as if she hadn't spoken, tracing out the long-dead shapes of memory in the air with jeweled fingers.
"Gold, pearls, precious silks. None of it was taken. They left it in the hull for another ship to find. And the bodies, too. Piled on the deck. Not hung, of course, shot, but dead all the same. The cabin boy, the cook, every man aboard. All with surprised faces."
"Who would do such a thing ?"
Jack smiled, sadly, and stroked her hair.
"There are a few."
"But why… why, if it was a raid, would they take nothing ?"
"It's a show of power. It's done, sometimes, to mark out territory, to threaten. To pay back a disrespect, maybe. But there's very few men won't take the gold as well. Takes a special breed." he spat.
"How old were you then ?" she murmured.
"Eleven." he kissed her forehead as he spoke. "It was the first and last time I'd ever seen my father's ship."
They lay silent beside one another then, listening to the sounds of the water against the wood. The Pearl was marked not only for her speed, but her stealth in the water; she cut it like a hot knife in the dark, and the waves healed again behind her. Elizabeth laid her head back down, listened to his heartbeat, thought about what she'd do if she found him, face-up and bloodless. Probably sail the seas forever, she thought, never stopping, always moving, strange and secretive and never really thinking anything was right again.
"You were thinking about taking the goods off of that ship today, Jack."
"Aye."
"I don't think any less of you."
"That's good."
