Disclaimer: see chapter 1
Author's note: Well, that's a record for the most reviews I've ever had for one chapter of a fic. Blimey. Many thanks. Also, many apologies for the delay in this second chapter - thing is, what with it being Christmas soon and so on (ROTK coming up, for instance), Real Life hasn't permitted me much time to write this week. I imagine it'll continue in this vein until the New Year - I'll try and get one up a week but if I don't, please be assured I'm not abandoning the story. Jack won't let me do that!
----
"Well," Tom said, turning to Jack, "San Juan - this be our port." He handed their passenger a bottle of rum. "You earned this getting us through that storm."
Jack took the bottle. "Cheers, mate. Least I could do."
"You could stay with us," Tom suggested. "Could do with another hand, we could, 'specially one who knows what he's doing with a ship."
"No, thanks," Jack said. "No offence - she's a beauty, your ship, but she won't help me catch the Pearl."
"Too small?" Tom asked.
Jack grinned, and patted the other man on the back. "Too slow. I need a ship that'll race the winds and fly with the waves."
"Where will you find such a ship?" Tom questioned, folding his arms and looking curiously at Jack.
"Dunno," said Jack. "But I'll look for her, and one day I'll find her. The fastest ship in the Caribbean, after the Black Pearl."
Tom held out a hand. "Well, good luck, Cap'n Sparrow. Been a pleasure."
Jack shook. "Likewise. Thanks for the rum."
They exchanged grins, and Jack sauntered off down the gangplank on to Puerto Rican soil.
He had been to San Juan once before, years ago, and remembered the town vaguely. But that had been with the old crew of the Black Pearl - Captain Flint, gruff Thornton, Joffo the Frenchman - and now he was alone. He had no ship, no friends, precious little money or other valuables. On the plus side, he reflected, he did have his sword and the threat of his pistol (though he was resolved not to fire it), his hat, and his wits. The wits were, possibly, the most important thing. Jack resolved, as he paused by a stall selling fruit. He made a pretence of examining the produce before wandering on, but not until he had palmed a plantain and tucked it in his pocket.
A little further on, Jack settled down by the harbour and pulled out the bottle of rum he had been given. Pulling out the cork, he held it up to examine the rich colour, backlit by the sun. He tipped the bottle up and drank, contemplating the ships at anchor as he did so.
Aside from the rum-runner's sloop, the harbour was busy with a mixture of small fishing boats and other roughly made but seaworthy native vessels; and the taller merchant vessels. It was the latter that Jack examined as he drank his rum, though if he were honest with himself, he was not entirely sure what he was looking for. He wanted to find the Black Pearl, and win her back, to be certain. But to do that, he needed a crew, and a crew would not be forthcoming in a place like this. In the meantime, therefore, getting a berth on a ship would have to be the next step.
And so, Jack Sparrow sat and drank his rum and watched the vessels and the men on them, seeking one that suited his purpose and his liking.
By the bottom of the bottle, he had narrowed his shortlist to two ships. One was a bark that reminded him very much of the Pearl, though her sails were cream, not black; and the other was a small, two-masted brig in immaculate condition. Both ships had been unloading cargo and taking on supplies all afternoon, and it seemed to Jack that they would be setting sail soon for new horizons. He resolved, with a shake of the bottle to empty it of every last drop, to join one of those vessels the very next morning.
Jack slept the night in an empty animal shed, nestled down on some sacks. He would have tried to find a tavern, but since he had already surrendered one braid's worth of beads to the rum-runners, and had no coins worth speaking of in his pockets, he was loath to give up anything else he possessed. The shed was warm, at least, and the sacks no less uncomfortable than many other things he had slept upon. In the morning, he woke with a surprisingly clear head given the rum, and set out to charm his way on to a ship.
He went for the bark first. It was anchored alongside the quay, with a gangplank leading to the ship. On deck, a tall man in a coat of fine serge was discussing navigation with another, shabbier sailor. Jack straightened his hat, squared his shoulders and walked briskly up the gangplank as if the ship was indeed the Black Pearl.
The tall man looked up from his chart. "Yes?" he said, his tone not welcoming.
Jack gestured at the ship. "Nice boat you've got here," he said. "Very nice. Don't suppose you've got such a thing as room for another crewmember? Captain?"
The captain inclined his head. "I am the captain of this vessel, it's true. And another hand would not go amiss. But why should I take on a ... man ..." he looked doubtfully at Jack's appearance, "who wanders on to my ship uninvited?"
"Because, cap'n," Jack said, taking another step forward to accentuate his point, "I'm a damn good sailor." He glanced around the ship, and looking upwards saw a loose shroud flapping a bit in the wind. "That, for instance," he said, pointing it out. "Needs fixing."
Before the captain could say anything, Jack had his boots and coat and sword belt off, and was ascending the rigging as nimbly as he ever had as a cabin boy. In moments he had the shroud tied down correctly, and was back on the deck.
"Indeed," said the captain, his face thoughtful. "Not bad, Mr ..."
Jack paused from putting his boots back on, and raised his eyes to the captain. In that split second he made a decision. Barbossa and his men would, by now, surely imagine Jack Sparrow dead. Then, Jack thought, Jack Sparrow would be dead - at least for a while.
"Swift," he said. "James Swift. But most people call me Jim."
"And what have you been doing until now, Mr Swift?" the captain asked.
Jack settled his sword belt over his shoulder, hand going automatically to check that the precious pistol was still there.
"This and that," he explained. "Bit o' that, little o' this. Jumpin' from ship to ship, trying to find one that suits me."
"Seen something of the world, I take it?" the captain said. "The ... erm ... the hair, and so on."
"Oh, the hair?" Jack returned. "Easiest way of keeping valuables valuable, mate - I mean, captain, sir. Wouldn't be a problem, would it?"
The captain, startled, shook his head. "No. No, of course not."
Jack smiled. "Good."
"Well." The other man held out his hand. "Though nobody has ever made such a bold offer of their services before, I believe you would indeed be an asset to the crew. Please join us, Mr Swift - we sail on the morning tide."
"Bound where?" Jack questioned, hand hovering inches from the captain's.
"England," said the captain.
"England," Jack repeated. "Very well. I'll join you." He shook hands.
"You'll sleep below with the other men," the captain said. "You may bring your kit aboard this afternoon; everyone is due back then."
"No kit, captain," Jack said, spreading his hands. "What you see is what you get."
"Very well," the captain shrugged. "Welcome aboard the Lucky Venture. I'm Captain Jones. If you have naught to do until evening, Mr Swift, you could take a closer look at our rigging. You spotted that loose knot sharpish."
"Aye, aye, sir!" Jack said, smartly. Captain Jones nodded, and returned to the quarterdeck and his chart. Jack took off his boots, hat and sword belt again and began to methodically check the state of the rigging from deck to topmasts.
When the rest of the crew came aboard later that afternoon, they seemed surprised but not displeased to discover a new member of the crew. They found Jack a hammock and somewhere to stow his few belongings. Jack left the sword belt, with pistol and compass, reluctantly, but knew he could not keep them on his person at all times, not as a regular crewmember. He was assigned to the middle watch, under the command of an old sailor named Brown, and after eating the whole crew were ordered below, so they could be well rested for the early start.
They were woken by the ringing of a bell before dawn, and in the half-light that comes before the sun is fully up, set the sails to leave harbour. Jack found himself assigned as topman, and, with his toes gripping the line, his fingers working to unfurl the sail, he felt for a moment as if time had been rolled back and he was again a young pirate on the Black Pearl, with Flint below at the helm. Then the sails unfurled, and creamy canvas billowed in the wind, and the feeling faded. He was Captain Jack Sparrow, feared pirate and master of the fastest ship in the Caribbean. Only the ship was gone, and he was concealing his identity and working as a plain sailor.
Jack leant on the boom and felt the surge of the Lucky Venture as she met open sea, her prow cutting through the water. The wind whipped his hair back off his face, and he closed his eyes and let himself drift back into memory, back into longing.
Author's note: Well, that's a record for the most reviews I've ever had for one chapter of a fic. Blimey. Many thanks. Also, many apologies for the delay in this second chapter - thing is, what with it being Christmas soon and so on (ROTK coming up, for instance), Real Life hasn't permitted me much time to write this week. I imagine it'll continue in this vein until the New Year - I'll try and get one up a week but if I don't, please be assured I'm not abandoning the story. Jack won't let me do that!
----
"Well," Tom said, turning to Jack, "San Juan - this be our port." He handed their passenger a bottle of rum. "You earned this getting us through that storm."
Jack took the bottle. "Cheers, mate. Least I could do."
"You could stay with us," Tom suggested. "Could do with another hand, we could, 'specially one who knows what he's doing with a ship."
"No, thanks," Jack said. "No offence - she's a beauty, your ship, but she won't help me catch the Pearl."
"Too small?" Tom asked.
Jack grinned, and patted the other man on the back. "Too slow. I need a ship that'll race the winds and fly with the waves."
"Where will you find such a ship?" Tom questioned, folding his arms and looking curiously at Jack.
"Dunno," said Jack. "But I'll look for her, and one day I'll find her. The fastest ship in the Caribbean, after the Black Pearl."
Tom held out a hand. "Well, good luck, Cap'n Sparrow. Been a pleasure."
Jack shook. "Likewise. Thanks for the rum."
They exchanged grins, and Jack sauntered off down the gangplank on to Puerto Rican soil.
He had been to San Juan once before, years ago, and remembered the town vaguely. But that had been with the old crew of the Black Pearl - Captain Flint, gruff Thornton, Joffo the Frenchman - and now he was alone. He had no ship, no friends, precious little money or other valuables. On the plus side, he reflected, he did have his sword and the threat of his pistol (though he was resolved not to fire it), his hat, and his wits. The wits were, possibly, the most important thing. Jack resolved, as he paused by a stall selling fruit. He made a pretence of examining the produce before wandering on, but not until he had palmed a plantain and tucked it in his pocket.
A little further on, Jack settled down by the harbour and pulled out the bottle of rum he had been given. Pulling out the cork, he held it up to examine the rich colour, backlit by the sun. He tipped the bottle up and drank, contemplating the ships at anchor as he did so.
Aside from the rum-runner's sloop, the harbour was busy with a mixture of small fishing boats and other roughly made but seaworthy native vessels; and the taller merchant vessels. It was the latter that Jack examined as he drank his rum, though if he were honest with himself, he was not entirely sure what he was looking for. He wanted to find the Black Pearl, and win her back, to be certain. But to do that, he needed a crew, and a crew would not be forthcoming in a place like this. In the meantime, therefore, getting a berth on a ship would have to be the next step.
And so, Jack Sparrow sat and drank his rum and watched the vessels and the men on them, seeking one that suited his purpose and his liking.
By the bottom of the bottle, he had narrowed his shortlist to two ships. One was a bark that reminded him very much of the Pearl, though her sails were cream, not black; and the other was a small, two-masted brig in immaculate condition. Both ships had been unloading cargo and taking on supplies all afternoon, and it seemed to Jack that they would be setting sail soon for new horizons. He resolved, with a shake of the bottle to empty it of every last drop, to join one of those vessels the very next morning.
Jack slept the night in an empty animal shed, nestled down on some sacks. He would have tried to find a tavern, but since he had already surrendered one braid's worth of beads to the rum-runners, and had no coins worth speaking of in his pockets, he was loath to give up anything else he possessed. The shed was warm, at least, and the sacks no less uncomfortable than many other things he had slept upon. In the morning, he woke with a surprisingly clear head given the rum, and set out to charm his way on to a ship.
He went for the bark first. It was anchored alongside the quay, with a gangplank leading to the ship. On deck, a tall man in a coat of fine serge was discussing navigation with another, shabbier sailor. Jack straightened his hat, squared his shoulders and walked briskly up the gangplank as if the ship was indeed the Black Pearl.
The tall man looked up from his chart. "Yes?" he said, his tone not welcoming.
Jack gestured at the ship. "Nice boat you've got here," he said. "Very nice. Don't suppose you've got such a thing as room for another crewmember? Captain?"
The captain inclined his head. "I am the captain of this vessel, it's true. And another hand would not go amiss. But why should I take on a ... man ..." he looked doubtfully at Jack's appearance, "who wanders on to my ship uninvited?"
"Because, cap'n," Jack said, taking another step forward to accentuate his point, "I'm a damn good sailor." He glanced around the ship, and looking upwards saw a loose shroud flapping a bit in the wind. "That, for instance," he said, pointing it out. "Needs fixing."
Before the captain could say anything, Jack had his boots and coat and sword belt off, and was ascending the rigging as nimbly as he ever had as a cabin boy. In moments he had the shroud tied down correctly, and was back on the deck.
"Indeed," said the captain, his face thoughtful. "Not bad, Mr ..."
Jack paused from putting his boots back on, and raised his eyes to the captain. In that split second he made a decision. Barbossa and his men would, by now, surely imagine Jack Sparrow dead. Then, Jack thought, Jack Sparrow would be dead - at least for a while.
"Swift," he said. "James Swift. But most people call me Jim."
"And what have you been doing until now, Mr Swift?" the captain asked.
Jack settled his sword belt over his shoulder, hand going automatically to check that the precious pistol was still there.
"This and that," he explained. "Bit o' that, little o' this. Jumpin' from ship to ship, trying to find one that suits me."
"Seen something of the world, I take it?" the captain said. "The ... erm ... the hair, and so on."
"Oh, the hair?" Jack returned. "Easiest way of keeping valuables valuable, mate - I mean, captain, sir. Wouldn't be a problem, would it?"
The captain, startled, shook his head. "No. No, of course not."
Jack smiled. "Good."
"Well." The other man held out his hand. "Though nobody has ever made such a bold offer of their services before, I believe you would indeed be an asset to the crew. Please join us, Mr Swift - we sail on the morning tide."
"Bound where?" Jack questioned, hand hovering inches from the captain's.
"England," said the captain.
"England," Jack repeated. "Very well. I'll join you." He shook hands.
"You'll sleep below with the other men," the captain said. "You may bring your kit aboard this afternoon; everyone is due back then."
"No kit, captain," Jack said, spreading his hands. "What you see is what you get."
"Very well," the captain shrugged. "Welcome aboard the Lucky Venture. I'm Captain Jones. If you have naught to do until evening, Mr Swift, you could take a closer look at our rigging. You spotted that loose knot sharpish."
"Aye, aye, sir!" Jack said, smartly. Captain Jones nodded, and returned to the quarterdeck and his chart. Jack took off his boots, hat and sword belt again and began to methodically check the state of the rigging from deck to topmasts.
When the rest of the crew came aboard later that afternoon, they seemed surprised but not displeased to discover a new member of the crew. They found Jack a hammock and somewhere to stow his few belongings. Jack left the sword belt, with pistol and compass, reluctantly, but knew he could not keep them on his person at all times, not as a regular crewmember. He was assigned to the middle watch, under the command of an old sailor named Brown, and after eating the whole crew were ordered below, so they could be well rested for the early start.
They were woken by the ringing of a bell before dawn, and in the half-light that comes before the sun is fully up, set the sails to leave harbour. Jack found himself assigned as topman, and, with his toes gripping the line, his fingers working to unfurl the sail, he felt for a moment as if time had been rolled back and he was again a young pirate on the Black Pearl, with Flint below at the helm. Then the sails unfurled, and creamy canvas billowed in the wind, and the feeling faded. He was Captain Jack Sparrow, feared pirate and master of the fastest ship in the Caribbean. Only the ship was gone, and he was concealing his identity and working as a plain sailor.
Jack leant on the boom and felt the surge of the Lucky Venture as she met open sea, her prow cutting through the water. The wind whipped his hair back off his face, and he closed his eyes and let himself drift back into memory, back into longing.