Disclaimer: No ownership equals no lawsuit, savvy?
--
Kate stopped just inside the threshold, and watched her captain, smiling a little.
Ioade was nursing a mug of something - water, probably - and staring blindly into the cooking fire, with her old coat slung round her shoulders. The flickering light cast shadows across the threadbare places and the frays; they looked like the rough skin and callouses on a sailor's hands. Jack's hands.
Kate took a deep breath, and approached the fire, shifting the weight of a long cloth-bound bundle in her hands as she went. It made a chinking noise as she did so, and Ioade looked round.
"My faithful first mate." The girl said wryly. "Have you come to lift me from the darkness and light my way ever further?"
Kate made no reply as she settled herself beside Ioade.
"I've brought you this." She said then, holding out the bundle. "I've been keeping it safe for you. Peace offering."
Ioade took it into her lap, and flipped back the cloth. Lying nestled in the linen was a cutlass, and smiling, the young captain slipped her hands beneath it and tilted it back and forth in her palms so that it caught the light. It had a beautifully fashioned hilt, once guilt-plated, but now only bearing sparse patches of the stuff; the strips of brown leather binding on the handle were worn so smooth that their edges merged into one another, and the hide was discoloured and sweat-stained; the blade bore countless scratches, nicks, tarnishes to the steel, like a mirror that hadn't been cleaned or dusted or so much as looked in for as long as century. But it was still sharp as broken glass; the tang was as solid as mountain and the sword balanced like a set of identical scales. The sword of her ancestor, Henry Morgan; a sword of captaincy.
"Accepted." Said Ioade, smiling.
Kate nodded, and turned her gaze to the fire.
There was a silence.
Ioade picked at a loose thread on her cuff.
"I guess it...can't be easy, seeing Him after so long."
The Italian pistoleer breathed deeply.
"No more than it is for you."
Ioade tugged at her ankles, bringing her crossed legs closer and huddling over them.
"Let's not talk about this." Kate said softly. She held a hand out to the fire, and turned it this way and that, watching the movements of the light and the shadows over her skin.
"How's Grapple?" Ioade asked, cradling the cutlass.
"Asleep. Running a fever. No different really, I suppose."
"Mmm."
The second silence was punctuated by Kate's sigh.
"Remind me - why are we going after this Chalice?"
Ioade shrugged.
"It's treasure, isn't it?"
Kate paused from inspecting her hand, and gave her companion an even look.
"A slightly different sort of treasure, I would have thought."
"Aye, well..." Ioade cleared her throat and drummed her fingers on her knee. "Look, what pirate wouldn't give more than their life's worth to hold rule over the entire ocean, eh?"
"Bearing in mind that they would also be holding rule over ancient gods."
"And?"
"That's a little unwise in my opinion. I'm sure there was a reason why mortals were made mortals, and gods were made gods."
"Kate, you're an atheist - you're not qualified to make statements like that."
"Wouldn't you be atheist if you were a pirate?"
"Bloody well am."
"Well then."
"We're getting off the point here." Ioade turned towards Kate and leant forward in her eagerness to explain; her eyes shining excitedly, she gently clasped the woman's wrists. "Can you imagine what you could do with that kind of power? You could have a favourable wind wherever you went, and never have to fear storms or treacherous waters!"
"But isn't that part of the thrill of being a pirate?" Kate asked, frowning slightly. "The unpredictability? The adventure - the danger - of not knowing what's beyond the horizon?"
"You'd still get that out of pillaging ports and waylaying ships." Ioade said, though she sounded a little less certain of herself than before. "And don't start talking about horizons - you're starting to sound like Jack."
"Speaking of which," Kate reclined slightly, studying her companion. "He's why you're so much more determined to get the Chalice now, isn't he?"
Ioade threw Kate a dirty look, and swept her head back to take a draught from her previously-forgotten tankard.
"I want the bloody thing, don't I? And that's the one thing I won't get if he beats us to it."
"But we're not exactly going to beat him to it if we're sailing on the same ship, are we?"
"I'm working on that." Ioade mumbled broodily.
Kate looked back at the fire. She was like a great black cat: sleek and elegant and regal, blinking little. Her russet eyes were like glowing, soot-rimmed embers against her porcelain skin.
"You are on my side, aren't you Kate?" Ioade asked uncertainly, wiping her mouth on her shirt sleeve.
"Of course I am." Came the answer. With what seemed to be an effort against her reserved character, Kate turned with a smile. "You know you're more to me than just a captain."
"Didn't know you were that way inclined, mate." Ioade said with a smirk.
Kate looked away with an almost disdainful turn of her head, and watched the fire again.
Ioade studied the hearth, choosing her words hesitantly.
"I just thought that maybe you...might...have...divided loyalties-"
"No. I know where they lie."
Ioade looked up. Kate was watching her, one eyebrow raised slightly. Catlike, she looked away after a moment.
"I...No." She shook her head. "No, they're not divided. If things had turned out differently, it might have been difficult; but..."
"Why?" Ioade frowned. "What do you mean 'turned out differently'? You're not...well...in love with him - Sparrow - are you?"
Kate didn't reply for a while.
"You were, once."
"Who says I'm not now?" Ioade muttered darkly, taking another swig from her tankard. Then she grimaced. "Kate, for pity's sake, you've got to let me start drinking again - being sober's doing funny things to me."
Her first mate nodded.
"So will you make a truce with him?"
"Depends what his terms are." Ioade said, looking like she'd been sucking on a lemon for the past hour as she peered into the depths of her mug.
"If I let you start drinking again?"
"I'm afraid to say you're sorely tempting me. I'll think about it."
"Good."
Kate rose to her feet, and looked down at Ioade, who was still examining her tankard.
"I'm retiring for the evening. Get some sleep - you look like you need it."
"Thanks." Ioade said dryly.
"Goodnight."
"'Night, mate."
As Kate reached the doorway, Ioade twisted round with a wicked smile and called after her:
"Don't make too much noise, will you?"
A pause.
"If I could be bothered to, Ioade, I would shoot you."
--
Jack retired late from the helm that evening: there was some indescribable joy of freedom about sailing the Pearl beneath a massive, revolving sky of constellations. Will had felt it too; the boy hadn't been meant for life on land, Jack mused as he dropped the curtains behind the Great Cabin doors and shrugged off his coat.
Looking round, he saw that all the candles in the cabin had already been lit; and that a pistol brace was casually slung over the back of a chair. And that sitting in the gallery alcove, with her hair back in a loose messy knot and a book open in her lap, was Kate. Because she sat looking out of the window, her back was turned to Jack, and her stillness told him that she hadn't realised he was there.
Quietly, he crept up behind her, indecisive as to how he should handle her. Things, understandably, hadn't been particularly comfortable between them since Kate's little 'confession' the other night. Normally, Jack would have expected a woman to either slap him or break down into inconsolable floods of tears when he said he didn't love them; after all, he was Captain Jack Sparrow - girls fell for him port, bow and starboard. But a woman who simply smiled, tucked away all sign of personal feeling and accepted it with an "I know"? That was a completely different kettle of fish altogether, and one that Jack was less than fond of. The unexpected and unpredictable were two things which he hadn't a hope of arming himself against, and that was highly disconcerting. Now everytime he saw her, Jack felt a sudden onset of awkwardness, and ended up spending much of his time either clearing his throat or becoming very interested in something other than her - generally the ceiling or the toe of his left boot.
She still hadn't acknowledged him by the time he was within a few inches of her, and that only made his predicament worse. His fingers began to spider-walk through the air: his mind was in a state of limbo as to whether he should get her attention or not, but his voice didn't seem to want to co-operate, and all his joints seized up.
Kate sat there, gazing serenly and absent-mindedly out of the window, whilst Jack was nearly keeling over with panic behind her. Why the bloody hell was this so difficult?!
Finally, he pulled himself together; extending his arm, he made to poke her. He leaned as far back from the tip of his finger as possible and screwed up his eyes as he looked away, as though expecting her to explode upon contact. At the very last moment however, his courage faltered. Kate stirred and settled herself a little further back into the cushions, and Jack froze mid-reach with a wide-eyed expression of fright on his face.
'This is ridiculous!' He thought. 'Since when have I ever had trouble touching a woman?'
Determinedly snuffing out the bad connotations that came to mind, he steeled himself one final time, and touched her shoulder.
Kate blinked out of her reverie, and turned around. The sight that met her was Jack standing with his arm extended towards her, and a look on his face that made him look as thought he'd just swallowed some particularly foul medicine.
"Jack?"
The pirate's eyes flew open in surprise, and he regarded her peeringly for a moment. Then he seemed to come to his senses, and snatched back the hand that was touching her shoulder with the tip of one finger. He cleared his throat.
"Yes, luv?"
Kate opened her mouth, and then closed it again.
"It's alright - I don't think I want to know on second thoughts."
Jack gave a little smile, and nodded docilely. Kate turned back to gazing out of the window.
The pirate watched her for a moment. Then his dark eyes flickered down to the book that lay open in her lap.
"Something wrong?" He asked her.
Kate looked up at him in a subdued and distracted sort of manner, as though she'd forgotten he was there and felt guilty about it.
"What? Oh..." She shook her head. "Not really, no. Why do you ask?"
Jack shrugged.
"Guess I'm just used to you lavishing attention on me whenever you see me, that's all."
Kate gave him a slightly tight smile and then began reading her book.
There was a long silence, indicating that the conversation was well and truly closed, and thus Jack crossed to the table, cast himself down on one of the chairs and uncorked a nearby rum bottle.
Kate heard the thud of his boots going up on the table-edge, followed by the 'gwop' of a swig, and shortly after that the sound of Jack humming to himself. Almost subconsciously, her finger began to tap against the book cover.
The humming continued, punctuated here and there by the loud array of clicks and jangles made by the pirate's hair ornaments as he threw his head back to take a draught. The tapping of her finger quickened.
The sound of humming changed to a tinny, sharp whistle through Jack's teeth, and Kate's gaze intensified so rapidly that she could almost see smoke coming out from the pages. Finally, she ceased drumming her fingers and snapped the book shut. Jack started in his chair.
"Is it quite within your capabilities to be quiet?" Kate spat, taking some savage delight in Jack's speechlessness at her sudden temper.
Turning on her heel like a whirling dervish, she stalked away into the bedchamber, wrenching the door shut behind her as she went.
Jack stared after her at a loss. Then he contemplated his rum bottle with raised eyebrows.
"Obviously that time of the month." He observed to it sagely.
--
It was several hours later, and Kate lay listlessly on the bed, dark hair spilling over the sheets, her book open beside her hand. Why had she exploded like that? Why? She was a controlled person - she liked to be in control of what she did. She was normally more careful about such raw displays of emotion; why had this been the exception?
The Italian closed her eyes and took a deep breath, letting it slowly out again. She was slipping. She had to get her strength of mind back. The recent confusion and turmoil and everyone involved in it had made her forget herself. And all because of that man...
She opened her eyes again and stared up at the canopy of the bed. It wasn't going anywhere. It wasn't going to go anywhere, and she knew it.
"Best just move on." She murmured, her fingers waking to reach out and touch the book. And then she stopped. She stopped because a voice had just whispered in her ear, and what it said made her freeze:
"What's the matter?" It said quietly. "Are you scared? Are you scared that you're thawing?"
Kate didn't answer.
"Are you scared to revert back to the person you were before It happened?"
Kate's fingers bent and their nails slowly, lightly drew across the page of the book.
"Yes. You remember her, don't you? Younger, full of life, freer..."
"Careless, vulnerable." Kate put in.
"Ah, so it's vulnerability you're scared of, is it?"
"No."
"You've been cut once. You can't afford to be cut again."
Kate continued to stare at the canopy.
"I don't have to listen to a word you have to say."
"But you know you will, because you can't get away from it, and you never will. You can't move on, Kate: you're too scarred and scabbed into yourself, licking your wounds, to move on."
"That's not true." Kate said quietly, sitting up and getting off the bed.
"No? Then tell me - why did you snap today? Why did you turn on Him like you did?"
"I honestly couldn't say." Kate said calmly.
There was a silence.
"Well, I see you're back in control. You've got that mask back up again - good for you! How does it feel? To be heartless? To be emotionless, invulnerable, unbreachable, unloved..."
"Get out!"
Kate whipped round to face the speaker. A young woman, with beautiful dark hair, long, catlike eyes blazing ember-like in her catlike face, her rich red gown like blood against her pale skin and her Italian accent stark against Kate's acquired English one.
"Get out? Get out of where, exactly?" The young woman asked. "Of you? Of your head, maybe?"
"There's nothing of you in me anymore." Kate smiled coldly, shaking her head. "Not after what happened. You're gone. You're dead."
"And look what I left behind me." Retorted Katelise with a smile like a brand. "A walking corpse."
Kate swarmed forward, pistol drawn. There was a crack like rocks splitting, and a billow of acrid smoke. The bullet passed straight through Katelise, and left a splinter-staked crater in the door.
"Get. Out." Kate snarled.
The memory smiled, and for a moment, the face turned so cold and so mask-like that Kate felt a shiver pass through her spine; it was like trying to look through a stone wall.
With a loud bang, a fist of wind threw the balcony doors open, blowing out all the candles and setting the bed drapes snapping. When next the pistoleer looked, Katelise had vanished on the gust.
--
"The door's not opening!" Ioade exclaimed, rattling the handle.
"Then move!"
Will pushed past the girl and put his shoulder against the door. After several attempts to break it down, he had broken out in a light sweat and was kneading his shoulder.
"Jack." He scowled at the obstacle.
"Right here, mate."
"Give me a hand."
The door snapped open and flew round on its hinges to crash against the wall. Ioade was over the threshold in an instant, followed closely by Jack and Will and a fretting Elizabeth.
Will shivered as he suddenly realised how cool the cabin was; the balcony doors had been flung open, and their light curtains were billowing in the sea breeze. On the floor infront of them lay Kate, her face white and damp; her flintlock was an inch from her fingertips. Looking back over his shoulder to where the door was slowly swinging closed again, Will saw the still faintly-smoking crater in the wood. He crossed to the woman, knelt and lifted her wrist.
There was a tense silence.
"She's alive."
Everyone visibly relaxed. Then almost instantly Ioade's hackles were up again.
"So why did she pass out? What's wrong with her?"
Jack frowned as he noticed that everyone's eyes were on him.
"What?"
Ioade rolled her eyes angrily.
"Was she ill?" She prompted, raising her eyebrows and spreading her hands.
"No." Jack replied, as though it was a ridiculous suggestion. "She was fighting fit when I last saw her." He added in a grumble.
"Jack..."
"I didn't touch a hair on her head, savvy?" The pirate exclaimed defensively.
Ioade released the hilt of her cutlass.
"Git." She growled.
Will, meanwhile, had gathered Kate's limp body up off the floor and into his arms where she lay like a puppet with its strings cut. The young blacksmith carried her to the bed.
"Why the bloody hell did she shoot the door?" Ioade murmured to herself, staring at the lead ball embedded in the woodwork.
"We'll know soon enough, I expect." Said Elizabeth.
The pistoleer stirred on the bed. Ioade started towards her but she was stopped by Elizabeth's arm.
"Get out of it." Snapped the young captain but the arm held firm.
"Let her rest." Elizabeth raised her eyebrows meaningfully.
They all turned as over on the bed, a little dry sob emitted from Kate's sleeping form.
--
Jack didn't bother to raise his eyes from the map infront of him when there was a knock on the door.
"Mmmm?"
The door opened and Ioade looked in.
"A grunt: that's welcoming."
Jack's line of focus went to her.
"Oh, it's you."
"You're going t'have to stop being rude to me all the time, Jack, or I'll run out of insults."
"Can't see that happening in a hurry, luv." Jack returned to his map as Ioade came into the cabin and closed the door.
There was a long silence.
"Kate's fine, if you wanted to know." Ioade said sullenly. "Thanks for asking."
Jack raised his eyebrows at her. Ioade began to pick at the loose thread on her cuff. More silence.
"She told me what happened earlier on today." Ioade began again. "She told me everything; you're a really heartless bastard, savvy?"
"Savvy." Jack replied without much expression, pouring over a cluster of pinprick islands in the Atlantic. "I take it she told you that too."
"No, actually, she didn't." Ioade shot back nastily. "I decided that by me onesies."
Jack cleared his throat as he flicked the drooping top-half of the map upright again.
"No need to get shirty, luv."
"You know I could slap you right now!"
"Why don't you? Nothin's ever stopped you before."
"Because I ain't come here to scrap with bilge-sucking cockroaches like ye, that's why!"
They glowered at each other for a long moment; Ioade's breathing was ragged and her grey eyes blazed hotly like woodsmoke. Something in Jack's face was familiar to her as she stared at him, and it took her a while to put her finger on it: a look; an expression; one that she had not seen for many, many years...
Firelight glimmered in Jack's eyes as he wordlessly fixed her gaze, refusing to relinquish it. Ioade awkwardly pulled her woollen blanket closer about her, but gazed defiantly back; overhead, unfamiliar constellations rolled across vast, dark skies with invisible motion, and all about them the air was filled with the smells of rice, curry and spices, the sound of lyrical voices speaking Bengali and the cries of peacocks.
The Esmarelle had sunk after a vicious fight at sea, most hands lost; that included Voutoure, and so their obligatory ties to the ship had been severed. The crew had dispersed, mercifully released by their adversaries whose only business was with the loot; a few months journey along with a few of the other surviving hands on a Middle Eastern merchant ship called The Golden Monkey had seen Jack and her safely into port at Chennai in the Bay of Bengal, and there they had remained since their docking. Ioade was frequently troubled by her stomach now, which didn't agree with the spicy food, and the necessity to lie low had been a hindrance and a challenge for them both: Chennai was one of the chief trading ports for the East India Company. Jack had already been caught once; only cunning and a fat stroke of luck had allowed him escape with his life.
And now she had broken the news to Jack about her leaving; she had found a vacancy for Ship's Cook aboard an oriental vessel bound for China, and had snapped it up like a starving dog. There were no other vacancies in the crew.
Ioade shifted uncomfortably, still torn by decision in her mind: she wanted to go home, back to Ireland, to pick up the pieces of her life and start again where she'd left off, and in order to do that she needed means of travel and money - this passage to China ensured her at least one of those two things. But on the other hand was Jack: she loved him, he loved her; they had shared in many things together, they shared a bed, and two heads were always better than one. What was she to do?
Across the firepit, Jack's skin was ruddy in the flickering light. His shirt was loose and the material was so worn that the neckline gaped open to show a generous amount of smooth, lean chest; Ioade wasn't complaining. His features were more mature now - both their faces were - and his moustache and beard grew readily as opposed to the non-conformative rate at which they had done so before. His voice had a deeper, almost more gravelly quality to it, and the drink had lent a distinctive slurr to his speech; he had taken to accenting his already striking eyes with kohl. Such a beautiful man, Ioade had often thought. Disgustingly and typically piratical in manner, but so beautiful...
"So when's the ship leavin' then?" Jack's rough voice interrupted Ioade's guilty reflections.
"Waht?"
"When's this ship of yours leavin' for China?"
"Few days." Ioade murmured, staring into the fire.
Jack grunted and took a swill of something from a tankard.
"Jack, oi'm...oi'm sorry. Eht ain't loik oi want t'leave yois here, but...well, oi doin't, savvy? Oi really doin't!"
Answer came there none. Wonderful. Ioade curled up tighter and miserably tugged her thin blanket further about her shoulders. Money and home, or love? Money, and home, or love? Stow bloody life - she needed a drink...
"Well, what was I supposed to do? We had little enough to survive on as it was! We couldn't've just stayed in India..."
"I don't know why you're getting fussed with me, darlin'." Jack raised his eyebrows and held up his hands defensively. "You're the one who decided to go gallivanting off to China by yourself."
"I had no choice!" Ioade exclaimed angrily.
"Bilge, luv! Remember that boat I found-?"
"Bilge yerself! There ne'er was any boat, and full well ye be knowin' it!" The honey-haired girl lapsed back into her seafaring brogue. "Ye was just lookin' fer an excuse to be keepin' me there!"
"I was bloody desperate!" Jack errupted, shooting to his feet and accidentally knocking over the chair.
"Waht?" Ioade's eyes burrowed his own incredulously. "You've foind waht?"
"Ioade, luv..."
"Answer me!"
"Listen..."
"You're lying! You've got t'be..."
"No!" Jack took her hands imploringly. "I've come across some money, luv! We buy a boat, cross the Atlantic, swan back into the Caribbean and settle down somewhere."
"Tee Atlantic!" Ioade's eyes narrowed and she shook her head disbelievingly. "Tee Atlantic - bloody - Ocean? Tuh whole of eht?! Yois - you're mad Jack." She broke away. "Two of us in a leakin' row boat, crossin' tee Atlantic wit tuh little tat we have as eht ehs! We'd doi afore we get tear! And oi expect yoi'll be wantin' me t'wear a dress and all, eh?"
"Ioade, just listen to me, darlin'!" Jack growled.
"Oi doin't knoi, Jack!" Ioade moaned suddenly, turning away and then turning back again as she moved. Torn by her dilemma, she tugged feverishly at the loose threads on her cuff in anguish. "Oi doin't knoi! Oi doin't knoi! Tuh ship leaves-"
"In two days, aye, you told me!" Jack barked.
Ioade covered her face with her hands and tried to rub away the pain that was blossoming in her forehead. Jack looked away with his mouth set firm.
"You can come with me lass, or we can say goodbye. S'up to you."
"Tisn't tat simple." Ioade mumbled.
"Well the way you've planned things, luv, it looks like it to me."
"You're heartless, Sparrow!" Ioade spat with a startling change in manner. "Heartless and mad! Madder than-"
"-'All the men in an insane asylum', that's what you told me, Ioade!" Jack shouted. "And it's bloody well kept me alive for the last thirteen years!"
He stared her down, wishing that he had the face to break out of her personal space because it made his feel like it was on fire.
"There never was any boat, and well you know it." Ioade repeated quietly. "You were just looking for an excuse to keep me there."
Jack took a deep breath and gazed right back.
"Aye." He nodded. "Tried to get passage on a merchant ship bound for Brittany at one point, but that fell through. Just as well really, if you think about it; surrounded by French merchants..." He trailed off indicatively.
Ioade raised her eyebrows.
"Eunuchs?"
"The lot of them."
Jack sat on the edge of the cot, shirt off, staring listlessly at the floorboards as he listened to Ioade undressing for bed. The only light in their tiny inn room was a single candlestump atop a stool in the corner, and it flittered weakly as though it were ill, its flame gradually dying with every passing second.
Jack reached down for the rum bottle that sat by his bare foot and took a swig. Across the room, Ioade gave a quiet sigh.
Somewhere beyond the crude shutters of their window, the raucous cries of peacocks coming back to roost in the ruined palaces of Raj foot-princes snagged the tepid night air, and softer still was the murmur of the city and the dreamy chime of sitar and cymbal music.
"You don't have to go." Jack said, a little bitterly.
"I don't want to talk about it." He was told. There was a rustle as Ioade slipped into bed behind him. Another silence ensued.
"Come to bed." Ioade's voice was subdued, and Jack looked down as her hand stroked his arm. "Please? I don't want to talk about it."
"Aye." Jack took another swig of rum, and bowed his head. It was going to be a long night.
"Aye," Ioade snapped angrily. "But what I did! What I did, and that lie you told, that was nothing compared to what you did next, was it?"
Jack glared at her.
"Disappeared in the middle of the night! Remember, Jack? Took the money, gave no warning, left me stranded without so much as a by-your-leave?"
"Pirate, luv." Jack narrowed his eyes. "And if I may say so, I hardly left you stranded: you had that nice little ticket to the Far East of yours, eh?"
Ioade's gaze meandered guilty to the floor like a falling feather.
"It was the opportune moment." Jack continued. "I couldn't stay there anymore than you could. And seein' as how you were kind enough to pick a ship that didn't have a place on it for me, what else could I have done?"
Jack slipped unobtrusively among the revelling pirates, determined to pickpocket at least something to pay for his own passage out of port, preferably before certain parties caught up to him. He'd left Ioade sleeping peacefully in the room, promising he would return quickly. She'd given no sign that she'd heard him, but he knew she had. After all, if she woke up to find him gone, the worst he would get would be a tongue-lashing, wouldn't it?
Thinking of Ioade quickly made his mood turn bitter. How could she leave without him? Hadn't he looked out for her? Hadn't he saved her life? And now she was sailing off to China without so much, he felt, as even a glance back over her shoulder at him. He felt his gut twist as some half-formed thought-train consisting of Ioade, him, bond and love appeared in his mind, but he angrily banished it and set his jaw. What was she to him anyway? He was Jack Sparrow, aspiring pirate-extraordinaire; she was just a common, selfish Irish wench.
A raucous laugh drew his attention to where a seasoned pirate was sitting, bottle of rum in one hand, a pistol in the other. A large bulging purse hung heavily on his belt. Jack's eyes narrowed.
'Perfect,' He thought. 'I can nip round to his side, take the purse and be gone before he wants another round.' The pirate was so drunk, there was no way he would notice the young man's light fingers at his belt.
He moved quietly through the crowd, keeping his eyes on his target, until he was right behind his victim. Glancing around to make sure no one was watching him too closely, he dropped to one knee, and reached for the purse. There was a click, and Jack looked up into the barrel of a pistol.
The drunken pirate glared unsteadily at him.
"What have we here, mates?" He declared loudly. "A mongrel trying to pick me pocket?"
Before Jack had time to blink, a heavy hand had clamped onto the front of his shirt, and was jerking him roughly up to full height. He was yanked none-too-gently forward to look into face his would-be victim.
"D'ye know what becomes of those who try to pick a pirate's pocket, lad?" He was asked, and Jack was struck with the sudden impression that this old hand was not as drunk as he had first seemed.
He struggled to hide a huge swallow as the barrel of the pistol was pressed against his ribcage. The pirate was watching him closely, blue eyes piercing as they bore into Jack's own.
"Happens neither do I." He laughed suddenly, dropping the young man abruptly.
Jack stumbled to regain his balance, and found himself propelled to the door by the same pirate's strong hand, out into the cool air. He was released again, this time turning to stand defiantly before his aggressor.
"Who are you?" He demanded, partly irritated at being taken for a fool and that this old sea crab was wasting his time; but despite himself, he was genuinely curious.
The old pirate leant nonchalantly against the stone wall, regarding the lad with knowing eyes.
"Some call me the scourge of the Caribbean," he said softly, lighting his pipe with a practised hand. Jack almost sighed aloud with relief at the name of home. "Some, the king of the ocean. Me, I prefer me name."
Jack drew himself up straighter, forcing himself to glare at the suddenly sober man before him.
"And that is?" He asked casually.
The pirate grinned.
"Elias Fitzpatrick, lad."
Jack felt his stomach drop to the floor in cold fear. Elias Fitzpatrick, captain of the Red Dragon, was one of the most feared pirates of the seas, known across the world for his cruelty and ruthlessness. And he had just tried to pick his pocket. Oh dear.
Captain Fitzpatrick looked the younger man up and down, seeing far more than Jack would ever have believed. He saw strength, both of the body and of the will, and fortitude, a life that had seen many hardships and would weather many more. He saw a destiny, one of love and hate, of joy and sorrow, a life that would be worth living. There was far more to this pretty face and attitude than first met the eye, he decided.
"Now don't look so scared, lad." He chided; Jack's astonishment was as readable as a book. "Rule of piracy; never let anyone see yer fear, least of all another pirate, and I could make a pirate of ye yet."
Jack bristled at this, anger flaring in his dark eyes.
"I bloody am a pirate!" He exclaimed, stung by the assumption that he wasn't.
Fitzpatrick gave him a level stare.
"Self-belief, good," He murmured. "Who was yer mother?"
Jack felt his lips clamp shut, his face shut down. He never spoke about his mother. She had been the one person he had ever truly loved, and she had been taken away from him.
"What's it to you, old man?" He snarled, confused when Fitzpatrick grinned at his angry outburst.
"Lad, there's only one woman ye could have got that temper from." He chuckled. "Yer Ann Bonny's boy, little Sparrow."
Jack started, shocked at how much this man knew about him already. Fitzpatrick extended a hand to the startled young man, his eyes softening slightly as he looked on him.
"Now I've never been one to let a wrong go unpunished." He began, and Jack felt his eyes widen against his will. "So I feel I must make a point with ye, lad. Join me crew, or we settle this here, with steel."
Jack blinked. This wasn't quite what he had expected.
"Why should I join your crew, mate?" He asked warily.
Fitzpatrick raised an eyebrow.
"So's I can teach ye to be the best bloody pirate the seas have known, lad." He said, as though this was blindingly obvious. "Right now, there's not a chance in hell that ye could beat me wi' steel. Yer mother would want ye to be the best, boy. Do we have an accord?"
Jack stared at this old pirate, sorely tempted by his offer. But how did a man like Fitzpatrick know so much about a stripling like him? His mother was one of the better known among the pirates of the Caribbean, but then a woman in any profession was a rarity. After all, Ioade was fine proof of that, wasn't she?
Ioade. A flash of guilt stabbed through him as he realised he would not now be returning to wake her. Oh, she would be furious with him, but there was nothing he could do about it. Besides, she deserved it; an eye for an eye, he thought viciously. And yet...He glanced up at where Fitzpatrick watched him. How could he trust this smiling, deadly man? And the answer came to him that of course he couldn't. But part of him had no choice, and part him just wanted revenge. His eyes thinned to slits. Yes. Forget Ioade. She was his past now.
He thrust his hand out to smack against the captain's palm, unknowingly sealing his fate.
'We have an accord.'
"And that's why?" Ioade's words were distorted by a blocked nose, and tears were running openly down her face. Her cuffs were soaked through from attempts to dry them. "You left to spite me for being torn between wanting to go home and being in love?"
Jack slammed his fist down on the table.
"There were plenty of other ships leaving port with more than one vacancy, Ioade!" He shouted. "But you were ready to leave me there! With the East India and no money and no secure way out!"
"And look what you did to me!" Ioade sniped back. "You were just pissed off that I got there before you, and that I was the one sailing out on the next tide with a bright outlook!"
Jack narrowed his eyes threateningly at her, and then moodily contemplated the view beyond the gallery window.
As she attempted to mop up the tears with her cuff again, Ioade began to laugh bitterly.
"Kate's been trying to force a truce between us ever since we came aboard."
"Don't I bloody well know it, luv." Jack replied through a set jaw. "Kept waking me up at midnight to talk about it. I'll tell you something: that lass isn't as green as she is apple-looking!"
There was a lull. To Ioade's pounding head, it was bliss.
"Perhaps I can forgive you leaving me." She said eventually. "I can forgive you leaving me, and I can forgive you taking the money; it wasn't as though I needed what was left of it, seeing as how I already had passage and all..." She faltered guiltily. "But I can't forgive the Horse." She concluded with more conviction. "That ship was me life, me whole world. Ye be knowin' what the Pearl is to ye - ye be married t'your ship, and I was, well, that way inclined towards me own, savvy?"
Jack silently contemplated this for a moment.
"Aye."
"So."
Ioade sat down on a nearby chair, and began to pick at her cuff again. Jack looked around the room for the nearest point of retreat, and found it in his rum bottle. He unstopped it with a 'pop' and took a long draught before offering it to Ioade; he slid it across the table in her direction. Ioade ignored the bottle and watched it slither unhindered right past her elbow to tip over the edge of the table. She winced slightly as it smashed on the floor. Jack raised his eyebrows.
"Looks like a bit of a stalemate to me, luv." He observed. "Maybe dear Ms Cole was right after all."
Ioade gave out a bitter breath of laughter.
"What, maybe we're both to blame?"
"Oh hark: she admits she was wrong." Jack said darkly. "How the mighty do fall."
"I wasn't admitting it, I was questioning it." Ioade sniped nastily. She glowered down to where her fingers were still busy with her cuff. "Make a truce. Ha! I'd rather go to Hell."
Jack grinned suddenly, his gold teeth glittering in the dim light.
"By my reckonin' luv, we're already headed there."
He watched her as she registered his words and looked up at him.
"What d'we have to lose?" He shrugged. "I mean really?"
Ioade glowered, but it was half-hearted.
"Dunno." She sniffed. "Face? Pride?"
"S'only a truce, darlin'; doesn't mean we have to be nice to each other."
Ioade nodded.
"I s'pose."
Another brief silence was added to the countless score of that evening.
"So we have an accord then, Morgan?"
The young captain raised her eyes to meet Jack's.
"Aye. We have an accord."
Their palms smacked together across the table. Over in the corner, the last candle gave a sick little flicker, and went out in a curl of smoke.
--
When Ioade returned to her cabin, she found Kate sitting up on her cot reading. Colour had returned to the Italian woman's cheeks, and her usual serenity had been restored to her. She looked up.
"You look frayed, my dear." She observed as Ioade flopped down on the opposite cot.
"You have your truce." Replied the younger woman through her hands. "It's done. It's dusted. The whole bloody mess of history's been dredged up and burnt."
Kate raised an eyebrow.
"So you're reconciled?"
Ioade laughed.
"They should redefine that word."
She glanced across at her first mate.
"How are you feeling?"
"Much better, thank you." Kate put aside her book. "I suppose you might say I've done a little history burning of my own."
"Find anything interesting?"
Kate's face became troubled by a strange expression, and Ioade was shocked by her companion's unusual openness. But then again, it was a shocking sort of day.
"That question has two possible answers."
"And they are?"
"Yes and no."
Ioade rolled her eyes and rocked back on her cot.
"Well that's helpful, Kate; thanks for that."
Kate fixed her with glowing eyes.
"I don't particularly want to talk about it right now; but I think, perhaps, I might finally be on the way to laying my demons to rest."
"I know what you mean, mate." Murmured Ioade.
Kate smiled slightly.
"Anyway, I think this might merit a drink."
She got up off her cot and knelt to reach under the bed. Ioade's eyes brightened.
"You mean...?"
"Yes, you can get inebriated again."
"Oh, heavens blessed!" Ioade exclaimed happily as Kate retrieved a large rum bottle from beneath a loose plank.
Ioade caught it as sailed through the air towards her.
"And you can stop sleeping with Jack now." She gabbled, unable to get the cork out fast enough.
Kate made no response, but simply maintained a smile as Ioade gulped down the spirit like a fish.
"Ah!" Ioade sighed, wiping her mouth on her sleeve. "So much better."
She took another long draught, and another, and then lowered the bottle.
"So what happened, earlier on today?" She asked. "I mean, with the door and all?"
Kate directed her an even gaze.
"You would laugh." She assessed calmly.
"No."
"Then," Kate hesitated. "Between friends?"
"Between friends."
"Alright. Between friends: I saw a ghost."
Ioade's eyes widened slightly.
"The ghost of something that was, and that no longer is. In some mad state of angry delirium I shot it in an attempt to banish it, though I hardly know why, and that's why the door was...like it was. But it made me stop and rethink a few matters, which I suppose was the purpose of the thing." Kate's voice became vague and then died away altogether, and she sat thoughtfully for moment.
"And that is all you need to know." She said finally, and smiled.
Ioade nodded sagely and took another drink.
"Being sober does odd things to you, you know; I should get you drunk sometime."
"Or maybe not." Kate replied with a small smile.
The honey-haired girl sighed again, and twisted the rum bottle round to inspect its contents.
"Mind you," She mused. "It's been a very, very strange day."
--