A/N: My, my, my, how the time does fly, huh? I'm tellin' ya', this fic is
going by much faster than I thought it would. Although I'm not entirely
surprised, my longest fics are only 14 chapters, so in all fairness I'm
actually a little behind schedule. But I digress... I promised a compelling
chapter, didn't I? Well, that was a fool thing to do, but a promise is a
promise...
Faulkner's anxious bid for my opinion of his vessel of choice for our voyage drifts into my ears. I answer with confidence, "Nice ship ta' be sure, Waylan." No need for him to know that since yesterday I'd never been on a ship for longer than a day or two.
Faulkner smiles in relief, though I'm not sure just what made him so hot for my seal of approval, "Good, Gawain, that's very good. We'll just climb aboard and set off then, eh?"
My guide to Jack scurries up the gangway, and I follow, wondering briefly exactly how I got tangled up with this man. At our first meeting I pegged him for a slick merchant that'd charm the blood right out of the proverbial turnip, but now he's a dead give-away for a sniveling lackey who is missing a boss to kick him around. I simply can't get a good bead on him.
I didn't lie to his eager face, however. The ship is quite nice, at least as far as I can tell, which is a depressing stone's throw from any normal governor's granddaughter. It's rather small, built only for quick trips and manned only by small crews. This makes me hopeful, if Faulkner didn't see fit to make use of his larger ships it means Jack can't be terribly far away. All thoughts of mermaids' ransoms wither underneath the great hope of at last finding Jack. I take a breath of sea air and, with my personal sails billowing with energy, set about helping my gang and a few of Faulkner's men he brought along load the small ship.
"Is this how they'll store cargo 'til the end of time, do ya' think?" I inquire more to the bright blue sky above than to either Tom or Pete, who, like me, are carrying the ubiquitous wooden boxes of miscellaneous ship-stuff into the hold.
"Dunno, Guinn," Tom replies in the usual deadpan manner. But I can see in his small, private smile he's glad to have my unanswerable questions to not answer once again. He's taken to calling me Guinn, I assume to teach me a hint of a lesson for my dishonesty. Tom's been the hardest to win back over after my little transgression. To tell the truth, I almost prefer it over Gawain. It sounds more like Guinevere, without the hassle of femininity hanging over it.
At last we are ready to depart, and as the men weigh anchor and drop the sails, I hear Faulkner calling to me from the helm. Tearing my gaze from the departing shore of Tortuga, I jog to the stern to join him.
"Care to take us out of the harbor, lad?" Faulkner asks me. His eyes glint with the friendly challenge.
"Don't mind if I do, sir," I respond with my own glint and take the wheel. A great swell rises in my chest that I almost think my ribs would crack down the middle, but somehow I'm ridiculously happy about it. I see the horizon before me, free of any landmasses to interrupt its clean line from one corner of my eye to the other. The sun is high in the cloudless sky, setting a sparkle on the water just outside the harbor. The knowledge that Jack is out there, in that endless blue, completes the moment as I guide the ship without a thought to my lack of experience. It's not until I see the sun dipping into the top of my vision that I realize I've been at the helm for much longer than it takes to depart from Tortuga's harbor. I look around the ship, blinking away the ecstasy of the helm and horizon, and find Faulkner leaning against the right rail next to me. He is gazing at me thoughtfully, an arm wrapped around his waist and the other braced on it at the elbow, his hand worrying his chin.
"You've certainly got the knack for piloting a ship, my boy," he remarked, with a satisfied smile on his face.
"It's in the blood," I retort before I realize what I've said. I hope he doesn't pick up on it, but I can see it's a lost cause.
"You don't say?" he asks. Curiosity in every move, he stands upright and awaits my response with keenly interested eyes.
"Me father was a merchant, used ta' take me out in his ships from time to time." The lie slides from my mouth like a dolphin through water, and I'm glad for it as I see Faulkner's interest dull. I'm not sure why I feel it would be a mistake to let this man in on my secret. I suppose it stands to reason that if you go around telling everyone a secret it won't be a secret for very long, but I haven't told anyone yet and something in me is screaming that he should not be the first. Faulkner asks no more questions, and takes the helm himself. With a bright and, more importantly, innocent smile, I trot down to where the rest the crew and my gang relax; their work being done for the day.
"Ah, an' he awakes from the enchantment to return to his mates," Tom jibs me from his seat with his back against a barrel.
Tuck grins up at me from the flute he brought along and was playing quietly, "Come up fer air, did ya', boss?"
I fix the twins with a smug look, "You best not be complainin' 'bout my skillful hand at the helm." I plop down between Stanton and Peter, who grants me a sweet smile before returning to the length of rope he is braiding in his lap.
Tom chuckles, leaning his head against the barrel's rough wood, "Let it never be said that you let truth get in the way of glory, Guinn." We carry on like this, only speaking occasionally and mostly listening to Tuck's flute, until the sky is dark and sleep beckons.
Days pass on Faulkner's ship. I am permitted to steer whenever I ask, a perk I make use of often, under Faulkner's supervision. I put up with that little hindrance, mostly because I come to enjoy the man's company, at least when he's not acting like a sniveling mutt. As always, I mine his stores of ship knowledge while gently probing for any information about the mermaid's ransom. I get no definitive answers on that topic. Perhaps Faulkner will not only be my guide to Jack, but ever-lasting wealth as well...
Stepping into the small galley after another turn at the helm, I find Stanton eating alone. Ah, I think, bond-time with my new boy, I see. He jumps when I fall into a seat beside him. "Oops, scared ya', didn't I?" I say with a grin. Stanton only nods, then returns to his thoughts. Curious, I ask, "An' what deep thinkin' are you doin' then? Must be heavy stuff, yer head's near fallin' on the table with it."
"It's, er, personal," he replies and shifts in his seat with discomfort.
"Well now, it's obviously troublin' you," I say, "An' I hate ta' see any o' my boys sufferin'. Spill it, Mayflower, an' that's an order."
Stanton glances at me in surprise, I never use his first name and I usually rebuke any of the gang for doing it as well. He decides wisely that my using it now means I want an answer, he sighs, "No secrets from you, are there?"
"Never," I reply. Shame it don't go both ways, I think with a wry grin.
"Well, I used to be with the British Navy, if you can believe it," he begins. I watch his face carefully as he talks, watch it turn wistful as he continues, "I did enjoy my work. A little too much, it seems. I was being awarded a medal for catching pirates one day, but something happened. Somebody pulled a prank or something, I don't know, but all the fireworks that were supposed to go off went off in all these different places. Anyways, next thing I know, I'm watching the soldiers come back, and they've got fruit splattered all over their uniforms. I'm not sure how it happened, but just looking at those uniforms, something hit me. It was like taking off a blindfold, and I didn't like what I saw. I ran off to Tortuga not long after, you know the rest." Stanton sighs heavily and his shoulders slump, "Now I'm just wondering if I did the right thing."
For a while I can't say anything. My mind battles over if I should tell him his epiphany was my doing or not. The look of mental anguish on his face that I now realize has been there this entire time is so different from the bliss I saw that day, it is no wonder I didn't recognize him sooner. Completely at a loss, I can only mumble, "At least you did something about it, instead of nothing."
Stanton's face wrinkles in confusion, but he smiles at me anyway, "Thanks- I think."
I stand up, suddenly drained, and pat him on the shoulder before leaving, "Anytime, mate."
"Gawain! Wake up, lad!" a voice screams ruthlessly close to my ear. Just to spite it for being so rude, I don't so much as change my breathing in compliance with the voice. This abruptly ends at the voice's next words, "Pirate attack!"
I'm out of my ragged cot like a shot, and, once I've cleared my eyes of the massive head rush, make out the form of one of Faulkner's men. A sword is trembling in hand as he holds one out to me. I deny it and instead reach under one of the ribs of the hull for Sparrow. I barely get the buckle of the sheath done before the man has grabbed me by the arm and dragged me above decks. What I see upon arrival for a moment befuddles my still sleep-addled mind. Each deck, from bow to stern, is a flurry of activity as men prepare for the certain onslaught. I scan the horizon quickly until I come upon the approaching ship. It is much larger than ours, and the unmistakable flag of the pirates whips in the breeze on its highest mast. I can't help the excitement rising in me. True pirates, at last! I don't count the rowdy hooligans of Tortuga; even if they *were* pirates, they were off-duty pirates. You can't feel quite the same about a, say, a soldier when he's out of uniform and not trying to hang you. It just doesn't work. But now I'll finally get to see pirates in action, just like my father.
"You frozen in terror up there, boy?!" another of Faulkner's men shouts at me, "Or do ye' b'lieve these nice folks'll go easy on ye' once they get here?"
For probably the first time in my life, I ignore the insult and join my gang, who are readying the ships woefully few cannons. We've been five days on Faulkner's ship with quiet sailing, I wonder if there is any reason for attack now beyond simple plunder. Could it have something to do with Jack? The thought is quite literally blasted from my head as the first shot is fired from the pirate ship. A cannonball creates a transient crater in the water not six feet from our bow, and the enemy is still approaching fast on our port side.
"Ready the cannons!" Faulkner cries from the helm, and the gang and I wrap up our duties just before the men shove the cannons out of the small holes in the side of the ship made for that purpose.
At Faulkner's command, the cannons on the port side fire with resounding booms. As the acrid smoke of the gunpowder clears I find to my surprise that one of our shots had successfully put a hole in the pirates' hull. But it matters little, as they've come close enough at this point to board our ship. I tilt my head up with dismay as I watch a score of pirates swing onto our ship. Fighting follows, right on cue. A few more cannon shots are managed on both sides before they are abandoned in preference of hand-to-hand combat. Soon I am being thoroughly tested on my knowledge gained from the Spartan's men. I slash and jab at pirate after pirate, and berate myself for not taking the man's sword in the first place- well, at least until I kill a pirate and take his sword. But it appears to be too little too late, as it becomes abundantly clear that there are simply too many them and not enough us. We are herded into a corner of the ship by the pirates and made to drop our weapons.
A new pirate swings with cat-like grace to land on our bow. My breath catches in my throat as I take in the new arrival, obviously the ship's captain. I hear a murmur run through the crew as the dark woman stands, hands on her hips, and surveys her hostages. It is the woman from Tortuga, the one who so nearly ended my search before it had even begun. Glancing at the pirate ship, my apprehension rises as I spot the bright blue parrot flapping its wings on the ship's prow. I don't bother to look surprised as the woman approaches me and looks me squarely in the face.
"Take this boy," she commands with a voice like slightly rusted steel. Her eyes, just as friendly as her voice, fix on mine unblinkingly. We are still engaged in our staring contest as I am dragged away by two burly pirates. Once on the pirates' ship, I can hear conversation between the captain and Faulkner, but their words are unclear. I hide my surprise as I watch my gang be driven across the makeshift gangway as well. I don't look at them or speak once they join me. In fact, it's not until the door to the pirates' brig slams home that I say one word.
"Bugger."
A/N: Oh, I really don't want to end this here, but it's as good a place as any, and I've got homework to do. So I'll have to leave you hanging here. Sorry, but you all will have to wait until next chapter for- ha! Thought I was going to tell you for a minute there, didn't you? Nice try! Anyways, to reply to my lovely and wonderful reviewers:
Becca: As much as my ego protests, I must say that there are TONS of better fics out there than this one. I feel it's my solemn duty as a fellow fanfic writer to drop a few choice pennames, so here we go. March Hare, Bombur Jo, Gatekeeper, CrimsonFuchsia, Tatiana3, Ookami no Shinpi. There, educate yourself!
L88er-as: Moment of blankness, suuure. Bit by tantalizing bit- wow, that's exactly it! Are you psychic, or something? Because that's my exact plan, to the letter! Tantalizing, that's a great word, huh? Keep reading, and quit reading my mind!
Faulkner's anxious bid for my opinion of his vessel of choice for our voyage drifts into my ears. I answer with confidence, "Nice ship ta' be sure, Waylan." No need for him to know that since yesterday I'd never been on a ship for longer than a day or two.
Faulkner smiles in relief, though I'm not sure just what made him so hot for my seal of approval, "Good, Gawain, that's very good. We'll just climb aboard and set off then, eh?"
My guide to Jack scurries up the gangway, and I follow, wondering briefly exactly how I got tangled up with this man. At our first meeting I pegged him for a slick merchant that'd charm the blood right out of the proverbial turnip, but now he's a dead give-away for a sniveling lackey who is missing a boss to kick him around. I simply can't get a good bead on him.
I didn't lie to his eager face, however. The ship is quite nice, at least as far as I can tell, which is a depressing stone's throw from any normal governor's granddaughter. It's rather small, built only for quick trips and manned only by small crews. This makes me hopeful, if Faulkner didn't see fit to make use of his larger ships it means Jack can't be terribly far away. All thoughts of mermaids' ransoms wither underneath the great hope of at last finding Jack. I take a breath of sea air and, with my personal sails billowing with energy, set about helping my gang and a few of Faulkner's men he brought along load the small ship.
"Is this how they'll store cargo 'til the end of time, do ya' think?" I inquire more to the bright blue sky above than to either Tom or Pete, who, like me, are carrying the ubiquitous wooden boxes of miscellaneous ship-stuff into the hold.
"Dunno, Guinn," Tom replies in the usual deadpan manner. But I can see in his small, private smile he's glad to have my unanswerable questions to not answer once again. He's taken to calling me Guinn, I assume to teach me a hint of a lesson for my dishonesty. Tom's been the hardest to win back over after my little transgression. To tell the truth, I almost prefer it over Gawain. It sounds more like Guinevere, without the hassle of femininity hanging over it.
At last we are ready to depart, and as the men weigh anchor and drop the sails, I hear Faulkner calling to me from the helm. Tearing my gaze from the departing shore of Tortuga, I jog to the stern to join him.
"Care to take us out of the harbor, lad?" Faulkner asks me. His eyes glint with the friendly challenge.
"Don't mind if I do, sir," I respond with my own glint and take the wheel. A great swell rises in my chest that I almost think my ribs would crack down the middle, but somehow I'm ridiculously happy about it. I see the horizon before me, free of any landmasses to interrupt its clean line from one corner of my eye to the other. The sun is high in the cloudless sky, setting a sparkle on the water just outside the harbor. The knowledge that Jack is out there, in that endless blue, completes the moment as I guide the ship without a thought to my lack of experience. It's not until I see the sun dipping into the top of my vision that I realize I've been at the helm for much longer than it takes to depart from Tortuga's harbor. I look around the ship, blinking away the ecstasy of the helm and horizon, and find Faulkner leaning against the right rail next to me. He is gazing at me thoughtfully, an arm wrapped around his waist and the other braced on it at the elbow, his hand worrying his chin.
"You've certainly got the knack for piloting a ship, my boy," he remarked, with a satisfied smile on his face.
"It's in the blood," I retort before I realize what I've said. I hope he doesn't pick up on it, but I can see it's a lost cause.
"You don't say?" he asks. Curiosity in every move, he stands upright and awaits my response with keenly interested eyes.
"Me father was a merchant, used ta' take me out in his ships from time to time." The lie slides from my mouth like a dolphin through water, and I'm glad for it as I see Faulkner's interest dull. I'm not sure why I feel it would be a mistake to let this man in on my secret. I suppose it stands to reason that if you go around telling everyone a secret it won't be a secret for very long, but I haven't told anyone yet and something in me is screaming that he should not be the first. Faulkner asks no more questions, and takes the helm himself. With a bright and, more importantly, innocent smile, I trot down to where the rest the crew and my gang relax; their work being done for the day.
"Ah, an' he awakes from the enchantment to return to his mates," Tom jibs me from his seat with his back against a barrel.
Tuck grins up at me from the flute he brought along and was playing quietly, "Come up fer air, did ya', boss?"
I fix the twins with a smug look, "You best not be complainin' 'bout my skillful hand at the helm." I plop down between Stanton and Peter, who grants me a sweet smile before returning to the length of rope he is braiding in his lap.
Tom chuckles, leaning his head against the barrel's rough wood, "Let it never be said that you let truth get in the way of glory, Guinn." We carry on like this, only speaking occasionally and mostly listening to Tuck's flute, until the sky is dark and sleep beckons.
Days pass on Faulkner's ship. I am permitted to steer whenever I ask, a perk I make use of often, under Faulkner's supervision. I put up with that little hindrance, mostly because I come to enjoy the man's company, at least when he's not acting like a sniveling mutt. As always, I mine his stores of ship knowledge while gently probing for any information about the mermaid's ransom. I get no definitive answers on that topic. Perhaps Faulkner will not only be my guide to Jack, but ever-lasting wealth as well...
Stepping into the small galley after another turn at the helm, I find Stanton eating alone. Ah, I think, bond-time with my new boy, I see. He jumps when I fall into a seat beside him. "Oops, scared ya', didn't I?" I say with a grin. Stanton only nods, then returns to his thoughts. Curious, I ask, "An' what deep thinkin' are you doin' then? Must be heavy stuff, yer head's near fallin' on the table with it."
"It's, er, personal," he replies and shifts in his seat with discomfort.
"Well now, it's obviously troublin' you," I say, "An' I hate ta' see any o' my boys sufferin'. Spill it, Mayflower, an' that's an order."
Stanton glances at me in surprise, I never use his first name and I usually rebuke any of the gang for doing it as well. He decides wisely that my using it now means I want an answer, he sighs, "No secrets from you, are there?"
"Never," I reply. Shame it don't go both ways, I think with a wry grin.
"Well, I used to be with the British Navy, if you can believe it," he begins. I watch his face carefully as he talks, watch it turn wistful as he continues, "I did enjoy my work. A little too much, it seems. I was being awarded a medal for catching pirates one day, but something happened. Somebody pulled a prank or something, I don't know, but all the fireworks that were supposed to go off went off in all these different places. Anyways, next thing I know, I'm watching the soldiers come back, and they've got fruit splattered all over their uniforms. I'm not sure how it happened, but just looking at those uniforms, something hit me. It was like taking off a blindfold, and I didn't like what I saw. I ran off to Tortuga not long after, you know the rest." Stanton sighs heavily and his shoulders slump, "Now I'm just wondering if I did the right thing."
For a while I can't say anything. My mind battles over if I should tell him his epiphany was my doing or not. The look of mental anguish on his face that I now realize has been there this entire time is so different from the bliss I saw that day, it is no wonder I didn't recognize him sooner. Completely at a loss, I can only mumble, "At least you did something about it, instead of nothing."
Stanton's face wrinkles in confusion, but he smiles at me anyway, "Thanks- I think."
I stand up, suddenly drained, and pat him on the shoulder before leaving, "Anytime, mate."
"Gawain! Wake up, lad!" a voice screams ruthlessly close to my ear. Just to spite it for being so rude, I don't so much as change my breathing in compliance with the voice. This abruptly ends at the voice's next words, "Pirate attack!"
I'm out of my ragged cot like a shot, and, once I've cleared my eyes of the massive head rush, make out the form of one of Faulkner's men. A sword is trembling in hand as he holds one out to me. I deny it and instead reach under one of the ribs of the hull for Sparrow. I barely get the buckle of the sheath done before the man has grabbed me by the arm and dragged me above decks. What I see upon arrival for a moment befuddles my still sleep-addled mind. Each deck, from bow to stern, is a flurry of activity as men prepare for the certain onslaught. I scan the horizon quickly until I come upon the approaching ship. It is much larger than ours, and the unmistakable flag of the pirates whips in the breeze on its highest mast. I can't help the excitement rising in me. True pirates, at last! I don't count the rowdy hooligans of Tortuga; even if they *were* pirates, they were off-duty pirates. You can't feel quite the same about a, say, a soldier when he's out of uniform and not trying to hang you. It just doesn't work. But now I'll finally get to see pirates in action, just like my father.
"You frozen in terror up there, boy?!" another of Faulkner's men shouts at me, "Or do ye' b'lieve these nice folks'll go easy on ye' once they get here?"
For probably the first time in my life, I ignore the insult and join my gang, who are readying the ships woefully few cannons. We've been five days on Faulkner's ship with quiet sailing, I wonder if there is any reason for attack now beyond simple plunder. Could it have something to do with Jack? The thought is quite literally blasted from my head as the first shot is fired from the pirate ship. A cannonball creates a transient crater in the water not six feet from our bow, and the enemy is still approaching fast on our port side.
"Ready the cannons!" Faulkner cries from the helm, and the gang and I wrap up our duties just before the men shove the cannons out of the small holes in the side of the ship made for that purpose.
At Faulkner's command, the cannons on the port side fire with resounding booms. As the acrid smoke of the gunpowder clears I find to my surprise that one of our shots had successfully put a hole in the pirates' hull. But it matters little, as they've come close enough at this point to board our ship. I tilt my head up with dismay as I watch a score of pirates swing onto our ship. Fighting follows, right on cue. A few more cannon shots are managed on both sides before they are abandoned in preference of hand-to-hand combat. Soon I am being thoroughly tested on my knowledge gained from the Spartan's men. I slash and jab at pirate after pirate, and berate myself for not taking the man's sword in the first place- well, at least until I kill a pirate and take his sword. But it appears to be too little too late, as it becomes abundantly clear that there are simply too many them and not enough us. We are herded into a corner of the ship by the pirates and made to drop our weapons.
A new pirate swings with cat-like grace to land on our bow. My breath catches in my throat as I take in the new arrival, obviously the ship's captain. I hear a murmur run through the crew as the dark woman stands, hands on her hips, and surveys her hostages. It is the woman from Tortuga, the one who so nearly ended my search before it had even begun. Glancing at the pirate ship, my apprehension rises as I spot the bright blue parrot flapping its wings on the ship's prow. I don't bother to look surprised as the woman approaches me and looks me squarely in the face.
"Take this boy," she commands with a voice like slightly rusted steel. Her eyes, just as friendly as her voice, fix on mine unblinkingly. We are still engaged in our staring contest as I am dragged away by two burly pirates. Once on the pirates' ship, I can hear conversation between the captain and Faulkner, but their words are unclear. I hide my surprise as I watch my gang be driven across the makeshift gangway as well. I don't look at them or speak once they join me. In fact, it's not until the door to the pirates' brig slams home that I say one word.
"Bugger."
A/N: Oh, I really don't want to end this here, but it's as good a place as any, and I've got homework to do. So I'll have to leave you hanging here. Sorry, but you all will have to wait until next chapter for- ha! Thought I was going to tell you for a minute there, didn't you? Nice try! Anyways, to reply to my lovely and wonderful reviewers:
Becca: As much as my ego protests, I must say that there are TONS of better fics out there than this one. I feel it's my solemn duty as a fellow fanfic writer to drop a few choice pennames, so here we go. March Hare, Bombur Jo, Gatekeeper, CrimsonFuchsia, Tatiana3, Ookami no Shinpi. There, educate yourself!
L88er-as: Moment of blankness, suuure. Bit by tantalizing bit- wow, that's exactly it! Are you psychic, or something? Because that's my exact plan, to the letter! Tantalizing, that's a great word, huh? Keep reading, and quit reading my mind!