Author's Note - Ah, the wonders of a good book. Many details from this chapter lifted from Morgensten's 'Classic Tale of True Love and High Adventure,' The Princess Bride.
Seventeen
It was only when his opponent's blade cut neatly through his parries and halted a breath away from his throat that Will Turner began to sweat.
The Dread Pirate Roberts was good.
"I was just thinking," remarked Roberts amiably as Will ducked under a slash and sidestepped another, "that you are quite skilled."
"I was about to say the same," Will replied, kicking a fallen chair out of his path and turning to meet the pirate's blade. "The tales people tell of you do you justice."
Roberts, behind his black mask, looked very pleased. "I'm glad to hear it. It is ever so important for those in my line of work to keep a decent image."
The two were fighting amidst the hastily abandoned tables and chairs of a - now - empty tavern. It was connected to the hostel where Roberts had been staying. Will had come to the tavern, noted the masked figure who, in an apparently teeming place, sat with a wide space given him on either side. He had asked him if he had heard of or seen one called the 'Dread Pirate Roberts'. The man had smiled while he finished his drink.
And then he had unsheathed his blade.
"I was taught by the finest pirate captain for many years," Roberts continued. He met and parried Will's sword, seemingly without thought, as he spoke. "It was an excellent experience. Made me the man that I am today."
"I take it you were a good student," said Will with a sudden thrust to the right.
"I was indeed," Roberts agreed, easily blocking it. "But what of you, my fine friend? I must admit, it is not often that one encounters a gentleman of such skill who is still so young."
Will considered this as his blade met blade a second and third time. He was almost beginning to like this man. "I was orphaned and raised by a blacksmith. I developed a passion for the sword in my free time." He swiped viciously at Roberts' chest, but the man leaned quickly out of harm's way. Will tried to hide his disappointment at failing to nick even his shirt.
"Such a shame," said Roberts, "that you were not raised by a pirate."
"My father was a pirate."
"Really?" Roberts seemed genuinely glad to hear it. "Well, now I won't feel so awful when I kill you. After all, you've had a fair chance at it, haven't you? And yet you're not full blooded enough for me to have to kill you without a clear conscience. If not for our circumstances, I think we would get along splendidly, you and I."
Will didn't answer; he swung his sword at Roberts' legs instead, but the man was very agile. He leapt over the blade.
"However, my talented friend, it is something of a mystery why you would choose to end your life by challenging me. Are you a very unhappy person?" The tip of his sword grazed Will's bicep and drew a thin line of blood through his shirt.
"No, I'm fine," Will answered, not noticing. "Actually, I had come here to ask you something."
With another flick of Roberts' wrist, a line appeared at Will's other bicep. "Now would be a good time to ask." Will couldn't argue with that.
"On my way here from the dock, I couldn't help but notice a certain ship moored there. The Yellow Dart, I believe it's called."
"That's a pretty name," said Roberts.
"Well that ship happens to belong to my friend, and it would be wonderful to see both ship and friend again."
"Ah," said Roberts. "I capture many ships - as such, my resume is quite excellent. Refresh my memory as to this friend of yours."
Will, arm tiring, switched sword hands. With a small smile, Roberts did the same. "The ship belongs to a Captain Melanie Cash. A Mr. Jack Sparrow was on board as well."
Roberts appeared to think. He stroked his chin with one hand while parrying with the other. "I remember these friends of yours. I ran into them a little over a week ago, I believe."
"Did you?"
"Yes. I killed them."
Will was more than a little surprised. "But I was sent ... "
"Oh, don't look so shocked. It's part of my job, and sometimes it can be a very pleasant one." There was more power behind Roberts' attacks now, and Will found himself forced again and again onto the defensive. "Though sometimes it does force me to finish interesting conversations. So while I hate to end this - "
"Wait a moment. I received a letter from Melanie. She said they'd been marooned." Will thought he saw Roberts' eyes narrow.
"That's impossible, my friend. The Dread Pirate Roberts never leaves any survivors."
"I could show you the letter," offered Will.
Roberts sighed. His sword whistled through the air as he brought it down on Will, but the blacksmith met it solidly. "Well, now it seems that I must kill you for sure."
"What? Why?"
"The Dread Pirate Roberts never leaves survivors," he said. "Everyone knows that. Little children grow up saying that! Do you have any idea how long it's taken for me to cultivate such a fantastic image? I practically have a catchphrase." He advanced on Will now, and the blacksmith had to keep glancing behind him to make sure he didn't run into anything. "It just wouldn't be the same replacing that with something like - 'the Dread Pirate Roberts who occasionally leaves survivors.'" He snorted. "They would call me the Indecisive Pirate Roberts. That just doesn't have the same ring to it, wouldn't you agree?"
It didn't, but Will wasn't about to say anything like that. The song of steel was getting to be louder and louder as Roberts' swinging blade missed by less and less each time. A little longer, Will noted, and he would be backed up against the bar. And pinned there.
He glanced around wildly, and on the ground just behind him there was an overturned - but he hoped still relatively full - sack of flour. He angled his retreat to step over it, and when Roberts brought his arm back with the intent to bring it down on his head, Will hooked his boot underneath the sack and kicked it high. Roberts' blade met the sack of flour first.
It had been full.
Will had clapped his hand over his mouth and nose when he kicked up the sack, and so when it exploded into a cloud of white, Roberts began to cough. The pirate's black mask and outfit were immediately covered in flour, but Will didn't intend to stay long enough to watch him. Amidst Roberts' wild slashes, he ducked low and was at the tavern door.
All at once, there was Roberts' sword, ringing in the wood beside his ear. The door was effectively nailed shut, and Will couldn't help feeling a certain amount of déjà vu.
"Why, that was excellently done!" Roberts exclaimed. "Excellent indeed. You would have made a magnificent pirate you know." He came and plucked his sword from the door and leveled it at Will's throat. "It is quite the shame that I've got to kill you."
Oh, for that drunkard Browne and his bottle now, Will thought.
And the author, rather stuck until now, thought that was a wonderful idea.
From behind Roberts' head came a sudden and glassy 'smash' and with an expression of surprise, the Dread Pirate Roberts crumpled at Will's feet. Standing in his place, with half a bottle in her hand, was Dana.
She was shaking her head. "I really hate to say that I told you so, Will," she indicated the wounds on his arms, "but I told you so."
"Dana - "
"No, Will. There's neither time nor need to apologize right now."
"No, Dana, look." He nudged the fallen Roberts with a toe. The man groaned and stirred. "He's not completely out cold." Dana looked with disappointment from the broken bottle in her hand to the (white) man in black on the ground and made a face. "Apparently I need more practice."
"I agree," muttered Roberts.
~
They propped up the man in black (white) on a bar stool while Carine sat up on the bar behind him with one of Dana's pistols poking him the back of the head. She looked very pleased with herself, and especially pleased to see that Will was alright. "Runnin' off wif such folk as that Flint," she had tsk tsked. "S'a wonder you're still 'ere and 'ole." *
Jones and Dana were also relieved to see Will in one piece. Only Roberts seemed to be unhappy. "I've never been beaten," he kept saying. "I've never been beaten."
"You weren't beaten, technically," said Dana helpfully from behind the counter as she rummaged in the bar. "You were bludgeoned. With a bottle. Oooh, speaking of bottles ... " She popped up with rum in hand and a grin. "Okay, Will. I'm ready. Have at 'im."
"You'll have to kill me," Roberts said. "The Dread Pirate Roberts must stay a fantastic legend, and so he must die as one. I will not allow this name to be sullied. Neither shall I speak to you. Your friends are dead."
Will rolled his eyes and searched his pockets for Melanie's letter, but Jones was studying Roberts' face intently. "Why do you were a mask? Were you burned with acid, or something like that?"
"Not at all," answered Roberts. "Masks are quite comfortable. I suspect they'll be all the rage in the future."
"Really?" said Jones, hoping that the audience was sufficiently ready for the big, forthcoming coincidence. "I think it's to prevent people from recognizing you, Westley."
Roberts' mouth fell open. Will and Carine's mouths fell open. Dana didn't open her mouth - the rum would have fallen out. "What did you call me?"
Jones moved so that he was in front of the masked man, and bent until he was nose to nose with him. "That was your name, wasn't it? Westley. You were not so unlike us, once."
"My name," said Roberts, slowly and unbelieving. "Yes, that was my name, My real name. How do you know who I am?" Jones reached around his head and undid Roberts' mask. The man revealed was handsome and blonde, and surprisingly young. Dana whistled, but Jones did not look surprised.
"What happened to you, Westley? Buttercup believes you are dead. When I left, I could not remember seeing her in such despair."
Roberts' - Westley's - blue eyes went wide, both in recognition of Jones and in muted horror at his words. "You're Number Three from my village! Jones Underhill! But do you - could you - speak truly? Is my Buttercup in anguish?"
Jones waved his hand. "Slow down, Westley, for my sake and the sake of these good people. First and most important things first - Buttercup is miserable without you. You must return to her with all haste."
"'Oo's Bu'ercup?" asked Carine. At Jones' direction she relaxed her guard with the pistol. "And 'oo's 'ee?" *
"My true name is Westley," said the unmasked young man. "I set sail to seek fortune enough to marry my beloved Buttercup some years ago. I sailed from the very village where Jones and I (ready for another coincidence?) spent a happy childhood. But my ship was attacked by the Dread Pirate Roberts. And he never leaves survivors."
Will opened his mouth to say something to the contrary, but Westley went on. "He was about to kill me when I asked him not to. 'Please,' I said. 'I have to live.' He asked me why. 'True love,' I told him, and that stayed his hand." Both Dana and Carine looked as though they would melt; Will and Jones exchanged an amused glance.
He continued: "He kept me on his ship and taught me many things. Every night he would say, 'Well, good job today, Westley. I'll most likely kill you in the morning.' But he never did, and as time passed, he let me in on a great secret.
'I am not the Dread Pirate Roberts,' he told me. 'My name is Ryan. I inherited this mask and ship from a man who was not the real Dread Pirate Roberts either.' As it turned out, the real Dread Pirate Roberts had grown so rich that he had retired some time ago - but he had passed on the ship and the name, because the seas will ever need such a legend."
Dana eyed him. "So you're just an ex-farmboy?"
"That's right," Jones agreed. "A horse bit him on his birthday once."
"Well wot's that business 'bout Jones bein' Number Three then?"
"Actually, that's no longer accurate." Jones batted his eyelashes. "I'm Number Two now."
"Number Two wot?!"
Westley turned to Carine and his piercing blue eyes met her liquid brown ones. "Well you see, there are, in the world, very attractive people."
"Obviously," she murmured.
"And those people are ranked in order. The most attractive man or women is Number One, the second most attractive is Number Two, and so forth." He looked wistful. "My Buttercup is Number Eight when last I spoke to her. Eighth out of all the women in the world ..."
Jones coughed. "It may not be what you want to hear, Westley, but she was officially made Number One just before I left." Westley looked pained, then shook his head. "I'm Number Two for the men," continued Jones. "I think that Three was taken by some pirate doctor - "
" - and number one is a pirate, too," finished Westley.
"Wot's 'is name?" asked Carine, interested.
"I think it's John Sparrow? No. Jack Sparrow." Jones replied. He looked startled then. "Will, isn't that ... ?"
"Actually, yes." Will seemed surprised that he had forgotten. "That's the whole point of why we're here! My friends aren't dead, Westley. All I want is their ship back, and for you to point out where they are." Westley didn't look certain. "Besides," Will added, "as far as I'm concerned, that information won't come from the Dread Pirate Roberts, but from Westley."
"A man that I'm sure we'll forget once we leave this tavern," finished Dana. Westley was considering that when Jones put a hand on his shoulder.
"Buttercup's waiting, farmboy."
And the Yellow Dart was saved.
* I think Dana was right about her accent getting stronger.
Seventeen
It was only when his opponent's blade cut neatly through his parries and halted a breath away from his throat that Will Turner began to sweat.
The Dread Pirate Roberts was good.
"I was just thinking," remarked Roberts amiably as Will ducked under a slash and sidestepped another, "that you are quite skilled."
"I was about to say the same," Will replied, kicking a fallen chair out of his path and turning to meet the pirate's blade. "The tales people tell of you do you justice."
Roberts, behind his black mask, looked very pleased. "I'm glad to hear it. It is ever so important for those in my line of work to keep a decent image."
The two were fighting amidst the hastily abandoned tables and chairs of a - now - empty tavern. It was connected to the hostel where Roberts had been staying. Will had come to the tavern, noted the masked figure who, in an apparently teeming place, sat with a wide space given him on either side. He had asked him if he had heard of or seen one called the 'Dread Pirate Roberts'. The man had smiled while he finished his drink.
And then he had unsheathed his blade.
"I was taught by the finest pirate captain for many years," Roberts continued. He met and parried Will's sword, seemingly without thought, as he spoke. "It was an excellent experience. Made me the man that I am today."
"I take it you were a good student," said Will with a sudden thrust to the right.
"I was indeed," Roberts agreed, easily blocking it. "But what of you, my fine friend? I must admit, it is not often that one encounters a gentleman of such skill who is still so young."
Will considered this as his blade met blade a second and third time. He was almost beginning to like this man. "I was orphaned and raised by a blacksmith. I developed a passion for the sword in my free time." He swiped viciously at Roberts' chest, but the man leaned quickly out of harm's way. Will tried to hide his disappointment at failing to nick even his shirt.
"Such a shame," said Roberts, "that you were not raised by a pirate."
"My father was a pirate."
"Really?" Roberts seemed genuinely glad to hear it. "Well, now I won't feel so awful when I kill you. After all, you've had a fair chance at it, haven't you? And yet you're not full blooded enough for me to have to kill you without a clear conscience. If not for our circumstances, I think we would get along splendidly, you and I."
Will didn't answer; he swung his sword at Roberts' legs instead, but the man was very agile. He leapt over the blade.
"However, my talented friend, it is something of a mystery why you would choose to end your life by challenging me. Are you a very unhappy person?" The tip of his sword grazed Will's bicep and drew a thin line of blood through his shirt.
"No, I'm fine," Will answered, not noticing. "Actually, I had come here to ask you something."
With another flick of Roberts' wrist, a line appeared at Will's other bicep. "Now would be a good time to ask." Will couldn't argue with that.
"On my way here from the dock, I couldn't help but notice a certain ship moored there. The Yellow Dart, I believe it's called."
"That's a pretty name," said Roberts.
"Well that ship happens to belong to my friend, and it would be wonderful to see both ship and friend again."
"Ah," said Roberts. "I capture many ships - as such, my resume is quite excellent. Refresh my memory as to this friend of yours."
Will, arm tiring, switched sword hands. With a small smile, Roberts did the same. "The ship belongs to a Captain Melanie Cash. A Mr. Jack Sparrow was on board as well."
Roberts appeared to think. He stroked his chin with one hand while parrying with the other. "I remember these friends of yours. I ran into them a little over a week ago, I believe."
"Did you?"
"Yes. I killed them."
Will was more than a little surprised. "But I was sent ... "
"Oh, don't look so shocked. It's part of my job, and sometimes it can be a very pleasant one." There was more power behind Roberts' attacks now, and Will found himself forced again and again onto the defensive. "Though sometimes it does force me to finish interesting conversations. So while I hate to end this - "
"Wait a moment. I received a letter from Melanie. She said they'd been marooned." Will thought he saw Roberts' eyes narrow.
"That's impossible, my friend. The Dread Pirate Roberts never leaves any survivors."
"I could show you the letter," offered Will.
Roberts sighed. His sword whistled through the air as he brought it down on Will, but the blacksmith met it solidly. "Well, now it seems that I must kill you for sure."
"What? Why?"
"The Dread Pirate Roberts never leaves survivors," he said. "Everyone knows that. Little children grow up saying that! Do you have any idea how long it's taken for me to cultivate such a fantastic image? I practically have a catchphrase." He advanced on Will now, and the blacksmith had to keep glancing behind him to make sure he didn't run into anything. "It just wouldn't be the same replacing that with something like - 'the Dread Pirate Roberts who occasionally leaves survivors.'" He snorted. "They would call me the Indecisive Pirate Roberts. That just doesn't have the same ring to it, wouldn't you agree?"
It didn't, but Will wasn't about to say anything like that. The song of steel was getting to be louder and louder as Roberts' swinging blade missed by less and less each time. A little longer, Will noted, and he would be backed up against the bar. And pinned there.
He glanced around wildly, and on the ground just behind him there was an overturned - but he hoped still relatively full - sack of flour. He angled his retreat to step over it, and when Roberts brought his arm back with the intent to bring it down on his head, Will hooked his boot underneath the sack and kicked it high. Roberts' blade met the sack of flour first.
It had been full.
Will had clapped his hand over his mouth and nose when he kicked up the sack, and so when it exploded into a cloud of white, Roberts began to cough. The pirate's black mask and outfit were immediately covered in flour, but Will didn't intend to stay long enough to watch him. Amidst Roberts' wild slashes, he ducked low and was at the tavern door.
All at once, there was Roberts' sword, ringing in the wood beside his ear. The door was effectively nailed shut, and Will couldn't help feeling a certain amount of déjà vu.
"Why, that was excellently done!" Roberts exclaimed. "Excellent indeed. You would have made a magnificent pirate you know." He came and plucked his sword from the door and leveled it at Will's throat. "It is quite the shame that I've got to kill you."
Oh, for that drunkard Browne and his bottle now, Will thought.
And the author, rather stuck until now, thought that was a wonderful idea.
From behind Roberts' head came a sudden and glassy 'smash' and with an expression of surprise, the Dread Pirate Roberts crumpled at Will's feet. Standing in his place, with half a bottle in her hand, was Dana.
She was shaking her head. "I really hate to say that I told you so, Will," she indicated the wounds on his arms, "but I told you so."
"Dana - "
"No, Will. There's neither time nor need to apologize right now."
"No, Dana, look." He nudged the fallen Roberts with a toe. The man groaned and stirred. "He's not completely out cold." Dana looked with disappointment from the broken bottle in her hand to the (white) man in black on the ground and made a face. "Apparently I need more practice."
"I agree," muttered Roberts.
~
They propped up the man in black (white) on a bar stool while Carine sat up on the bar behind him with one of Dana's pistols poking him the back of the head. She looked very pleased with herself, and especially pleased to see that Will was alright. "Runnin' off wif such folk as that Flint," she had tsk tsked. "S'a wonder you're still 'ere and 'ole." *
Jones and Dana were also relieved to see Will in one piece. Only Roberts seemed to be unhappy. "I've never been beaten," he kept saying. "I've never been beaten."
"You weren't beaten, technically," said Dana helpfully from behind the counter as she rummaged in the bar. "You were bludgeoned. With a bottle. Oooh, speaking of bottles ... " She popped up with rum in hand and a grin. "Okay, Will. I'm ready. Have at 'im."
"You'll have to kill me," Roberts said. "The Dread Pirate Roberts must stay a fantastic legend, and so he must die as one. I will not allow this name to be sullied. Neither shall I speak to you. Your friends are dead."
Will rolled his eyes and searched his pockets for Melanie's letter, but Jones was studying Roberts' face intently. "Why do you were a mask? Were you burned with acid, or something like that?"
"Not at all," answered Roberts. "Masks are quite comfortable. I suspect they'll be all the rage in the future."
"Really?" said Jones, hoping that the audience was sufficiently ready for the big, forthcoming coincidence. "I think it's to prevent people from recognizing you, Westley."
Roberts' mouth fell open. Will and Carine's mouths fell open. Dana didn't open her mouth - the rum would have fallen out. "What did you call me?"
Jones moved so that he was in front of the masked man, and bent until he was nose to nose with him. "That was your name, wasn't it? Westley. You were not so unlike us, once."
"My name," said Roberts, slowly and unbelieving. "Yes, that was my name, My real name. How do you know who I am?" Jones reached around his head and undid Roberts' mask. The man revealed was handsome and blonde, and surprisingly young. Dana whistled, but Jones did not look surprised.
"What happened to you, Westley? Buttercup believes you are dead. When I left, I could not remember seeing her in such despair."
Roberts' - Westley's - blue eyes went wide, both in recognition of Jones and in muted horror at his words. "You're Number Three from my village! Jones Underhill! But do you - could you - speak truly? Is my Buttercup in anguish?"
Jones waved his hand. "Slow down, Westley, for my sake and the sake of these good people. First and most important things first - Buttercup is miserable without you. You must return to her with all haste."
"'Oo's Bu'ercup?" asked Carine. At Jones' direction she relaxed her guard with the pistol. "And 'oo's 'ee?" *
"My true name is Westley," said the unmasked young man. "I set sail to seek fortune enough to marry my beloved Buttercup some years ago. I sailed from the very village where Jones and I (ready for another coincidence?) spent a happy childhood. But my ship was attacked by the Dread Pirate Roberts. And he never leaves survivors."
Will opened his mouth to say something to the contrary, but Westley went on. "He was about to kill me when I asked him not to. 'Please,' I said. 'I have to live.' He asked me why. 'True love,' I told him, and that stayed his hand." Both Dana and Carine looked as though they would melt; Will and Jones exchanged an amused glance.
He continued: "He kept me on his ship and taught me many things. Every night he would say, 'Well, good job today, Westley. I'll most likely kill you in the morning.' But he never did, and as time passed, he let me in on a great secret.
'I am not the Dread Pirate Roberts,' he told me. 'My name is Ryan. I inherited this mask and ship from a man who was not the real Dread Pirate Roberts either.' As it turned out, the real Dread Pirate Roberts had grown so rich that he had retired some time ago - but he had passed on the ship and the name, because the seas will ever need such a legend."
Dana eyed him. "So you're just an ex-farmboy?"
"That's right," Jones agreed. "A horse bit him on his birthday once."
"Well wot's that business 'bout Jones bein' Number Three then?"
"Actually, that's no longer accurate." Jones batted his eyelashes. "I'm Number Two now."
"Number Two wot?!"
Westley turned to Carine and his piercing blue eyes met her liquid brown ones. "Well you see, there are, in the world, very attractive people."
"Obviously," she murmured.
"And those people are ranked in order. The most attractive man or women is Number One, the second most attractive is Number Two, and so forth." He looked wistful. "My Buttercup is Number Eight when last I spoke to her. Eighth out of all the women in the world ..."
Jones coughed. "It may not be what you want to hear, Westley, but she was officially made Number One just before I left." Westley looked pained, then shook his head. "I'm Number Two for the men," continued Jones. "I think that Three was taken by some pirate doctor - "
" - and number one is a pirate, too," finished Westley.
"Wot's 'is name?" asked Carine, interested.
"I think it's John Sparrow? No. Jack Sparrow." Jones replied. He looked startled then. "Will, isn't that ... ?"
"Actually, yes." Will seemed surprised that he had forgotten. "That's the whole point of why we're here! My friends aren't dead, Westley. All I want is their ship back, and for you to point out where they are." Westley didn't look certain. "Besides," Will added, "as far as I'm concerned, that information won't come from the Dread Pirate Roberts, but from Westley."
"A man that I'm sure we'll forget once we leave this tavern," finished Dana. Westley was considering that when Jones put a hand on his shoulder.
"Buttercup's waiting, farmboy."
And the Yellow Dart was saved.
* I think Dana was right about her accent getting stronger.