Disclaimer: see chapter 1
Author's note: yes, that was Will making a cameo appearance in the last chapter. Thanks for continued reviews.
----
Tortuga. Jack breathed in the stench of alcohol and infamy and grinned. Home once more. It had taken him several months of island hopping aboard a variety of boats and ships to get to the Island of the Turtle; partly to save money and partly to throw the Royal Navy off the scent. He was using a different name for the moment, travelling as Christopher Black, but he planned on picking up old threads and starting to reintroduce Captain Jack Sparrow to the Caribbean.
First, there was something he wanted to do. And so he sauntered along, looking for the right sort of shop. After a bit, he spotted the sign he was looking for, and pushed open the shop door.
"Good afternoon, sir!" the shopkeeper greeted him, emerging from a back room. He started. "Goodness me!"
"Eh?" Jack looked up from fingering through the coins in his pocket.
"Backbone," said the shopkeeper, grinning. "Backbone. I believe I sold you a coat once, sir, not long after I set up in this wonderful town. You told me I needed backbone."
Jack peered at the man, and looked around the shop. "Did I?"
"Never forget a face," the shopkeeper said. "What can I do for you?"
"Sign in the window," Jack said. "Says you do tattoos."
The shopkeeper nodded. "I do. A passing sailor taught me the art and it proves very profitable."
"Then I'd like one," said Jack. He felt in his pocket and pulled out the scrap of paper he had prepared earlier. "This. On me arm."
Taking the paper, the shopkeeper examined it. "Very nice, sir. I think I can manage this."
"Good." Jack took off his coat and rolled up his sleeve. "Put it there."
"Above this scar, sir?" The shopkeeper examined Jack's arm. "Very good." He disappeared for a few moments, and came back into the shop with a variety of murderous-looking equipment and a bottle of ink. Pulling out a chair, he gestured for Jack to sit, producing a bottle of rum and handing it to his customer. "Some gentlemen prefer to be a little ... lubricated, shall we say?"
"Does it hurt?" Jack uncorked the bottle and took a swig.
"Maybe a little." Glancing at the design, the shopkeeper opened his bottle of ink, prepared a needle, and began.
Jack found the sensation somewhat bizarre - prickling as the needle jabbed colour into his skin - but it was fascinating to watch as the image took shape on his arm. He swallowed a few more gulps of rum, more because it was there than anything else.
The process took maybe an hour, with little talk. The shopkeeper concentrated on his task, breaking off only to replenish the ink, and once when another customer entered the shop to buy a shirt. Finally, he laid down the needle.
"There."
Jack twisted his arm around to see the picture the right way up. He smiled.
"Wonderful, mate."
"What sort of bird is it, sir?" the shopkeeper asked, beginning to put away his things.
"It's a sparrow," said Jack, looking for his money. He took out some coins and put them on the counter.
"A sparrow?"
Jack examined the tattoo. It was the same image he had carved so carefully into the wood of the Portsmouth church, years before; a sparrow flying for the sun. "A sparrow," he confirmed, putting on his coat. "Thanks. Nice job. You clearly have developed backbone."
"Oh, I have indeed," the shopkeeper said. "Wouldn't dream of leaving Tortuga now. Pleasure dealing with you, sir."
"Likewise," said Jack, giving the man a little bow and leaving the shop.
Newly tattooed, he felt the need for sustenance, and headed for one of his preferred taverns. Everything was reassuringly familiar, busy and noisy. Tortuga was evidently thriving, despite the Royal Navy's zeal for capturing pirates.
He slid into a seat in the tavern and ordered food and grog, before leaning back and surveying the scene. A group of whores in low-cut dresses circulated amongst the men, flirtatiously displaying their goods. A card game was in full swing in another corner, spectators watching and supporting the players vociferously. Jack sighed with pleasure - this was a world he knew.
"Nice place, i'n't it?"
Turning, Jack saw that the man next to him was watching the tavern activity with the same sort of pleasure.
"Aye," he agreed. The serving wench came back with a brimming bowl of something hot and fragrant and a tankard of grog, bending over to put them on the table. Jack watched her with appreciation, and gave her a winning, gold-edged smile as she straightened. The girl deliberately adjusted the neckline of her dress and smiled back before disappearing again. "Excellent view," Jack said.
"Ah, the lasses are a sight to behold," his neighbour said. "An' the rum's good." He raised his tankard and swallowed a mouthful. "And it's every man for himself."
Jack spooned up some of the fish stew in the plate in front of him and contemplated the other man as he chewed. He seemed to be dressed in an old, stained Navy uniform, a grubby neckerchief serving as a sort of cravat. But what would a Navy sailor be doing in a Tortuga tavern, quoting pirate proverbs?
"There's nowhere like Tortuga," he said, finishing his mouthful.
"I'll drink to that," said his neighbour, doing so. "Joshamee Gibbs," he added, in a friendly fashion. "Formerly, but no longer an' never again, o' His Majesty's Navy. May God drown 'em all."
"That explains the clothes," said Jack.
"Aye, it does," Joshamee Gibbs nodded. He leaned over to Jack and lowered his voice. "I deserted, see. Came to th' conclusion that you piratical types have a better sort o' life than poor bastards aboard a warship."
"Not a hard conclusion to arrive at," Jack said. "Having just escaped the clutches of the Navy's finest meself, I'd not want to join them voluntarily-like."
Gibbs raised a pair of bushy grey eyebrows. "Escaped?"
"Escaped," Jack confirmed.
"Not many as manage that."
"Ah, but I'm ..." Jack raised a finger to emphasise his point, "I'm Captain Jack Sparrow. Don't make a habit of staying in captivity very long."
"A captain? I'm lookin' for a ship," said Gibbs.
Jack realised the significance of his identity was completely lost on the older man. He gulped down some grog, resolving to set the record straight then and there.
"So'm I," he said.
"You can't be a cap'n without a ship," Gibbs pointed out with the unassailable logic of a drunk man.
"I had a ship," Jack began, sketching the lines of the Black Pearl in the air. "The Black Pearl."
"I've heard of her," Gibbs said. "She's lootin' and killin' all over these parts."
Jack thought of Barbossa mishandling his precious ship, and hated the thought. "Not when I was captain," he said. "Not that we didn't loot, and rifle and pillage. We did. But not like now. The Pearl's the fastest ship in the Caribbean, savvy? Can outrun anything minded to give chase, there's no call to kill." He had a drink. "Anyway, I heard of a treasure, hidden away. Aztec gold."
"Gold?" Gibbs's eyes glinted.
"Aye, gold. So I came to Tortuga with me ship and looked for a crew. Found one, too. And we sailed off in search of the island where it was hidden, which can only be found if you know where it is."
Gibbs scratched his head. Jack pulled out his compass and flipped it open.
"Doesn't point north," the old sailor said.
"We weren't looking for north, were we?" Jack explained. "Anyway, I was the only one with the location of said island in me head." He tapped it. "Problem was, my mate Barbossa wasn't happy with that."
"So?" Gibbs was hanging on every word.
"He incited the crew to mutiny," said Jack. "Said that I'd promised them an equal share and that should mean the bearings too. Coerced the men into taking the ship and leaving me on a godforsaken island. Of course I didn't let them take it just like that, I fought for the old lady. But twenty 'gainst one isn't good odds. They gave me a pistol with one shot -" he produced the pistol as evidence, waving it in Gibbs's face before putting it away again - "and marooned me."
"Pistol to shoot yourself?" Gibbs confirmed.
"To shoot myself." Jack put two fingers to his right temple and mimed a gun going off. "So I sat on the island a couple of days. Weren't going to use the pistol. That shot is for Barbossa." He paused, thinking of Barbossa.
Gibbs nodded. "Go on. How'd you escape?"
"What?" Jack was jerked back to the present. "Oh. I ..." he waved a hand airily, and then inspiration struck. "Stood in the shallows and waited till the fishes got used to me. Fish and other creatures. Then I used a couple of sea turtles as a raft and escaped."
"Sea turtles?" Gibbs's gaze was wide. "As a raft?"
"They have quite a turn of speed," Jack said lightly. "Ever since then, I've been looking for me ship. Mark me words, Mr Gibbs, at some point I am going to get my Pearl back, and Barbossa will rue the day he ever met me."
"I'll drink to that," the other man said. "Revenge."
"Revenge," Jack agreed, tapping the edge of his tankard against Gibbs's. "For me ship, and for a friend."
"A friend?"
"Old Bootstrap," Jack said, half to himself. "Didn't deserve what he got, not by a long way."
"Not Bootstrap Bill Turner?" Gibbs asked, putting his tankard down with a clunk.
Jack narrowed his eyes. "The one and the same. You knew him?"
"I know him," Gibbs said. "Sailed with him on a merchant ship once, afore I joined the Navy."
"He's dead," Jack told him. "Killed by Barbossa."
"Damn," said Gibbs. He looked at the surface of the table, and seemed genuinely upset. "He was a good man."
"Good man, good pirate, good friend," Jack said.
Gibbs looked up. "What're you thinking of doing now, cap'n?"
Picking up his spoon again, Jack returned to his stew. "Commandeering a vessel and going in search of the Pearl."
"I'd like to request permission t' join you, sir," Gibbs said.
Jack grinned. "Granted." He held out a hand, and the old sailor took it and they shook. "We have an accord, Mr Gibbs."
"Thank you, Captain Sparrow."
"Tomorrow," said Jack, "we shall go in search of a ship and a crew. Until then, let's get drunk."
Author's note: yes, that was Will making a cameo appearance in the last chapter. Thanks for continued reviews.
----
Tortuga. Jack breathed in the stench of alcohol and infamy and grinned. Home once more. It had taken him several months of island hopping aboard a variety of boats and ships to get to the Island of the Turtle; partly to save money and partly to throw the Royal Navy off the scent. He was using a different name for the moment, travelling as Christopher Black, but he planned on picking up old threads and starting to reintroduce Captain Jack Sparrow to the Caribbean.
First, there was something he wanted to do. And so he sauntered along, looking for the right sort of shop. After a bit, he spotted the sign he was looking for, and pushed open the shop door.
"Good afternoon, sir!" the shopkeeper greeted him, emerging from a back room. He started. "Goodness me!"
"Eh?" Jack looked up from fingering through the coins in his pocket.
"Backbone," said the shopkeeper, grinning. "Backbone. I believe I sold you a coat once, sir, not long after I set up in this wonderful town. You told me I needed backbone."
Jack peered at the man, and looked around the shop. "Did I?"
"Never forget a face," the shopkeeper said. "What can I do for you?"
"Sign in the window," Jack said. "Says you do tattoos."
The shopkeeper nodded. "I do. A passing sailor taught me the art and it proves very profitable."
"Then I'd like one," said Jack. He felt in his pocket and pulled out the scrap of paper he had prepared earlier. "This. On me arm."
Taking the paper, the shopkeeper examined it. "Very nice, sir. I think I can manage this."
"Good." Jack took off his coat and rolled up his sleeve. "Put it there."
"Above this scar, sir?" The shopkeeper examined Jack's arm. "Very good." He disappeared for a few moments, and came back into the shop with a variety of murderous-looking equipment and a bottle of ink. Pulling out a chair, he gestured for Jack to sit, producing a bottle of rum and handing it to his customer. "Some gentlemen prefer to be a little ... lubricated, shall we say?"
"Does it hurt?" Jack uncorked the bottle and took a swig.
"Maybe a little." Glancing at the design, the shopkeeper opened his bottle of ink, prepared a needle, and began.
Jack found the sensation somewhat bizarre - prickling as the needle jabbed colour into his skin - but it was fascinating to watch as the image took shape on his arm. He swallowed a few more gulps of rum, more because it was there than anything else.
The process took maybe an hour, with little talk. The shopkeeper concentrated on his task, breaking off only to replenish the ink, and once when another customer entered the shop to buy a shirt. Finally, he laid down the needle.
"There."
Jack twisted his arm around to see the picture the right way up. He smiled.
"Wonderful, mate."
"What sort of bird is it, sir?" the shopkeeper asked, beginning to put away his things.
"It's a sparrow," said Jack, looking for his money. He took out some coins and put them on the counter.
"A sparrow?"
Jack examined the tattoo. It was the same image he had carved so carefully into the wood of the Portsmouth church, years before; a sparrow flying for the sun. "A sparrow," he confirmed, putting on his coat. "Thanks. Nice job. You clearly have developed backbone."
"Oh, I have indeed," the shopkeeper said. "Wouldn't dream of leaving Tortuga now. Pleasure dealing with you, sir."
"Likewise," said Jack, giving the man a little bow and leaving the shop.
Newly tattooed, he felt the need for sustenance, and headed for one of his preferred taverns. Everything was reassuringly familiar, busy and noisy. Tortuga was evidently thriving, despite the Royal Navy's zeal for capturing pirates.
He slid into a seat in the tavern and ordered food and grog, before leaning back and surveying the scene. A group of whores in low-cut dresses circulated amongst the men, flirtatiously displaying their goods. A card game was in full swing in another corner, spectators watching and supporting the players vociferously. Jack sighed with pleasure - this was a world he knew.
"Nice place, i'n't it?"
Turning, Jack saw that the man next to him was watching the tavern activity with the same sort of pleasure.
"Aye," he agreed. The serving wench came back with a brimming bowl of something hot and fragrant and a tankard of grog, bending over to put them on the table. Jack watched her with appreciation, and gave her a winning, gold-edged smile as she straightened. The girl deliberately adjusted the neckline of her dress and smiled back before disappearing again. "Excellent view," Jack said.
"Ah, the lasses are a sight to behold," his neighbour said. "An' the rum's good." He raised his tankard and swallowed a mouthful. "And it's every man for himself."
Jack spooned up some of the fish stew in the plate in front of him and contemplated the other man as he chewed. He seemed to be dressed in an old, stained Navy uniform, a grubby neckerchief serving as a sort of cravat. But what would a Navy sailor be doing in a Tortuga tavern, quoting pirate proverbs?
"There's nowhere like Tortuga," he said, finishing his mouthful.
"I'll drink to that," said his neighbour, doing so. "Joshamee Gibbs," he added, in a friendly fashion. "Formerly, but no longer an' never again, o' His Majesty's Navy. May God drown 'em all."
"That explains the clothes," said Jack.
"Aye, it does," Joshamee Gibbs nodded. He leaned over to Jack and lowered his voice. "I deserted, see. Came to th' conclusion that you piratical types have a better sort o' life than poor bastards aboard a warship."
"Not a hard conclusion to arrive at," Jack said. "Having just escaped the clutches of the Navy's finest meself, I'd not want to join them voluntarily-like."
Gibbs raised a pair of bushy grey eyebrows. "Escaped?"
"Escaped," Jack confirmed.
"Not many as manage that."
"Ah, but I'm ..." Jack raised a finger to emphasise his point, "I'm Captain Jack Sparrow. Don't make a habit of staying in captivity very long."
"A captain? I'm lookin' for a ship," said Gibbs.
Jack realised the significance of his identity was completely lost on the older man. He gulped down some grog, resolving to set the record straight then and there.
"So'm I," he said.
"You can't be a cap'n without a ship," Gibbs pointed out with the unassailable logic of a drunk man.
"I had a ship," Jack began, sketching the lines of the Black Pearl in the air. "The Black Pearl."
"I've heard of her," Gibbs said. "She's lootin' and killin' all over these parts."
Jack thought of Barbossa mishandling his precious ship, and hated the thought. "Not when I was captain," he said. "Not that we didn't loot, and rifle and pillage. We did. But not like now. The Pearl's the fastest ship in the Caribbean, savvy? Can outrun anything minded to give chase, there's no call to kill." He had a drink. "Anyway, I heard of a treasure, hidden away. Aztec gold."
"Gold?" Gibbs's eyes glinted.
"Aye, gold. So I came to Tortuga with me ship and looked for a crew. Found one, too. And we sailed off in search of the island where it was hidden, which can only be found if you know where it is."
Gibbs scratched his head. Jack pulled out his compass and flipped it open.
"Doesn't point north," the old sailor said.
"We weren't looking for north, were we?" Jack explained. "Anyway, I was the only one with the location of said island in me head." He tapped it. "Problem was, my mate Barbossa wasn't happy with that."
"So?" Gibbs was hanging on every word.
"He incited the crew to mutiny," said Jack. "Said that I'd promised them an equal share and that should mean the bearings too. Coerced the men into taking the ship and leaving me on a godforsaken island. Of course I didn't let them take it just like that, I fought for the old lady. But twenty 'gainst one isn't good odds. They gave me a pistol with one shot -" he produced the pistol as evidence, waving it in Gibbs's face before putting it away again - "and marooned me."
"Pistol to shoot yourself?" Gibbs confirmed.
"To shoot myself." Jack put two fingers to his right temple and mimed a gun going off. "So I sat on the island a couple of days. Weren't going to use the pistol. That shot is for Barbossa." He paused, thinking of Barbossa.
Gibbs nodded. "Go on. How'd you escape?"
"What?" Jack was jerked back to the present. "Oh. I ..." he waved a hand airily, and then inspiration struck. "Stood in the shallows and waited till the fishes got used to me. Fish and other creatures. Then I used a couple of sea turtles as a raft and escaped."
"Sea turtles?" Gibbs's gaze was wide. "As a raft?"
"They have quite a turn of speed," Jack said lightly. "Ever since then, I've been looking for me ship. Mark me words, Mr Gibbs, at some point I am going to get my Pearl back, and Barbossa will rue the day he ever met me."
"I'll drink to that," the other man said. "Revenge."
"Revenge," Jack agreed, tapping the edge of his tankard against Gibbs's. "For me ship, and for a friend."
"A friend?"
"Old Bootstrap," Jack said, half to himself. "Didn't deserve what he got, not by a long way."
"Not Bootstrap Bill Turner?" Gibbs asked, putting his tankard down with a clunk.
Jack narrowed his eyes. "The one and the same. You knew him?"
"I know him," Gibbs said. "Sailed with him on a merchant ship once, afore I joined the Navy."
"He's dead," Jack told him. "Killed by Barbossa."
"Damn," said Gibbs. He looked at the surface of the table, and seemed genuinely upset. "He was a good man."
"Good man, good pirate, good friend," Jack said.
Gibbs looked up. "What're you thinking of doing now, cap'n?"
Picking up his spoon again, Jack returned to his stew. "Commandeering a vessel and going in search of the Pearl."
"I'd like to request permission t' join you, sir," Gibbs said.
Jack grinned. "Granted." He held out a hand, and the old sailor took it and they shook. "We have an accord, Mr Gibbs."
"Thank you, Captain Sparrow."
"Tomorrow," said Jack, "we shall go in search of a ship and a crew. Until then, let's get drunk."