Disclaimer: see chapter 1
Author's note: Time check - it's now 1680. Jack's 35.
---
The year turned. Jack and the crew of the Nictaux had been away from Tortuga for ten months, and the hold was swollen with cargo and with chests of coins. Periodically, Jack traded goods for coin, which took up less space, and so they had been able to keep sailing longer. But there was now no more room for money or goods, and so the ship was beating back to her home port.
Jack was down below doing slow and careful calculations when the shout of "Ship ho!" came from the deck. He dropped his quill, spilled the ink, and was out of his cabin in moments.
The crew were gathered on the starboard side of the deck, all looking out to sea.
"Move out of me way, you sea-dogs!" Jack said. "What's going on?"
"T'ain't nat'ral," Gibbs said, as the crew parted to let Jack through. "There's barely a breath of wind, and yet she's movin' ..."
Jack followed his crew's gaze.
Out to sea there was a bank of fog, and Jack opened his mouth to comment on the strangeness of that single patch marring an otherwise glorious day. But then he saw the dark shape within the fog.
"Telescope."
Gibbs passed him the telescope, and Jack peered through it.
The telescope cut out a round circle of mist, and the shadow within was clearer. The bow of a ship, cutting cleanly through the water, driven by black sails. Though there was little wind, the vessel was making good progress, as if she were trapped in a weather system all of her own.
And Jack recognised the sails, though they were riddled with holes and shabby with use. He recognised the carven prow, the long bowsprit, the high stern. This was the Black Pearl, but a pearl tarnished with age and with lack of care.
He slowly lowered the telescope from his eye. Kohl was smudged around the eyepiece, and he wiped the end on his coat before handing the instrument back to Gibbs.
"Keep on our present course," Jack said, tautly, and disappeared. Gibbs's call of "cap'n?" echoed after him.
Down in his cabin, he stood very still, his heart thumping in his chest. It had been nearly five years, five years of wandering the seas searching for that very ship. Last time he had seen her, she had been healthy and whole - a little scruffy, perhaps, with sails imperfectly furled, but still his Pearl. The ship on the horizon, bearing out of the fog like some nightmarish vision, was ill. He could see it, and he sensed it. There was more at work than a freak cloud, for as Gibbs had observed, no ship could sail that fast with sails so threadbare.
What had Barbossa done to the Black Pearl, to change her so? Jack could not imagine, but as he stood and contemplated the possibilities, his eyes grew hot and damp. He sank down on to the floor, his back against the side of his bunk, and stared into space.
He was roused a while later - though how much later he did not know - by a knock on the door.
"Sir?" It was Gibbs again.
Jack pulled himself to his feet, straightened his coat and pulled a chart out at random to examine it. "Come in!" he called.
Gibbs opened the door cautiously, poking his head around it. "Captain, are you all right?"
"Perfectly all right, Mr Gibbs, why should anythin' be the matter?" Jack turned a brilliant grin on his second mate. "Reckon we should make Tortuga within a few days."
"Aye." Gibbs scratched his head. "That other ship's turned south. Dunno why she didn't follow us. Clear we're riding low in the water - she'd have taken us no problem."
"Our colours are flying," Jack pointed out. He turned back to his chart, which, he discovered, was of the waters north of Cuba. "She wouldn't attack another pirate."
Gibbs folded his arms. "She was the Black Pearl, wasn't she, Jack?"
"She is the Black Pearl," Jack corrected him. He gazed down at the chart. "Though not, I'll admit, lookin' her best."
"You're not going after her?"
"With this load?" Jack shook his head, and folded up the chart he was not really seeing. "And risk ang'ring old André? You may reckon I'm daft, Gibbs, but I'm not that daft. I know how the Pearl moves, and I know how Barbossa thinks. She outguns us and she'd outsail us. Nah, we'll take the plunder back to Tortuga and let the old lady be for now."
He spoke with a smile, and Gibbs shrugged. "Your choice, cap'n. I'll tell Deschamps to keep this course, shall I?"
"If you would, Mr Gibbs."
Gibbs nodded, and left the cabin. Jack sagged, leaning heavily on the table, wishing with all his heart that he could turn and pursue the Black Pearl to wherever she was going; to use his single shot and end Barbossa's ownership of her.
They sailed into Tortuga five days later, finding a berth alongside the quay where it was possible to unload their cargo. The first thing Jack did was hurry into the town to find Captain André, the Nictaux's owner. He eventually tracked the Frenchman down to a small house in the busiest part of the town. The door was opened by a handsome, buxom woman in a cotton robe, who looked Jack up and down and sniffed.
"Yes?"
Jack swept her a bow and offered his most charming smile. "Madame. I'm looking for Captain André."
"He's here. What do you want with him?"
"I've brought his ship back," Jack said.
The woman looked unimpressed. "Wait there," she said, shortly, and disappeared inside the house. Jack picked at his fingernails and waited.
Shortly, there was the sound of footsteps hurrying down the stairs, and Captain André appeared, buttoning up his coat.
"Captain Sparrow!"
"Captain André." Jack put his hands together and proffered a short, polite bow. "I've come to return your ship."
André looked hopeful. "And were takings good?"
"Not so bad," Jack said. "You'd better come an' see."
The two men walked back to the harbour, chatting idly of doings in Tortuga. The Frenchman was visibly nervous as they approached the Nictaux, but when he saw that his ship was in good condition, he relaxed.
"Nice vessel," Jack said. "Fast. Good to handle. I can see why you weren't keen on givin' her up." He hesitated. "'Specially as we came upon the Pearl the other day."
André said nothing, and Jack led him back on board his ship. The crew, in the process of cleaning the vessel, roused a cheer for their former captain, who acknowledged the salute with a raised hand and a smile.
Jack took André below to the hold, lighting a lantern on the way. They had not yet begun unloading, and the crates and barrels and chests were stacked high. It was an impressive haul, and the Frenchman's eyes in the flickering light were wide.
"How much?" he said, eventually.
"A lot," Jack said. "Your share'll be somethin' like six hundred guineas and some goods. Forty per cent, like we agreed."
"And yours?"
"I'm taking ten percent," Jack said. "The rest goes to the men. Fair, you reckon?"
"Fair. This is ..." André waved an arm, "incroyable. You have done better than I ever believed, Captain Sparrow."
"Call me Jack," said Jack. "I did tell you we'd do well; it was you that didn't want to believe me."
"Oui, et je m'excuse," apologised André.
"Eh, I'm used to people not wanting to believe what I tell 'em," Jack said, hanging the lantern up and leading the way back on deck. "Where d'you want your swag? I'll get the lads to unload."
André looked about him, at the neatly coiled ropes and shining planks, the white sails furled tidily. He walked up to the helm and touched the wheel. Jack said nothing, knowing something of what the man would be feeling at the return of his ship.
Finally, the Frenchman turned back to Jack.
"Give me another five per cent and you can keep her."
That was not what Jack had been expecting to hear. He tried to think of something to say, and for once in his life, failed.
"I couldn't do that," he managed, after a pause. "She's yours."
André ran a bronzed hand along the rail. "I'm settled here," he said. "Found myself a beautiful woman, I live in sight of the water - and now you, Jack Sparrow, you have made me a rich man. Why do I need to go to sea any longer?"
"Because ..." Jack was still floundering, and the concept of someone actually choosing to stay ashore had him doubly flummoxed. He pulled himself together. "Because you're a pirate, cap'n. Goin' t' sea, it's part of you. Or least it should be."
"I have had forty years of the sea," André said. "You're young. One day you will understand. Take my Nictaux."
"I'm older than you reckon, André," Jack returned. "But if you're sure - I was lookin' for a vessel to go east in. This one'll serve nicely." He paused. "Five per cent?"
"I'll go no lower."
Jack grinned, and stuck out his hand. "Then, Captain André, we have an accord. You take a little more swag, I take the boat."
The Frenchman shook. Jack looked for some crew and ordered them to start unloading the hold. They hurried to do his bidding.
"Fancy a game of cards this evening?" Jack asked. André let out a guffaw.
"No chance, mon ami!" he said. "I think I know better than that now."
Jack shrugged, and they turned back to watching the crew at work.
Author's note: Time check - it's now 1680. Jack's 35.
---
The year turned. Jack and the crew of the Nictaux had been away from Tortuga for ten months, and the hold was swollen with cargo and with chests of coins. Periodically, Jack traded goods for coin, which took up less space, and so they had been able to keep sailing longer. But there was now no more room for money or goods, and so the ship was beating back to her home port.
Jack was down below doing slow and careful calculations when the shout of "Ship ho!" came from the deck. He dropped his quill, spilled the ink, and was out of his cabin in moments.
The crew were gathered on the starboard side of the deck, all looking out to sea.
"Move out of me way, you sea-dogs!" Jack said. "What's going on?"
"T'ain't nat'ral," Gibbs said, as the crew parted to let Jack through. "There's barely a breath of wind, and yet she's movin' ..."
Jack followed his crew's gaze.
Out to sea there was a bank of fog, and Jack opened his mouth to comment on the strangeness of that single patch marring an otherwise glorious day. But then he saw the dark shape within the fog.
"Telescope."
Gibbs passed him the telescope, and Jack peered through it.
The telescope cut out a round circle of mist, and the shadow within was clearer. The bow of a ship, cutting cleanly through the water, driven by black sails. Though there was little wind, the vessel was making good progress, as if she were trapped in a weather system all of her own.
And Jack recognised the sails, though they were riddled with holes and shabby with use. He recognised the carven prow, the long bowsprit, the high stern. This was the Black Pearl, but a pearl tarnished with age and with lack of care.
He slowly lowered the telescope from his eye. Kohl was smudged around the eyepiece, and he wiped the end on his coat before handing the instrument back to Gibbs.
"Keep on our present course," Jack said, tautly, and disappeared. Gibbs's call of "cap'n?" echoed after him.
Down in his cabin, he stood very still, his heart thumping in his chest. It had been nearly five years, five years of wandering the seas searching for that very ship. Last time he had seen her, she had been healthy and whole - a little scruffy, perhaps, with sails imperfectly furled, but still his Pearl. The ship on the horizon, bearing out of the fog like some nightmarish vision, was ill. He could see it, and he sensed it. There was more at work than a freak cloud, for as Gibbs had observed, no ship could sail that fast with sails so threadbare.
What had Barbossa done to the Black Pearl, to change her so? Jack could not imagine, but as he stood and contemplated the possibilities, his eyes grew hot and damp. He sank down on to the floor, his back against the side of his bunk, and stared into space.
He was roused a while later - though how much later he did not know - by a knock on the door.
"Sir?" It was Gibbs again.
Jack pulled himself to his feet, straightened his coat and pulled a chart out at random to examine it. "Come in!" he called.
Gibbs opened the door cautiously, poking his head around it. "Captain, are you all right?"
"Perfectly all right, Mr Gibbs, why should anythin' be the matter?" Jack turned a brilliant grin on his second mate. "Reckon we should make Tortuga within a few days."
"Aye." Gibbs scratched his head. "That other ship's turned south. Dunno why she didn't follow us. Clear we're riding low in the water - she'd have taken us no problem."
"Our colours are flying," Jack pointed out. He turned back to his chart, which, he discovered, was of the waters north of Cuba. "She wouldn't attack another pirate."
Gibbs folded his arms. "She was the Black Pearl, wasn't she, Jack?"
"She is the Black Pearl," Jack corrected him. He gazed down at the chart. "Though not, I'll admit, lookin' her best."
"You're not going after her?"
"With this load?" Jack shook his head, and folded up the chart he was not really seeing. "And risk ang'ring old André? You may reckon I'm daft, Gibbs, but I'm not that daft. I know how the Pearl moves, and I know how Barbossa thinks. She outguns us and she'd outsail us. Nah, we'll take the plunder back to Tortuga and let the old lady be for now."
He spoke with a smile, and Gibbs shrugged. "Your choice, cap'n. I'll tell Deschamps to keep this course, shall I?"
"If you would, Mr Gibbs."
Gibbs nodded, and left the cabin. Jack sagged, leaning heavily on the table, wishing with all his heart that he could turn and pursue the Black Pearl to wherever she was going; to use his single shot and end Barbossa's ownership of her.
They sailed into Tortuga five days later, finding a berth alongside the quay where it was possible to unload their cargo. The first thing Jack did was hurry into the town to find Captain André, the Nictaux's owner. He eventually tracked the Frenchman down to a small house in the busiest part of the town. The door was opened by a handsome, buxom woman in a cotton robe, who looked Jack up and down and sniffed.
"Yes?"
Jack swept her a bow and offered his most charming smile. "Madame. I'm looking for Captain André."
"He's here. What do you want with him?"
"I've brought his ship back," Jack said.
The woman looked unimpressed. "Wait there," she said, shortly, and disappeared inside the house. Jack picked at his fingernails and waited.
Shortly, there was the sound of footsteps hurrying down the stairs, and Captain André appeared, buttoning up his coat.
"Captain Sparrow!"
"Captain André." Jack put his hands together and proffered a short, polite bow. "I've come to return your ship."
André looked hopeful. "And were takings good?"
"Not so bad," Jack said. "You'd better come an' see."
The two men walked back to the harbour, chatting idly of doings in Tortuga. The Frenchman was visibly nervous as they approached the Nictaux, but when he saw that his ship was in good condition, he relaxed.
"Nice vessel," Jack said. "Fast. Good to handle. I can see why you weren't keen on givin' her up." He hesitated. "'Specially as we came upon the Pearl the other day."
André said nothing, and Jack led him back on board his ship. The crew, in the process of cleaning the vessel, roused a cheer for their former captain, who acknowledged the salute with a raised hand and a smile.
Jack took André below to the hold, lighting a lantern on the way. They had not yet begun unloading, and the crates and barrels and chests were stacked high. It was an impressive haul, and the Frenchman's eyes in the flickering light were wide.
"How much?" he said, eventually.
"A lot," Jack said. "Your share'll be somethin' like six hundred guineas and some goods. Forty per cent, like we agreed."
"And yours?"
"I'm taking ten percent," Jack said. "The rest goes to the men. Fair, you reckon?"
"Fair. This is ..." André waved an arm, "incroyable. You have done better than I ever believed, Captain Sparrow."
"Call me Jack," said Jack. "I did tell you we'd do well; it was you that didn't want to believe me."
"Oui, et je m'excuse," apologised André.
"Eh, I'm used to people not wanting to believe what I tell 'em," Jack said, hanging the lantern up and leading the way back on deck. "Where d'you want your swag? I'll get the lads to unload."
André looked about him, at the neatly coiled ropes and shining planks, the white sails furled tidily. He walked up to the helm and touched the wheel. Jack said nothing, knowing something of what the man would be feeling at the return of his ship.
Finally, the Frenchman turned back to Jack.
"Give me another five per cent and you can keep her."
That was not what Jack had been expecting to hear. He tried to think of something to say, and for once in his life, failed.
"I couldn't do that," he managed, after a pause. "She's yours."
André ran a bronzed hand along the rail. "I'm settled here," he said. "Found myself a beautiful woman, I live in sight of the water - and now you, Jack Sparrow, you have made me a rich man. Why do I need to go to sea any longer?"
"Because ..." Jack was still floundering, and the concept of someone actually choosing to stay ashore had him doubly flummoxed. He pulled himself together. "Because you're a pirate, cap'n. Goin' t' sea, it's part of you. Or least it should be."
"I have had forty years of the sea," André said. "You're young. One day you will understand. Take my Nictaux."
"I'm older than you reckon, André," Jack returned. "But if you're sure - I was lookin' for a vessel to go east in. This one'll serve nicely." He paused. "Five per cent?"
"I'll go no lower."
Jack grinned, and stuck out his hand. "Then, Captain André, we have an accord. You take a little more swag, I take the boat."
The Frenchman shook. Jack looked for some crew and ordered them to start unloading the hold. They hurried to do his bidding.
"Fancy a game of cards this evening?" Jack asked. André let out a guffaw.
"No chance, mon ami!" he said. "I think I know better than that now."
Jack shrugged, and they turned back to watching the crew at work.