Author's Note(s) - You know, I would have liked to have written more today. But I didn't. Here's why - today is February 24. That means that it's February 24 all over the world, including in New Orleans. And that means that another Mardi Gras is coming and going and I'm ~not there~. Here, read this. I'll be in the corner, weeping.
Twelve
"Is your head well enough to relight those candles, Will?" He nodded in the dark, then moved to find his matches. The feathered thing in his doorway hadn't moved much, and apart from the occasional bobbing of its head, there was little about the silhouette to distinguish it from the other shadows cast in the street. As the light from the match flared suddenly and brilliantly, Dana bent and scooped the bird into her hands. It gave a soft squawk of surprise and beat its wings twice before it settled. The colors of its feathers were muted in the candlelight, but both Dana and Will could see that it was far from a local specimen.
"See this?" Dana noted, closing the door behind her. She held out one of the bird's skinny legs. Above its claw was a paper burden.
"Do you think that maybe you're making a big deal out of a bird?"
"And do you think that maybe this is the sign that you've been keeping your eyes open for?" she replied, removing the bundle as she did. "Not a day has gone by these last few months that you haven't looked out that window as you worked, or towards the harbor and the faces of the people coming off of those boats. You've been waiting."
Will was silent, but Dana obligingly held out the paper to him. "Open it, blacksmith. You never know." He took it. "In any case," she continued, "it's a pretty little thing." She set the bird on the floor and watched it hop around, and politely turned her back to him, amused by the little creature's investigation of the room. With something like a grateful smile, Will carefully unrolled the paper.
The script was scrawled, the marks of the lead were faint, and Will had to move closer to the candle to read properly, but what he read - which he did again, a number of times - sped up the pace of his heart and dried out his mouth. He finally read aloud to Dana, and his voice was not steady.
"I pray this finds you, William. I have Jack, but Roberts has my ship. Island-bound, two days from Tortuga and three from you. Him and the Dart first, Will."
Dana was silent for a long moment and stroked the little bird's back with a finger, who made a chuckling sound. She rose. "Who was that written by?"
"I'm assuming Melanie Cash - Carine's sister. I hired her to find Jack."
"And she has."
"It would certainly seem so."
There was a long silence, then:
"Will, do you have any idea who the 'Roberts' she refers to is?"
He shook his head slowly.
"I do. If the Dart is your friend's ship, and Roberts has it, you may be farther from finding Jack than when Cash sent you no word at all." Dana sat heavily on the blacksmith's bed and seemed deep in thought. "He's a pirate."
Will shrugged. "So is Cash. So is Jack. Pirates don't scare me."
"Maybe that's because Melanie cash didn't use his full name. The Dread Pirate Roberts would have been more accurate. He is no one to be trifled with."
"How do you know this?"
Dana looked uncomfortable. "I've heard stories. Everyone's heard stories. He could be the original scallywag - he's looted and destroyed for years, but never seems to age. His skill with a blade is unmatchable-" Will raised his eyebrows, "-and he's never left survivors."
"Then where do the stories come from, I wonder?" Will murmured to himself.
"He's earned his name, William. Nothing stops him. He preys on everything - merchant and pirate ships alike. He's a terror."
"And has my friend's ship."
"Unfortunately, yes."
"Well then, let's go and take it back."
Dana stared at him. "You can't be serious." Will stared back.
"If the only thing that stood in the way of you finding someone you thought you'd lost was the fairy-tale of a pirate, I think you'd go, too." The gun-maker put her head in her hands.
"This is suicide."
The bird muttered softly from under the bed.
Twelve
"Is your head well enough to relight those candles, Will?" He nodded in the dark, then moved to find his matches. The feathered thing in his doorway hadn't moved much, and apart from the occasional bobbing of its head, there was little about the silhouette to distinguish it from the other shadows cast in the street. As the light from the match flared suddenly and brilliantly, Dana bent and scooped the bird into her hands. It gave a soft squawk of surprise and beat its wings twice before it settled. The colors of its feathers were muted in the candlelight, but both Dana and Will could see that it was far from a local specimen.
"See this?" Dana noted, closing the door behind her. She held out one of the bird's skinny legs. Above its claw was a paper burden.
"Do you think that maybe you're making a big deal out of a bird?"
"And do you think that maybe this is the sign that you've been keeping your eyes open for?" she replied, removing the bundle as she did. "Not a day has gone by these last few months that you haven't looked out that window as you worked, or towards the harbor and the faces of the people coming off of those boats. You've been waiting."
Will was silent, but Dana obligingly held out the paper to him. "Open it, blacksmith. You never know." He took it. "In any case," she continued, "it's a pretty little thing." She set the bird on the floor and watched it hop around, and politely turned her back to him, amused by the little creature's investigation of the room. With something like a grateful smile, Will carefully unrolled the paper.
The script was scrawled, the marks of the lead were faint, and Will had to move closer to the candle to read properly, but what he read - which he did again, a number of times - sped up the pace of his heart and dried out his mouth. He finally read aloud to Dana, and his voice was not steady.
"I pray this finds you, William. I have Jack, but Roberts has my ship. Island-bound, two days from Tortuga and three from you. Him and the Dart first, Will."
Dana was silent for a long moment and stroked the little bird's back with a finger, who made a chuckling sound. She rose. "Who was that written by?"
"I'm assuming Melanie Cash - Carine's sister. I hired her to find Jack."
"And she has."
"It would certainly seem so."
There was a long silence, then:
"Will, do you have any idea who the 'Roberts' she refers to is?"
He shook his head slowly.
"I do. If the Dart is your friend's ship, and Roberts has it, you may be farther from finding Jack than when Cash sent you no word at all." Dana sat heavily on the blacksmith's bed and seemed deep in thought. "He's a pirate."
Will shrugged. "So is Cash. So is Jack. Pirates don't scare me."
"Maybe that's because Melanie cash didn't use his full name. The Dread Pirate Roberts would have been more accurate. He is no one to be trifled with."
"How do you know this?"
Dana looked uncomfortable. "I've heard stories. Everyone's heard stories. He could be the original scallywag - he's looted and destroyed for years, but never seems to age. His skill with a blade is unmatchable-" Will raised his eyebrows, "-and he's never left survivors."
"Then where do the stories come from, I wonder?" Will murmured to himself.
"He's earned his name, William. Nothing stops him. He preys on everything - merchant and pirate ships alike. He's a terror."
"And has my friend's ship."
"Unfortunately, yes."
"Well then, let's go and take it back."
Dana stared at him. "You can't be serious." Will stared back.
"If the only thing that stood in the way of you finding someone you thought you'd lost was the fairy-tale of a pirate, I think you'd go, too." The gun-maker put her head in her hands.
"This is suicide."
The bird muttered softly from under the bed.