Starscape Dream: Hey there, m'luv! Oh yeah - they're sleeping together alright. You little sex kitten, you! *giggle* Oh, and um...you can take your Unholy Army of the Night off my tail now that I've updated again...*gulps* Please?
bobo3: Before we go any further, where are your updates, I would like to ask? Ponder that one for a while, because I'm greatly missing them - anyhow, of course Sparrow's not complaining! He gets to have his way with a beautiful woman every night! *sighs exasperatedly* Bloody pirates. Thanks for the best of health, luv - the very same to you =)
Sparrow's Pearl: It's intriguing? *blushes* Aw, sucks! I'm really glad that you feel I'm doing something right with Kate and Jack's relationship - Kate's a smart girl by the way, so you don't need to worry about her falling for Jack's *ahem* charms, and you'll find out alot more about her past in this chapter too; please tell me if you think I handled that scene well, by the way, because it was a constant worry of mine that I wasn't going to get them in character, so any thoughts on that are much appreciated. Thank you.
jigglykat: That's such a compliment that you put this on your favourites list - it's always great to check my reviews and find there's a new reader on board. You're most welcome to join us, my dear =)
Ildera: Well, I suppose you can stop hiding, but only if I get an email from you really soon!!! I've missed you so much! Yes, Ioade does need to be felt for, poor thing, so I'm glad that somebody does. Heathen Gods aren't fun, are they? You'd think that after the whole cursed gold thing, Jack would have more sense than to get tangled up with that sort again *glances hopelessly over at the dear captain* Come to think of it, I haven't seen any new chapters on your end of the line for a while either - I take it that the new job's got topmost priority, eh? How's that going for you? I hope you and Matthew are both well, by the way; send me an email and let me know how you're doing. Much love and countless hugs and kisses to you, m'hunni xxx
storm13(): You know, I've never had an official junky before! Good to have you aboard!
Well, I guess that just about covers all the thank-yous and kudos I need to give out, so that's everything from me for the moment *readers sigh with relief* Hope this chapter lives up to expectations, and I'm really sorry you've been waiting so long for this. What with having received the Pirates DVD for Christmas, rest assured that my inspiration has been sparked once again and that updates will be hopefully be more regular as of now =) And as I'm sure there will be quite a few of you who have watched the deleted scenes on the DVD, there's a little reference in here that I think you should pick up on, too. Enjoy and be well guys!
-~*~-
"Could it have been a pelican?"
"No - too large."
"An albatross, maybe?"
"It had webbed wings."
"A flying piece of church-exterior the size of a large horse."
"Now we're getting close."
Will sighed, and turned his sword over in his hands for the thousandth time that hour; the tension aboard the Pearl was taking its toll on each and every one of her passengers.
Beside Will sat Elizabeth, watching Jack distractedly pacing the cabin, whilst Ioade leant against one end of the gallery window alcove and Kate reclined on the window-seat, cocking and un-cocking her pistol - a nervous habit of hers, Will had discovered. "But you knew this was going to be dangerous from the beginning, didn't you?" Elizabeth demanded. "I mean, you're up against Gods - you must have been expecting to come across something like this."
"Not quite so soon." Ioade admitted. "We were only expecting the divine interference - and we weren't sure if there would be any at all anyway - to pick up once we'd entered the Arctic Circle; we're not even out of the Caribbean yet."
"Well, it couldn't be the Gods bound to the Chalice, could it?" Will asked.
Over by the window, Kate shook her head.
"We assumed that the binding would restrict the reach of their powers to a localised area; perhaps even render them powerless."
"That's only what we heard it might do, though." Ioade pointed out bitterly.
"Then that really only suggests two options: either that someone has to the Chalice before us, or that it wasn't those Gods who sent that thing." Said Elizabeth.
Jack gave her the vaguely exasperated look of a man to whom possibilies are the least of his worries.
"How many Heathen Gods do you think are still around, luv?!" He exclaimed. "They're all either forgotten out of existance, or trapped in some ancient relic in some stupidly inaccessible place waiting to be awakened by some sinister ritual that usually involves blood or dancing naked round large fires."
"If someone had gotten to the Chalice before us, we'd know about it, believe me." Ioade took up the thread.
"As for other Gods, it's very unlikely." Jack added.
"The most logical explanation of course, is that truthfully, we really aren't sure of what form the binding takes, and what it entails." Kate continued, still thumbing the hammer of her pistol, which Jack and Will were now eyeing nervously. "It could very well be that it was the Chalice Gods who sent us that handsome chap, and that we simply underestimated the reach of their arm, as it were."
The clicking of the hammer continued. Jack cleared his throat pointedly.
"Are you attempting Chinese Water Torture there, darlin'?" He asked.
Kate looked at him as though she were seeing him for the first time.
"So what do we do now?" Will asked.
There was a silence. The two captains and the first mate looked from one to the other, and then Jack spoke:
"Go on of course, dear William. What sort of men - and women," He added with respectful bows to Elizabeth and Kate, and a split-second reconsideration as he reached Ioade. "Would we be if we turned back at the first hurdle?"
"Which, coincidentally, happened to have wings and a sizeable set of teeth." Ioade sniped sulkily.
Jack drew himself up dramatically, and replaced his tricorn hat with a flourish.
"We sail for the Arctic Circle, ladies and gents."
In the lull that followed his proclamation, Elizabeth considered him thoughtfully.
"Just so long as you promise the second hurdle won't have wings and a sizeable set of teeth, Captain Sparrow." She concluded.
-~*~-
"Wine, luv?"
Kate nodded with a smile as Jack refilled her chalice. It was late in the evening, and as much of the afternoon had been spent conferring and then repairing the details of their plan - this had included curing the apprehensions of the crew, either by a few reassuring words, a subtle (or occasionally candid) death threat, or lots of drink - Jack had felt that a well-deserved early retirement from the helm and some relaxation time was due. So he was having dinner with Kate.
Jack studied her from across the table; she was looking particularly lovely in plum taffeta this evening.
"Suits you, darlin'." He appraised, tearing off a hunk of bread with his teeth. "The dress, I mean."
"Thank you."
"Haven't seen you wear it for a while."
Jack watched with a slight smile as she stopped half-way through cutting her chop.
"Twelve years, in fact." She said quietly.
"That long? Amazing how time flies when you're having fun, isn't it?" Jack drawled wryly, gesticulating with his hands. He thought for a moment. "The pink diamonds, wasn't it?" He mused.
Kate looked up at him.
"Yes."
She looked round as the door opened.
The corner of Jack's mouth hitched up, his teeth glittering in the candlelight, as he ran his eyes over her; she was wearing the plum taffeta and black lace gown he'd left out for her, and very nice it was too. Her dark hair, unadorned, fell loose over her partially exposed shoulders, and the neckline of the dress immediately drew his eyes.
"You're a vision, darlin'." He smiled, coming forward to walk round her in a circle. "But there's something missing, I think..."
Hunkering down, he rummaged in a nearby box atop a stack of pillage for a moment, and then turned back to her, holding a silver necklace; its entire length was set with tiny pink stones.
"Goodness." Kate observed in a broad Italian accent. "Are they diamonds?"
"'Course, luv." Jack replied.
"And how many shots did you have to fire to get those?"
The pirate seemed to falter for a instant; he made no response, but advanced on her wordlessly, always keeping his eyes fixed on hers.
Gently turning her round with his hands on the bared part of her shoulders, Jack stood behind her with his chest pressing firmly against her back and placed the glittering chain around her neck. Leaning his face round as close to her skin as possible, he fastened it and then gently eased her hair free of the loop.
Kate swallowed hard as she felt his calloused fingertips trailing over her fluttering pulse. The sensation made her tense, and Jack smiled into her dark locks at the knowledge that this close proximity was unsettling her.
"Looks beautiful, luv." He whispered, putting his lips so near her ear that they brushed her skin.
Kate struggled to maintain her rapidly thinning composure for a moment, before darting away and whipping round to face him.
"How dare you? Have you no propriety?" She demanded in a waspishly quiet whisper, looking very much, in Jack's opinion, like a cat that had just been splashed with water.
"I'm a pirate, luv." He said calmly, leaning forward so that his face was right in hers. "Does that question really need an answer?"
Kate took a step backwards, the constant invasion of her personal space disturbing her more than she was willing to admit.
Jack regarded her with an enragingly cocky smile.
"Shall we to dinner then, milady?" He asked, offering out his arm.
Kate stared at him, only able to guess where he got the nerve.
Jack feigned a look a slight disappointment when she didn't respond.
"No? Oh, alright then." He shrugged. "No skin off my nose; I'll just eat by me onesies, and you can starve."
Turning away from her, he started towards the cabin door, smiling in the knowledge that she would follow him; they always did.
He counted silently as he crossed the room, opened the door and stepped into the dining chamber.
'Seven.' He mused, mildly surprised. 'This girl has more self-control than I thought.'
It didn't bother him that she was holding out this long - indeed, it merely promised to be all the more entertaining when she was forced to endure the humiliation of walking through to join him.
He took a seat at the lavishly laid table, apparently oblivious to the fact that there was an incensed seventeen-year-old girl standing in his cabin glaring at him, and began to load his plate from the array of gleaming platters and tureens on the tabletop.
Kate had near bitten her tongue out by this time, her teeth were so tightly clamped down on it to stop her from screaming. The thing that enraged her the most was that Jack had - very cleverly, curse the man - manoeuvred her into a postion where she could do nothing but end up embarrassing herself: she could either choose to stay where she was, and forfeit dinner, and then endure the embarrassment of seeming churlish, or she could go through and eat, and endure the embarrassment of having given in to her hunger.
Well, if Jack was going to laugh at her, he could laugh at her and be bitten.
Taking a deep breath to put her anger in check, she went slowly to the door.
Jack looked up with an expression of mock surprise as though he hadn't expected at all to see her standing there.
"What a pleasant surprise!" He said through a mouthful of chicken leg. "I thought you weren't going to join me."
"Aha..." Jack said, mostly to himself. "Seventeen when we first met, weren't you?"
"Two months off eighteen. Is there a point to this, may I ask?"
Jack looked at her.
"Just curious, luv. Thought it might be nice to do a little bit of catching up between the two of us; twelve years is a long time."
Kate smiled, and smoothly drew her knife through a piece of lamb.
"Yes it is, Captain Sparrow - alot can change. Your becoming bereft of the Black pearl, for instance."
"Aye, that's why I remember you so well." Jack grinned.
"Last girl to warm your bed before the mutiny, eh?"
Jack's grin slipped a little.
"Something like that, yeah. And how were your fortunes after we parted?"
Kate drew her knife across another piece of meat.
"To cut a long story short, I was fully ingratiated into society, I married and then I went on the account."
"You still wear a wedding band, I've noticed." Jack said, looking at her through hooded eyes as he raised his chin.
The fork glinted as a dice of lamb moved up to Kate's mouth.
"So what does Mr Cole - I presume - make of being married to a pirate?"
"He doesn't." Kate replied.
Jack sat up frowning.
"What?"
The knife was drawn across the plate again.
"He's dead."
Jack's eyebrows disappeared up into his bandana.
"Oh."
"Charles Cole. Scottish Viscount. Redcoat."
The cutlery flashed again, and Jack wondered how far he was going to be able to take this.
"May I ask..."
"Hanged." Kate replied simply, without looking up. "For 'wilful commission of crime against the Crown'. In other words, he committed piracy."
Jack's brows now formed one, long dark V.
"Piracy, luv?"
Kate sighed, and the knife and fork lay still in her hands.
"I know. I know; you see, he didn't. That was just their excuse to give him a short drop and a sudden stop."
Jack studied her for a moment.
"Why are you so reputable for hating Redcoats if you married one?"
Kate swallowed.
"Because they lied." She said. "Even men who take an oath of honour will lie; they hanged an innocent man. He didn't commit a crime against the Crown; they hanged him because he didn't commit a crime for the Crown."
She paused, and took a deep breath that she let out in something like to a well-disguised sob.
"He was a privateer: he plundered foreign ships for riches in the name of the King for near six years, until they commissioned him to attack an Italian merchant ship carrying the profits of the owner's wine trade at a time when the political relations between Britain and Italy were ill. The ship belonged to my father's fleet, and he was aboard on that voyage; as, perhaps, you might expect, Charles refused the commission."
Jack's eyes darted to where the knife had begun to tremble slightly in her grip, the metal catching the light and flashing.
"Easy, luv." He said quietly.
Her grasp loosened a little, but if anything the trembling intensified.
"You know better than most that the authorities - the world over - have no love of pirates." She continued in a remarkably even voice. "The only difference between a privateer and a pirate is that one is under the orders of the Crown; but a privateer who doesn't obey the orders of the Crown isn't a privateer, so they called him a pirate instead. They arrested him under that charge, they kept him locked in a cell with the same justification; when they hanged him, they read out every order they had ever given him, every commission, but not once were the words 'in the name of the King' heard anywhere."
The bone handle of the knife had started to knock on the tabletop, so Kate released it from her grip. It clanged against the edge of her plate as it fell.
"His guards, Redcoats - men whom he had served with - refused to let me see him and they wouldn't listen when I pleaded his innocence. They were honourable men to their superiors, as always."
A tear suddenly rolled from her eye and down an otherwise completely passive face. It startled Jack so badly he nearly fell off his chair.
"So I shot them." She concluded quietly. "Seventeen Redcoats. Every one I could find when I went to the fort that night; the policies of the Crown dictate that all murderers and traitors should be sentenced to death, so I carried out the last justices I possibly could before I changed sides and became lawless myself. So, you see, in an incredible twist of irony, I turned pirate." She looked up at Jack. "Doubtless you'll already have heard that part of the story."
Jack smiled slightly.
"You've disappointed me, luv - I heard you killed thirty."
Kate raised her eyebrows.
"My reputations inflated a bit, then." She remarked.
"How did you meet Ioade?" Asked Jack.
"I bartered passage on ships, stowed away sometimes, and one very stormy morning I found myself in Ireland. I met Ioade in a tavern, recruiting a buccaneer crew to sail her ship - the Dark Horse - to the Caribbean, possibly even to partake in a venture of hers in later months; I went aboard, and I haven't looked back since." Kate raised her eyebrows as she took a sip of wine, her hand still shaking. "Well, not often anyway."
She placed the chalice back on the table, and settled her shoulders as she met Jack's eye.
"And now you know all about me, Jack Sparrow." She said. "You know why I wear black, you know why I wear a wedding ring, you know why I hate Redcoats and you know why I turned pirate. I believe I've also inadvertantly answered your question about how my fortunes faired after we parted, and I hope that my response has satisfied your curiosity. However..."
Bowing her head, she surreptitiously wiped away all the tears that had been streaming unchecked down her face before continuing.
"Every night when I'm confronted with you shirtless, I can't help but be intrigued by the various scars you seem to have collected."
She glanced pointedly at Jack's left wrist, where the unbuttoned cuff of his shirt had fallen back to reveal a large, sprawling network of thick whites lines, like a river delta.
"I'd be most interested to hear how your fortunes faired since we parted."
Jack regarded her pensively through narrowed eyes.
"Is your glass full, darlin'? Because this could take a while..."
-~*~-
The sea rose and fell around him as he sailed on, the ship's prow tormented by the malevolent waves.
The figurehead looked on, trying to spy through the torrent of red that fell from the starlit sky and caught it thirstily in its mouth, grimacing at the flavour of the red water.
Drums beat off to the west.
The figurehead shook out Grapple's hair and the feminine shape twisted into the boy. They were one, and it screamed.
Lightning ripped across the sky and the wind whispered threats into the weeping figurehead.
Louder came the drums.
The ship jolted, sending the wooden boy flying through the wretched air and into the deep waves. Deep.
Deep, deep down, till he hit the bottom.
It was dark and the stars danced close above his head. All was still, baring the sway of the sea grasses.
Then they came.
Men, pirates, sailors all. They danced like one soul possessed on the sand beneath the waves, merry and bright.
A man stood in their midst; he seemed more real than all, yet he wore a black mask and black garments so that only his arms showed.
They too were black.
Thin white lines weaved their way up and down and among his shining muscles, like rivers amid hills.
He raised one finger to the mask in a gesture of silence. A wind blew up and the men fell in the sand. The figure in black disappeared on the wind.
Then they came.
Hollow and empty, up from the sand.
The drums grew loud and deafening.
As the wood left Grapple's body, the weight of the sea crushed in on him. As did the men.
The empty sockets of their eyes filled with dark light while they came, as if someone had turned the hourglass of their life over, and raw existence was being poured back into them.
They were in appearance whole, but there was something wordlessly dreadful about them because they weren't.
They filled him with dread and fear and he screamed. He screamed until they came to touch him and he could scream no more.
They chanted.
A phrase just beyond the edge of his understanding, but always there. It echoed and reverberated, bounced and mixed with the drums, and then vanished.
The men were gone; yet their voice was not.
And the drums beat all the way down to his heart.
The darkness shifted and writhed until it became whole, and then the darkness was complete.
Then he came.
Within the complete there was a whole: not the whole of darkness any longer, but the whole of the black man.
Out of the folds of his black shrouds, he raised a twisted staff, hung with many bones. And the black man blew up a strong wind, and in the wind the bones turned to sand.
The sand fell onto the sea floor, beneath the deep waves. Deep. Deep, deep down till it hit the bottom.
The wood returned to the boy's flesh and he could not avoid the blow.
-~*~-
Grapple woke with a start and a hoarse cry, snapping upright in bed with his limbs bound in the clammy sheets.
Gasping for breath, he glanced wildly about him; the cabin was dark, and but for the wheeze and whistle of his crewmates' snores, everything was still.
-~*~-