Disclaimer: see chapter 1
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We set sail four days later on the morning tide, having finally got the permission and papers we needed and having loaded up the boat. Jack Sparrow, after he had considered our complete lack of sailing credentials, had hired a crewmember to help him manage the Anamaria. Tall and lanky, Milton ("call me Mil") was a calm, quiet presence on board and I liked him the moment I met him. I thought he would probably be a useful counterpoint to Sparrow and his unpredictable moods.
The four of us sat on deck as Jack Sparrow and Mil took the boat out of the harbour. Sparrow was at the wheel – or the helm, as he called it – and Mil was tugging on various ropes to ensure the white sails were filled with wind. As we headed into open sea, even Simon was forced to admit that the little boat had some speed. Her prow forged through the water and a long, straight wake stretched out behind us.
Sparrow gave the helm over to Mil, and came across to us where we sat on the cabin roof. I saw now that his strange rolling gait on land was perfectly suited to the rocking motion of the vessel at sea, and indeed he did not seem to need the support of any railings or ropes as he made his way over the deck.
"Well?" he said, perching rather precariously on the slender rope that acted as a sort of guard between deck and sea.
"It's good to be off," said Jerry.
Sparrow nodded. "Aye, it is. There's only so much land a man can take."
"Huh," grunted Simon, scorn in his expression and tone.
Our captain sent an equally expressive look back in Simon's direction, and then glanced up at the top of the mast.
"Line there could be tightened. Shout if you need anything." He nodded, and was off up the mast looking like nothing so much as a monkey. All he needed was a tail.
We spent the rest of that morning below decks, going over our maps and charts and planning what to do once we arrived at the island. By the afternoon, we were all fed up of paper, and after eating we went back on deck and sunbathed with books. Now and again I looked up to see Jack Sparrow watching us with half a smile playing on his lips.
I slept well that first night, rocked by the gentle motion of the waves as the Anamaria beat her way onwards towards the island. Occasionally I woke, and was aware of footsteps on the deck above: Jack Sparrow, keeping watch.
But he was up in the morning, in a change of shirt but otherwise looking just as he had before. He greeted me cheerfully enough, flicking a cigarette butt neatly over the side of the boat.
"Where's Mil?" I asked, stretching.
"Catching some sleep," said Sparrow. "Where's your mates?"
"Still sleeping," I returned. "I'm going to get breakfast. Want anything?"
"No." He shook his head with a jangle of beads. "No, thanks." He nodded, and went back to the helm.
Mil and the others emerged an hour or so later, Mil taking over control of the boat from his captain. Sparrow tightened a few ropes, his hand stroking bits of his vessel gently.
Toni watched him dreamily.
"Sleep well?" I asked.
"Mmm."
I hit her, gently. "Snap out of it, Toni."
"Has he done something to his eyes?" she asked, still gazing.
I paid attention to Sparrow, and realised Toni was right. He had done something to his eyes.
"Eyeliner," muttered Simon, trying to haul a bucket of seawater up to throw over himself as a sort of shower.
"Kohl," said Jack Sparrow, taking the rope of the bucket from Simon. He filled it and jerked it up and over the other man in one easy motion. "Keeps the glare off."
"The desert nomads use it," I remembered.
"Aye, that's right." Sparrow threw Simon a towel. "Back in the old days we didn't have such things as sunglasses; and anyway, they've a mind to fall off. An old woman in Casablanca sold me kohl when I was but a lad, and I've kept on using it."
"Eyeliner," Simon repeated, rubbing himself down with the towel.
Our pirate caught my eye and I bit my lip to stifle a giggle.
Jerry came up on deck, pulling a t-shirt on, and Sparrow greeted him cheerfully.
"Morning, mate."
"Good morning," said Jerry. "Where are we?"
"On our way," Sparrow said, taking out his ancient battered compass and glancing at it briefly. "Under a bit of a calm, but the wind'll pick up this afternoon." He met Jerry's eyes. "Rebecca here said you fenced."
"A bit," said Jerry, bashfully.
"He's won competitions," I corrected. "He's really good."
"I'm okay," Jerry said.
"Fancy a match?" asked Sparrow, watching Jerry hopefully with what was clearly his best 'innocent' look.
"But we're at sea," objected Simon.
"I had noticed," Sparrow said. "But how d'you think we managed when we were raidin' ships, mate? I've drawn swords on men in a near-storm. This little calm is nothing." He turned his attention back to Jerry. "What say you?"
"We really ought to be heading to the island with all speed," Jerry said, hesitating.
"Tell you what." Jack Sparrow leaned forward to emphasise his point. "You grant me the pleasure of this match, and I'll turn on the engine once we're done. We'll race to Muerte then. Just one match."
Jerry paused a moment longer, but I knew he'd give in. He nodded. "Go on, then, you've persuaded me. I take it you have some blades?"
"Below." Sparrow disappeared to fetch them. Jerry began to stretch his legs and arms, throwing in a few experimental lunges.
"I guess this is where we find out if he's been telling the truth," he said, after a moment. "If he can fight on this rocky little boat, maybe …" he frowned. "I don't think I can."
Toni curled her legs underneath her. "You'll be great."
After a short while, Jack Sparrow emerged holding two swords. One was the beautiful, shining blade he had shown Toni and myself earlier in the week. He passed that one to Jerry, who took it reverently and tested the weight.
"This is … this is a beautiful sword!" he exclaimed.
"Made by a friend of mine," Sparrow said. "He was a blacksmith: thought he'd make me a handy gift. I never used the thing. Way too good for everyday use."
"I'm rather inclined to agree," said Jerry.
Twisting his blade in his hand, Sparrow lifted it. "Now this is more like it. Old, but still good."
The sword did look old – the grip was worn, and the hilt was darkened and dull. But the blade itself shone with care and attention and use. Jack Sparrow handled it like an extension of his arm.
"Well then," said Jerry, turning his sword, "en garde?"
Sparrow attacked. Jerry parried, their blades clashing. "What happened to en garde?" asked Jerry, stepping backwards.
"Pirate?" said Sparrow, his sword twisting in towards Jerry's side.
"I'd call it …" Jerry managed to side-step the blow, "cheating."
And so the fight was joined. It was impressive to watch. Jerry fought like the fencer he was, one arm tucked neatly behind his back and his weight constantly forward on his front foot. Sparrow fought like a dancer, all powerful fluid motions that were full of grace. It was clear, even to us three novices, that Sparrow was the better swordsman. He had a freedom of movement Jerry lacked. Where our colleague jabbed in his thrusts, Sparrow darted in and dashed back, his blade flicking through the air with precise skill.
Whether or not he was a pirate, Sparrow was also more sure-footed on the gently moving deck. Once or twice I was sure Jerry was going to fall and break something, or stab himself by accident, but somehow he never did. In actual fact he was managing rather well; but he was outclassed and he knew it.
Eventually, as the point of Jack Sparrow's sword got past Jerry's guard, and came to rest just over his opponent's breastbone, Jerry raised his hands.
"Okay, I give in. You're too good."
Sparrow stepped back, lowering his sword.
"You're none too bad yourself, mate."
"Flatterer." Jerry wiped his brow with his t-shirt. "Hell, it's hot. No really, you're too good for me. But you're not a fencer. Wherever you learnt to fight, you learned how to defend yourself, not how to get points in a competition."
"Silly idea," said Sparrow. "Why do that?"
"Some people find it fun," Jerry said mildly. "I do, actually. It's a good sport."
"Folk forget it was once life or death, don't they?" Sparrow took Jerry's sword from him. "Though actually most sailors barely knew one end of a sword from th'other. Some of the marines were all right. My young friend Will, the blacksmith," a shadow crossed his face, "now he could fight. Stuck to the rules, like yourself, but he could fight."
"As well as he made swords?" Jerry asked.
"Just about."
"Wow."
Sparrow grinned, suddenly, gold teeth glinting. "Now, I said I'd turn on the engine. I'll do that, and we'll get movin' towards the island."
"Good," said Simon under his breath.
With the engine chugging away we picked up speed in the calm, and soon the waves were parting under the Anamaria's bow. Each of us had small tasks to do – letters to write, plans to make – and so the day passed, with Sparrow and Mil taking it in turns to look after the boat.
For some reason I could not get to sleep that night. The small porthole by my bunk was letting in a shaft of bright moonlight, and that together with the thoughts crowding my head was preventing sleep from coming. I lay awake for some time, listening to Simon's snoring from across the gangway and Toni's light snuffling above me, until I got fed up and decided to go and watch the sea by night.
As quietly as I could, I pulled on a jumper and climbed the steep steps to the deck, poking my head out and breathing in the sweet night air. It was a gorgeous evening, the moonlight casting a path along the water and the stars bright above us. I could hear Jack Sparrow whistling tunelessly to himself, and as I came out on deck properly I looked around for him.
That was when I screamed.