Disclaimer: *sigh* It pains me to say this, never less than all the previous times I've had to, but I am not Yoda with a light sabre fighting Darth-thingamywhatsit-Sauroman-man-Christopher-Lee. Oh yeah, and I don't own Pirates of the Caribbean, either.
Chapter summary: Jack thinks over his encounter with Creaking-leg, and remembers an old acquaintance as notions start to formulate in his mind (careful there, Jack). Meanwhile, Kate finally manages to get Ioade to reveal the cause behind her recent strange manner, and so strikes a spark in her captain's thoughts that will lead the two lives of the Black Pearl and the Dark Horse crews to collide, what's more with Will and Elizabeth stuck in the middle...
-~*~-
Jack lay on his palette, staring up at the dark ceiling; he hated being on land, on account of many things, but most of all because he could never sleep.
His lack of rest, however, was providing him with time to think over the information he had gathered that evening: the meeting with Creaking-leg had certainly been worth bearing its deficits - Jack shuddered - and the detail of the old man's story had certainly been worth the immoral cost of two meads.
Jack had, in fact, already known the legend behind the Chalice long before he'd heard it tonight, but it never did a man any harm to swing the lead twice when he was sailing shallow waters, and Creaking-leg had been a veritable trove of useful leads.
Which brought Jack's mind back to that old acquaintance.
He began to wonder, idly, just how many years it had been since he had last encountered her...five, maybe six? He hadn't really been counting. Her face was faint in his memory, the image fading with time like a handprint being washed from sand by the tide. Jack knew damn well it wouldn't be easy to persuade her to co-operate, for although her face was indistinct in his mind, her personality, and her ruthless terms were not. If indeed she did have the other half of the map, she wouldn't be willing to bargain without a fight.
The pirate shifted on his bed, a few of his hair ornaments giving out muted clinks, and he reached down by his hip in the darkness to find his hat.
The corner of Jack's mouth hitched up in lopsided grin as he set the hat over his eyes, and settled a little further down into his palette - if there was ever a man capable of getting his own, wicked way with women, it was Captain Jack Sparrow.
-~*~-
The small boy appeared, grinning impishly, infront of the two occupied cages in the brig, a full pail of slopping bilge water hanging from each grimy hand.
"Cap'n says t'give yeh a bath." He said brightly in his Irish lilt, setting down the buckets, and before either Will or Elizabeth had time to puzzle at his words, Grapple had picked one up, swung it back, and doused Elizabeth with a puckish giggle.
The young woman shrieked in shock as the freezing water hit her like a hard slap, plastering her night-clothes to her skin, and dripping unpleasantly from her hair.
Will started up, his eyes flashing, but was thwarted when he, too, was drenched with the contents of the other pail.
"Don't ferget t'use the soap!" Grapple tittered, his dirt-smudged face brimming with amusement.
"Get out of here, you louse!" Will roared, slamming his fist against the iron bars and making the young boy jump back, only to keel over giggling uncontrollably.
"Yeh'll smell just like the rats, now." He gasped, looking up at the blacksmith with a face beetroot-red from laughing.
"Shame." Will growled. "Does that mean we'll be attracting any more little diseases like you, then?"
Grapple stared at him wide-eyed for a moment, and then collapsed back onto the floor in peals of howling mirth.
-~*~-
Ioade stirred at a knock on the door.
"C'min." She murmured, looking back down at the chart infront of her.
Her dark-haired first mate quietly stepped into the cabin, sending a sudden rush of sea air surging into the room, setting the candleflames aflutter.
"We're in sight of Tortuga." Said Kate, shutting out the draft and crossing to the table.
Ioade 'mmm'ed a response, seemingly intent on the map she was holding; when Kate looked at her eyes, however, she found them glazed over, and unmoving.
The woman took a seat and stared unblinkingly at the blonde pirate.
"What's wrong, Ioade?" She asked, addressing her captain in the familiar manner reserved for when they were alone.
Ioade's grey eyes snapped up from the chart, just a little too quickly.
"What do you mean, 'what's wrong'?"
Something unidentifiable in Kate's stare intensified.
"I'm not a fool, Ioade, so please don't take me for one." She requested evenly of the younger woman. "What's wrong?"
When her captain made no reply, she continued:
"You order Marlin to drop the sprit sails when the Horse is all in the wind, you glower at Grapple like you're going to eat him every time he finishes a task, you shut yourself away at mealtimes, you've been irascible, you've been petulant - even more so than usual, that is - and you've been absent-minded ever since we cast off from Port Royale." Kate leaned back in her chair, studying her companion with realisation softening her eyes. "It's got something to do with the boy, hasn't it?"
Ioade threw her a look of undisguised stroppiness.
"You're hatefully shrewd, Kate." She said tartly.
Kate gave a small smile of satisfaction.
"And when you say that, I'm also usually right."
Ioade glared at her for a moment, and then kicking away from the table, sprung to her feet, and began prowling the cabin like a predatory cat.
"S'just jogged a few things in my memory, that's all." She grumbled.
Then, as if Kate had pressed her further, she suddenly threw her hands up in the air exasperatedly, and whipped round on her heel to face her first mate.
"Alright! Fine! The moment ye said 'e was the spittin' image of ol' Bootstrap, somethin' clicked - I don't be knowin' why!" Kate grinned at her friend lapsing into her sea-faring accent as her temper errupted. "And then! Then, I starts thinkin' about that bloody half-o'-map we been stowin' in me cabin all this time, and I says t'meself, I says: 'I've a mind to be goin' after that treasure', but I be needin' the other half to do that, don't I? So now, we be sailin' fer the bloody Tortoise, so's I can get on with findin' the other half o' that bloody map, and get a decent night's shuteye! There." Ioade slammed the chart she had been waving around erratically during her rant down on the table and glowered at Kate. "Happy now?!"
"Very, thank you." Kate nodded, smiling. "Your good self?"
Ioade opened her mouth indignantly, staring at the dark-haired woman, and then closed it again; open; close; open; close. Pout.
"Get out of my cabin, and go do somethin' useful." She grumbled.
Kate's smile widened as she stood up.
"Aye, Captain."
Reaching the door, she paused and turned back to the sulking Ioade.
"Don't get too drunk." She said innocently.
"GO!"
-~*~-
Anamaria's thoughts wandered as she kept dog watch, having relieved Ketch some minutes ago.
The Pearl rocked gently, the hull creaking, and the ropes swaying slightly in the wind, and in the background, the ever-present soundscape of Tortuga played on.
The female pirate looked up suddenly as something caught her eye across the bay: a warm glow, rather like large firefly, drifting slowly along above the water, growing closer and clearer every heartbeat.
Anamaria narrowed her dark eyes, peering at the light, and saw almost at once that it was another ship coming in to dock, firelight from the lanterns a-dance, and staining its white sails ruddy.
She didn't know quite why, but Ana felt the sudden gut-urge to inspect the ship more closely, and calling for Cotton to bring her the telescope, maintained her gaze on it like a hawk watching a field mouse.
A moment later, she took the spyglass from the mute pirate's hands, and set it to her eye; the figurehead of the vessel was that of a giant, rearing horse.
Anamaria slammed the telescope shut.
"Gibbs!" She yelled.
-~*~-
"It's the Black Pearl, ma'am." Marlin confirmed, closing the telescope and handing it back to Kate.
The three of them - Ioade, Kate and Marlin - stood at the fore of the deck, gazing out at the ship silhouetted against glowing halos of Tortuga.
Ioade was chewing her bottom lip pensively.
"Barbossa?" Kate asked.
Ioade cast her a testy look.
"Have you been in the Spanish Main for these past two years, Kate? Elgor Barbossa's dead! No..." Her grey eyes fell again on the Black Pearl. "Sparrow's captain, now - I wonder..."
A look passed between the two women, and they silently agreed that it was possible.
"Kate," Ioade said at last. "Soon as we dock, I'll be wantin' ye to go ashore and search Tortuga from gripe t'guilded truck fer Cap'n Jack, savvy?"
"Aye, ma'am."
The vivacious light in Ioade's grey eyes came to keen points as her features swept into a dark smile.
"Methinks that maybe 'tis time I did a little catching up with the good Mr Sparrow..."
-~*~-
Gibbs ambled his way between the top-heavy buildings of Tortuga's streets, his breath coming in short rasps; he'd known that Jack had been heading for the Keelhauled Sailor when he had left the Pearl, but when he'd arrived there, the stocky pirate had found neither hide nor hair of him. Almost.
A pretty, black-haired wench had been sitting quietly in a corner, absent-mindedly weighing two silver shillings in her small hands, with the evident air of someone who had been rather badly shaken up; it didn't take the wit of a fox to discern why.
And so Gibbs had been able to trace Jack's way to the Singing Mermaid, with the warning that Captain Ioade Morgan of the Dark Horse was mooring in the bay.
The tavern happened to be a little way away from Tortuga's hub, which meant a bit of a walk, and so, making his way up a empty street, the iron-haired man nearly didn't acknowledge the sensation as he fought to keep his aching legs moving. Then, he felt it, and stopped, quite suddenly, standing rigid as stone in the middle of the dirt road:
The hairs on the back of his neck were prickling.
Peering back over his shoulder, Gibbs bobbed his head, trying to penetrate the shadows cast in the alleyways. The only other thing alive in that wynd apart from him was a thin-looking tabby cat that yowled atop one of the bowed ridges, and then leapt across a wide gap between two roofs, to disappear from sight.
The street, and Gibbs, were very still.
He felt a shiver pass down his spine, and a slight cold sweat was sparkling on his brow; he couldn't be sure, but it hadn't been the first time that evening he'd felt that someone trailing him.
Gibbs started to walk again, but this time he kept his fingers touching against the wooden grip and cold, iron trigger of his pistol.
While his legs and lungs were tiring, his senses were awake and sharp, scanning for any trace of movement, sound or smell.
He hadn't gone a few paces when he heard, quite distinctly, the sound of soft, running footsteps a way back behind him.
An adrenaline-induced grin lit Gibbs' weather-beaten features, and ducking into the fade of light to shadow in an alleyway on his right, he waited against the rough wall of a house, his heart beating a violent tattoo in his throat.
Again, after a few moments, he heard the quiet grind of boots on dust. Drawing his pistol slowly from his belt, he raised it to his chest as he retreated beyond the penumbra; the bugger was definitely following him.
A long number of heartbeats passed as Gibbs stood in the dark, his finger pressing, ready to fire; but all he heard was silence. His blood began to rush in his ears as he strained his neck looking this way and that, trying to listen for even the faintest scuff. None came.
Silence.
His heartbeat seemed to echo like far-off cannon fire among the crooked structures of Tortuga.
Silence.
The sweat beaded freely on his skin, wetting his trembling grip on the pistol.
Silence.
He didn't dare move; none of his senses declared that anything living was walking that street, but something in his gut assured him otherwise.
Silence.
Then. So light and faint he could barely feel it. A cold sliver of blade-edge slithered by his neck, pressing against the underside of his sideburned jaw in such a way that he was forced to raise his chin.
"If you so much as twitch a fingertip, you'll be on your way to Davy Jones' Locker before you can say savvy."
"Sharp, lass." Gibbs observed, his adam's apple tight against his throat with nerves. "But I heard yer footsteps before ye even touched me wi' that effect o' yers."
"The more fool, then," Said the voice. "That you didn't run."
"Per'aps, but I be thinkin' that maybe we be two of a kind if that be the case - cats don't make a noise when they be huntin' mice, lass, and neither should ye."
"You're taking a bit of a risk, don't you think?" Came the placid reply. "Turn around."
The last two words weren't said threateningly, or angrily, nor indeed aggressively in any way. They were just said. Gibbs however, wasn't about to overlook the subtle hint of the blade touched against his neck, and wisely obliged without question.
"Mr Gibbs." The speaker addressed him in a low, rich, female voice. "Before I lower my weapon, and put your nerves to rest, I would like you to know that I am not only covering your movements with an axe, but also with a pistol, and so methinks, therefore, you might find it in your interests to be co-operative, savvy?"
"Aye." Gibbs replied slowly, peering into the darkness in the direction of the speaker - that voice rang familiar in his memory, yet something was missing that he couldn't quite put his finger on.
"Miss D'Lazzio?" He said after a long pause.
"Cole." The woman corrected. "It's been twelve years since we last met, Mr Gibbs, and alot can change in that time, but yes - 'tis me."
And with that, Gibbs did put his finger on it - the flowing Italian accent had been replaced by a more reserved English one.
"What business 'ave ye in a place like this, missy?" Gibbs asked, suddenly feeling a world easier. "You be a high-born lass - this ain't no place fer yer sort, and I don't be pretendin' to know how ye got 'ere."
"Well, since you enquire, Mr Gibbs, I've turned pirate." Came the mildly amused reply. "Surely you've heard of 'the Blackbird'?" "Aye." Gibbs said, staring even harder into the darkness. "Then it be ye, Miss Kate?"
"Aye; first mate aboard the Dark Horse is what I am nowadays."
A long silence.
"And are you still in the service of the good King's Navy? On seconds thoughts, a rather foolish question, considering where we are." She said as an afterthought.
"No, lass." Gibbs said in his gruff voice. "I be servin' under the command o' Cap'n Jack Sparrow o' the Black Pearl."
"Oh?" Came that smooth, calm voice, like dark honey and yoghurt. "Then we couldn't possibly have picked a better time to meet, because, you see, my captain is rather craving a word with your captain, and hence, sent me ashore to search the highs and lows of Tortuga for the good Mr Sparrow; as you might have assessed by now, I've not had any luck thus far." Kate paused contemplatively. "Tell me, Master Gibbs, have you the time and the goodness in your heart to save me a night's work and take me to him? I assume that's where you were headed when I waylaid you." She added.
"Ye've already labelled me a fool once this eveing, lass, and it be folly in itself for a man to be labelled 'fool' twice - what be yer cap'n's business wi' Jack?" Gibbs asked suspiciously.
Kate thought for a moment, choosing her words carefully.
"From what I remember, all pirates - captains especially - are rather fond of treasure maps, am I correct?"
It was as though someone had struck a flint in Gibbs' mind: she knew.
"Aye." He agreed. "But 'ow do I know it's not in yer head to be double-crossin' me n' Jack?"
"You don't." Kate answered evenly. "You'll just have to trust me. Shall we proceed?"
-~*~-
Elizabeth felt her heart give an involuntary jolt as she saw the figure stomp sullenly down the wooden steps into the brig, a bottle of rum in their hand. The moonlight and firelight from above deck shone down through the hatch, illuminating the pirate's long, thick, bushy mane of hair, and there was a faint jingling that sounded reminiscently like braid-beads and coins.
Elizabeth hardly dared to believe it.
The figure raised the bottle of rum to its lips, and tipping its head back, took a long swig.
"J-Jack?" Elizabeth asked in a dry voice.
The pirate looked around, as if to see who was being addressed, and when they saw no one else was there, gave out a bark of laughter.
"Sorry to disappoint ye, missy, but if ye was expectin' Cap'n Jack Sparrow..." She sighed. "I'd give a good deal to know where he is meself; s'why I've sent me first mate out on a wild goose chase."
"Your first mate." Will said, sitting up. "The one who shot the redcoats?"
"Ah, well." Ioade said in a much kinder tone. "Ye'll have to turn a bit of a blind eye, there - redcoats are a bit of a sore spot with our Kate."
"Turn a blind eye? That woman killed five men in cold blood!" Elizabeth exclaimed angrily.
"It's like I said - they're a bit of a sore spot with her." Ioade replied, gesturing with her rum bottle. "Anyway, might I enquire as to your names, good gent and lady?"
"Joseph and Emiline Brown." Will said at once, the names of his former master and his wife leaping into his mind.
Ioade gave him a flat look.
"Aye, and I'm Mary, Queen of Scots." She drawled. "Don't play name games with me, lad - you're old Boots's boy. As if no one'd ever told ye ye looks jus' like 'im." She added with a chuckle, lapsing back into her seafaring patois as she took another draught of rum.
"And that must make you Elizabeth." She said then, looking over at the damp young woman in the cage next to Will. "Word travels fast on the sea; Barbossa's death and Jack's victory are no secret, y'know. I suppose that's how ye be knowin' Master Sparrow, is it?"
"Yes." Will answered truthfully; he didn't much see the point in lying to a shrewd pirate.
"Figured as much." Ioade said, raising her eyebrows. "Trouble, that's what that man is: can't seem to get enough of it. The last time his name reached my ears was with the news that he was to be hanged in Port Royale."
Ioade's eyes went wide, as if something had suddenly occurred to her, and turning to Will, she said in a panicked voice:
"They didn't, did they?"
"No." The blacksmith smiled, remembering Jack's inspired means of escape.
The blonde pirate relaxed.
"It's not that I'm bothered about him," She explained with a dismissive wave of her hand, and another sip of rum. "But he has something that I'm rather interested in acquiring. If he has it...knowing that sot, he's probably lost it by now." She added darkly.
"What is this thing you're so desperate to get?" Will asked quietly. "And if you're so eager to engage in that business, then why are you keeping us here? We serve no purpose in your affairs."
"Insurance, Bootling." Said Ioade, inspecting her rum bottle, and choosing to ignore Will's reaction to the sobriquet. "If all falls through here, you and your little sweetling there will bring in quite a fine ransom, I'm sure. And there is a slight ladder in the stocking of your reasoning, oh son-of-Bootstrap - you do serve a purpose in my affairs, funnily enough."
"What do you want him for?" Elizabeth asked quickly, remembering with a twinge similar words that had passed between her and Barbossa.
"Well, you see, the last person to possess this particular object of my fancy happened to be your father, William."
Will leaned forward, listening raptly with his brown eyes fixed on the captain.
There was a long silence.
"And?" Will prompted.
Ioade frowned.
"I don't know - that's all I've come up with, so far; it's much more exciting than me saying we're just tagging you along for the ride because I'm a bit skint, though, isn't it?" She smiled.
"You mean you were lying?" Will demanded, his voice rising.
Ioade closed her eyes and raised a hand.
"Ah, now I never said that, Bootling. Well...maybe I did," She gestured carelessly. "But that's not the point...I...Look! Just stop asking me questions, savvy?" She finished irritably. "Fiddle blocks - no peace for the bloody wicked, is there?"
"Pirates are wicked." Elizabeth pointed out smugly.
Ioade looked at her.
"Your point being?"
-~*~-
Kate smiled to herself as she climbed the wooden staircase behind Gibbs: it really was marvellous how understanding people became when you brandished an axe at them.
Gibbs, however, was rather less at ease than the young woman. While he appreciated that Kate had done everything in her power to fulfil the image of 'pirate' down in the taproom, he couldn't help but find it a little disturbing that what she had actually managed to achieve was the appearance of a homicidal maniac.
When he had noticed the absence of the pistol she had claimed to have been covering him with, Gibbs had enquired into this inconsistency, and then immediately wished he hadn't when she flipped the axe over in her hands to display a glittering silver hammer, trigger and barrel built into the shaft of the weapon.
"It's such a wonderful time-saver." She had smiled in her unnervingly placid way, cradling it fondly. "You can shoot and mangle all at once."
Gibbs couldn't help but feel an overwhelming surge of sympathy for the tavern owner, who had no doubt passed out on the floor after they had left the room.
"Third on the left, did he say, Mr Gibbs?"
Kate's quiet voice from behind him shook Gibbs from his reverie.
"Aye, lass." He confirmed gruffly. "That'll be the one."
A few paces later, they were standing in the hallway; Kate tapped her knuckled lightly on the wood, and waited.
No reply. She tried again:
"Mr Sparrow?"
Her inquiry was answered this time, by a long, loud, rumbling snore - the sort of snore one makes when one has become exceedingly drunk prior to sleeping - and on trying the handle, she found the door to be locked.
"Well, Mr Gibbs," Kate smiled pleasantly, turning to the stocky pirate. "It would appear that your captain isn't quite as daft as he looks! This does unfortunately, however, leave me with only one option."
Taking a step back, and signalling for Gibbs to do the same, Kate, in one smooth motion, levelled her axe, sighted along the shaft to aim at the door mechanism, and pulled the trigger.
With an ear shattering crack the barrel fired, and the door flew open on its hinges, wheeling out of sight into the dark room for an instant, and then ricocheting back out again, smoke streaming in furling billows from the keyhole.
"Shall we?" Kate smiled.
-~*~-
When the door opened like a cannon going off, Jack promptly tumbled from his cot, legs and arms flailing, to land heavily on the floor in a tangle of sheets.
"Whyistherumgone?!" He blurted, fumbling out his pistol and pointing it grip-first at the intruders standing in the smoking doorway.
"Oh, do grow up, Mr Sparrow." Came a rich female voice from somewhere above his head.
"Captain. Captain. It's Captain Jack Sparrow!" He corrected exasperatedly. "If you're going t'kill me, at leas' get me bloody prefix right!"
"I'm hoping you're going to be co-operative enough not to force me to resort to that sort of extremity." Came the mild reply.
Jack groaned, and put a nursing hand to his aching head.
"Fer Godssake, lass, 's'too bloody late t'be uzin' werds wi' that menny syll'bles." He slurred.
"Just out of interest, Mr -"
"Captain."
"- Sparrow, were you planning to sit there on the floor all night?"
Jack raised his bleary eyes to see a slender hand being offered out to help him up.
Taking it, he swayed unsteadily to his feet, and blinked, frowning, at the dark-haired woman standing before him.
"No..." He exclaimed suddenly, peering closer at her face with the manner of an extremely short-sighted man. "Can't be...blimey! Kate, luv, 'zat you?"
In the light cast from the hallway, Jack could just about make out Kate's features: she was very much as he remembered her, and yet not. She was approximately half a head shorter than Jack (which didn't really account for anything, seeing as Jack was fairly tall), and she wore all black, including her shirt, breeches, tunic, frock coat, waist-sash, belt and boots.
Of course, she was not seventeen anymore, as he remembered her, but now appeared to be somewhere between the years of twenty eight and thirty, the time elapsed having given her womanly attributes time to ripen, Jack noted approvingly. She was still dark, however, with those elegant, sweeping, soot-rimmed dark eyes, and long, thick, silky waves of mahogany-coloured hair. Her heart-shaped face had hollowed a little in the cheeks, though, had lost the full freshness of a young girl, and the passive expression she bore seemed drained of a fire that Jack recalled from their first, and last, encounter.
"Aye." Kate said with a small smile. "'Tis me."
"You've turned pirate!" Jack hiccoughed in an almost accusing tone.
"Circumstances...converted me, shall we say."
"Well," Slurred Jack, the corner of his mouth hitching up in a grin as he looked her up and down appraisingly. "The scenic spots have certainly blossomed..."
"You may be drunk, Captain, but I am sober, and you might remember, even in your present lethargic state, that I don't tolerate that sort of outright flirtation."
Jack raised his eyebrows, and shrugged.
"Subtlety's never been one-uh my strong points, luv. Anyway," He took Kate's hand, managing to make the most of an unstable bow with a flourish, and kissed it. "T'what do I owe the pleasure?"
"Well, I think Gibbs might like to tell you that." Said Kate, moving aside to allow Jack's first mate to step forward. "Goodness knows he deserves it, after bringing me all the way up here."
The stocky, wire-sideburned pirate approached his captain, casting a slightly distrusting look in Kate's direction.
"It's the Dark Horse, sir - she's docked in Tortuga." He told Jack, whose eyebrows had disappeared up beneath his bandana. "It seems Cap'n Ioade is wantin' a word with ye."
-~*~-