Disclaimer: Honestly, do I look like the sort of girl who'd be spending her time writing fanfics if she owned Jack Sparrow? *pouts* Alright, they're Disney's. But everything else that either doesn't sound familiar or is crap would be mine. *O-o*
Chapter Summary: Jack muses over finding the half-map on the former merchant ship, the Calliope. Meanwhile, Captain Ioade and her crew make ready to sail for Tortuga with Elizabeth and Will both imprisoned in the brig, Ioade leaving a 'calling card' for Governor Swan in the process. The Black Pearl too plots a passage to Tortuga, in the hopes that Jack will be able to gather some information on the whereabouts of the other half of the chart...
-~*~-
Jack sat alone in his cabin as the windows grew dark, and the candles sunk in their brackets.
Running a black-stained finger pensively back and forth over his lips, he studied the half-map held in his hand with his eyebrows knit into one long, dark line.
"And what became of the treasure, William?" He murmured quietly. "What became of that?"
Whichever way he looked at it, Jack couldn't believe that Barbossa could have sought the quarry this map revealed; his faith in his old friend Turner, and the rumours of what protected the treasure was too great for that. Of course, it was possible, but the fact that the map had been ripped in two suggested to Jack that Turner had defaced it so that Barbossa couldn't use it; but surely a sundered map wouldn't have stopped a determined man seeking a treasure so priceless as this one?
Another mystery that tugged at the hems of his mind was how this half of the map had come to be where they had found it; and what of the other half?
Jack sighed, and took a deep swig from the bottle of rum on the table infront of him.
"You've got me there, Bill." He admitted.
"Talking to yourself?"
Jack looked up sharply, the hand that held the map surreptitiously dropping to his side.
A slim black woman with long hair kept out of her face by a dirty bandana was standing in the doorway, observing him with mild amusement.
"Too much rum addles the brain, Captain Sparrow." She cautioned.
"Ana, didn't anyone ever tell you it's the done thing to knock before entering a man's private quarters?" Jack chided her irritably, the two front legs of his chair banging to the floor as he swung his booted feet off the edge of the table.
"Is that so?" Anamaria raised an eyebrow.
Jack flashed her a sarcasic grin, and she knew she'd had her fun.
"We're in sight of Tortuga. Captain." She added as insurance.
The swarthy man rose silently to his feet, making his way past Anamaria in his odd, rolling gate as he left the cabin.
Anamaria chose to say nothing as she noticed he was still clutching a weathered scrap of old parchment in his left hand.
-~*~-
If there was one thing that leapt out at Elizabeth about that ship, it was the figurehead.
For one thing, it was much larger than the others she had seen: instead of only measuring from the bowsprit down to the knee of the head, it stretched right from the bowsprit down to the water level.
It was carved seamlessly in the form of a gargantuan warhorse, rearing up on its hind legs with its feathered front hooves pawing at the air. Its eyes were wild and aggressive, its ears flat back against its awesomely muscled neck, and its nostrils flaring wide. Its long mane rippled back from its crest, flowing back along the rail of the helm, and its tail curled in thick locks about its gaskins.
The blonde-haired woman was surveying the ship with unmistakable pride.
"Finest Irish pirate ship in the whole of the Spanish Main, that, missy." She said. "The Dark Horse."
Elizabeth stared at it as she was marched along the pier, her blood rushing in her ears as she tried to soothe her nerves.
The only condolence she could find to give herself was that at least this ship hadn't fired on Port Royale, hence she also couldn't imagine that these pirates could be any worse than Barbossa's crew.
But as she was guided up the boarding plank and onto The Dark Horse, the truth of her perception suddenly seemed worthless. The deck was littered with the bodies of five marines, the blood on their crimson coats and grey faces almost black.
Without really knowing why, but before she could stop the words spurting from her lips, Elizabeth asked:
"Are they dead?"
And for the first time, she suddenly appreciated that there was someone standing not four feet from her.
A woman with long, glossy dark hair was surveying the corpses on deck with an eerie air of calm, her skin pale in the moonlight. She had long, elegant dark eyes, two silver-laced, long-barrelled pistols in her hands, and a single, golden band glinting on her left ring finger. Other than this, she was dressed entirely in black.
At Elizabeth's words, she looked up, and replied in a low, even voice:
"You might find, miss, that people at the firing end of a pistol don't usually very live long."
The man holding Elizabeth gave a gravely grunt of laughter; the girl felt sick.
"Take her to the cabins." The blonde-maned woman ordered.
"Aye, Captain." Came the caribbean lilt from over Elizabeth's shoulder.
As she was forced forward, Elizabeth found it in herself to put up a little bit of a struggle, but the man merely gave her a rough shake and put in a little more of his own bodyweight.
The moment the two figures had disappeared through the doors at the far end of the deck, the captain approached the dark-haired woman.
"You killed them all, Kate?" She asked, her tone edged with subtle disapproval.
"Not all, Ioade."
"It wasn't a redcoat, then?"
Something in the black-garbed pistoleer's expression became wooden.
"My aim never misses a blood-coat bastard." She replied, the smoothness of her voice giving way to a previously absent sharpness. Ioade raised an eyebrow.
"There was a civilian - a gentleman blacksmith, by the look of him - who came when he heard the shots." Kate continued, the evenness of her tone recovered .
"A gentleman blacksmith?" Ioade asked incredulously.
Kate gazed back at her without even so much as a blink.
"A gentleman blacksmith." She enforced silkily.
"Why didn't more soldiers come?" The grey-eyed woman asked curiously.
"Gunfire isn't silent, so they will soon."
"Speaking of which, we'd better get these gentlemen shifted." Said Ioade, nudging the nearest corpse with the toe of her boot. "By the by, why didn't you kill the boy?"
Kate looked Ioade straight in the face, fixing the captain's smoky grey eyes with her own golden-brown ones.
"Because," She said slowly. "He was the spitting image of 'Bootstrap' Bill Turner."
-~*~-
Joshamee Gibbs couldn't pretend for an instant that he hadn't noticed Jack Sparrow's peculiar manner since the Calliope merchant ship had sunk.
The captain had been quieter than usual, standing at the ship's wheel for hours on end to stare distractedly out at the horizon, and resolutely shutting himself away in his cabin to eat.
And to drink rum.
Gibbs wasn't a prying sort of man, but respectful of the fact that another man's business was another man's business, and quite content for it to stay that way, but Jack's thoughtful silence had stirred a curiosity in him, nonetheless.
And that curiosity did nothing but increase Gibb's surprise when he turned from lighting the port-side navigation lantern one evening to see the Captain standing at the rail, looking out towards the tiny, luminous halos of Tortuga.
Gibbs stared at the man's back for a moment, and then let fly a ream of filthy curses as the lighted splint between his thick thumb and forefinger curled back and burnt his fingertip.
Jack looked back over his shoulder at the noise, and a metallic grin appeared on his face at the sight of his first mate angrily snuffing out the charred remains of the offending splint beneath his boot.
"Nav lanterns are lit, then?" He asked innocently.
"Too bloody right, they are." Gibbs grumbled, ambling to Jack's side. "How long'll we be stoppin' off in Tortuga for?"
"Long enough to restock the Pearl with plenty of rum and grub, and allow the men to vent some of their frustrations." Came the reply. "And I've got a bit of business to be doin' in the meantime."
"What sort of business, Cap'n?" A nearby crew member asked curiously.
"Me own!" Jack snapped. "Back t'work you mangy cur! Amain!"
The pirate cowered and quickly turned his attention back to mending the length of bight in his lap.
"What is it's put ye in such a pecul'ar mood, Jack?" Gibbs asked in a soft voice when Sparrow had turned back to watching the lights of Tortuga draw closer. "There still be plenty o' rum in the hold."
Jack grinned.
"Aye, but not enough for a man who's had some serious contemplating to do."
Gibbs narrowed his eyes.
"What's in yer head, Jack?" He asked.
"The night we raided the Calliope, I found something very interesting stowed away in the drawer of a writing desk." Jack slurred, his kohl-rimmed eyes slit so thinly that the whites had almost disappeared amid the dark brown. "A certain chart, or rather, I should say, half. Savvy?"
Gibbs' eyes went wide for a moment, and then he uttered a gravely breath of laughter.
"And ye'll be wantin' to find the other half, I suppose?" He said.
Jack nodded, smiling.
"If there ain't someone in that port who knows its whereabouts, Mr Gibbs, I'll eat me hat."
"Two shillings, Cap'n Sparrow!" The iron-haired pirate challenged with a fierce grin.
"Four!" Jack countered in his haggling voice.
"Three and six, and I'll not budge!" Gibbs rumbled as Jack opened his mouth to speak.
The dark pirate considered this for a moment, and then, with a roar of "Done!", they spat in their palms and clapped them firmly together.
"Crrraawwk! Roll in the scuppers! Roll in the scuppers!" Cotton's macaw crowed above their heads.
"I'll eat you after me hat if you keep on with that attitude!" Jack growled.
-~*~-
"Khale and Grapple are back, Cap'n." The Caribbean pirate lilted in his rich voice.
Ioade nodded.
"All hands on deck amain - we cast off, and make passage for Tortuga."
"It's a leading-wind, Cap'n - we'll be a-lee."
"Heave-to and run up the sweeps, then - scull her out of the bay, douse and bring her about; she'll draw."
"Aye, Cap'n."
"Kate!"
"Captain?"
"Get Harlequin."
"Aye, miss."
"Khale! Man the capstan! Amazu! Marlin! Snub the slings, heave-to and take in sail! Grapple, fetch that figurine, and then scrub this deck from fore to abaft! I want her cleaner than she was when she were first built! Cheerly now, you bilge rats!" Ioade barked.
The deck of the Dark Horse was suddenly swarming with busy silhouettes, and below in the brig, Elizabeth shivered disconsolately as the timbers of the ship groaned and began to rock.
In the neighbouring cell, Will lay slumped on the floor, his chest slowly swelling and shrinking with each breath beneath his loose shirt.
Elizabeth wished to God he would wake up, and then she should have some company, but her wistful thoughts quickly vanished when she heard hurrying footfalls on the wooden stairs, and a small boy of about twelve came scurrying through the brig like a rodent, heading for the far end.
Elizabeth sat upright on her knees and anchored both hands on the iron trellace as she peered out at the wiry figure rooting around the cargo on her left.
"Where are yeh?" The boy murmured to himself in a broad Irish brogue, stooping to crawl between two large crates.
Elizabeth watched him for a moment with a frown.
"What are you looking for?" She demanded.
There was a loud bang, which she took to mean that the boy had banged his head, and sure enough, after a long string of obscene, muffled curses had reached her ears, the small figure crawled out of the stack again, rubbing his crown ruefully with one hand.
"Oh, it's you, colleen*!" He exclaimed after staring dazedly round the brig, and his thin face split into a grin as broad as his accent. Trotting across to her cage, he held his fisted hand out towards her, and curling out his fingers, revealed what looked like the knight's piece of a chess set, carved from a wine cask stopper.
"Oi was lookin' fer this." He said. "Cap'n Ioade uses 'em as callin' cards - let's folks know when we've been around."
He snatched back his hand so suddenly that Elizabeth flinched.
"See yeh later, colleen." He grinned, after which he turned and skipped back up the steps.
-~*~-
Ioade stood drumming her fingers on the felloe of the ship's wheel, gazing out towards the blend of clear night sky and dark ocean on the horizon, when a soft weight on her shoulder caught her attention.
Turning her head, a glittering pair of intelligent brown eyes met her vivacious grey ones, and the magpie cocked its sleek head to one side as though it were amused.
Ioade gently smoothed its silky feathers with the backs of her fingers, and nodded her thanks to Kate, who stood a little off to one side, smiling.
"Here y'are, Cap'n." Grapple panted, holding up the cask-cork horse's head for her to take. "Tat girl down in the brig was askin' questions." He added as he began to catch his breath.
"Don't worry about it." Came the reply, Ioade slowly turning the carving over in her hand. "You can give her a bath later on."
Grapple grinned knowingly, and as he was dismissed from the deck by Kate, the blonde-haired captain dug a hand into her waist sash, withdrew a thin, rolled-up slip of parchment, and holding the horse's head upside down, inserted it into a hole in the carving's base.
Then she turned the whole thing right-way-up again and showed it to the magpie, watching patiently while the bird took it firmly into its glossy beak.
"Go tell the Governor we've paid him a call, will you m'dear?" She said softly.
In a flurry in glinting feathers, the magpie took off from Ioade's shoulder and disappeared off towards the lights of Port Royale.
"One for sorrow." The Captain said with a small smile to her first mate.
-~*~-
Jack watched the heavy coils of rope go spinning through the air and land like dead bodies in the water as they pulled into the harbour.
The familiar din of brawling, pistol shots, drunken hollering and singing that was a good deal better than it sounded reached his ears, and he took a long, deep, satisfying pull of the Tortuga bouquet - it was good to be back.
"Drop anchor and hand the sails!" Gibbs roared as he belayed a length of rope to a cleat. "Ketch! You're on dog-watch t'night!" Wiping the sweat from his shining brow, the stocky man came to stand at Jack's side.
"Where y'be thinkin' of lookin' first?" He asked gruffly.
Jack wiggled his jaw thoughtfully for a moment, then said:
"The Keelhauled Sailor." And when Gibbs gave him a strange look he added. "There are other ways in which one can aquire information besides askin', savvy?"
Gibbs raised his eyebrows and nodded with a mild expression.
"Now," Jack murmured, more to himself than to his first mate. "I wonder if Giselle'll be speakin' to me yet..."
-~*~-
*colleen is the tradition Irish word for 'girl'
Author's note: I'm not a seafarer of any description, so all the nautical terminology used in this chapter was obtained from an online Nautical Dictionary - I thouroughly recommend them for the nautically-ignorant!