A/N: Ah, good to be back in the land of the swashbucklers, ain't it? Liked
that bit of action last chapter, did ya'? Well, that's only the tip of the
great, heaping iceberg, so be prepared. Responses to all the lovely reviews
are posted at the end, just a little incentive to get you all through this
chapter. And, if I haven't mentioned it yet, stuff in *these* means
italics, because despite helpful advice, any attempt otherwise has been
proven futile. Anyway, enough of my yammering.
Oh, this is not how I wanted things to go at all. This is my prevalent thought as the minutes tick by in the pirates' ship's damp brig. I was so close too; all I've been working towards since abandoning the only home I've ever known was nearly within my grasp. And now? Now I'm trapped in a leaky, creaky brig with only the rats and my boys for company. Needless to say, my patience is wearing thin.
"I just had a thought," Pete breaks the silence at some point in our captivity.
"Is it lonely?" I snap viciously at him. The silence is pieced back together. The more I sit the angrier I get until I feel like my eyes must be burning red coals in my face. I glare at the door to the brig, swearing silently that nobody better come through it without a death wish. I reconsider when that person is the dark-skinned captain and the old man from the alley, the gaudy blue parrot perched arrogantly on his shoulder.
"I must say, boy," the piratess begins, "I'm impressed wid yer obvious dedication to findin' Sparrow. Not to mention quite curious about yer purpose."
"I'm like a bad penny," I snarl, "I always turn up. But just let me say I got a grand purpose fer seekin' out Captain Sparrow, an' it's nothin' ta' do with you."
I can see amusement in her crow-feet-adorned eyes, and my blood boils. I try to keep from shaking with rage as she stoops down to my level and gazes directly at my face. Her weathered face turns thoughtful as the silence stretches over the recommended amount before she speaks again, "You'll have ta' cut yer hair again, girl, 's gettin' a touch shaggy." I say nothing, and neither do I look back to gauge Stanton's reaction to the captain's assessment. The captain nods at the old man, who pulls out a set of keys and opens the door to the cages. "Come with me, lass," the woman says, "I b'lieve we've some words to exchange."
The captain's quarters are sparse, as if she wasn't aware that things like masses of moldy maps, or trinkets from various plunders, were supposed to clutter the small area. I stand near the door; she sits easily in a convenient chair.
"Let's start wid yer name, then, shall we?" she asks.
"Gawain Burns," I reply with stubborn pride. Let her second guess her assumption that I'm a girl, it can only benefit me.
But the captain only gives me a tired look mixed with something like nostalgia before saying, "Do ye' think I may, just possibly, know a thing or two 'bout hidin' yer true sex? I know it seems unbelievable, but I am only a pirate captain in charge o' me own ship."
"No."
The older woman actually chuckles at me, "'No' she says. Right. Well, maybe a few more days in the brig will bring ya' round ta' my way o' thinkin', eh?"
Self-preservation leaps into action in spite of all my idiotic pride, "Do ye' know where Captain Jack Sparrow is?" I never said my self- preservation doesn't have a touch of idiocy itself.
The captain scrutinizes me again, "Never forget the captain, do ya'?"
"Never," the answer flies from my mouth, "The captain's the whole thing of it, ain't it? He'd be just another pirate without it. An' he's not- he's Captain Jack Sparrow."
I don't even see her move until she's got my wrist in a vice-grip and is examining the inside of my forearm. I can only stand as she probes the skin with her calloused fingers. Without a word she drags me by the forearm to the small, grimy bay of windows along one wall of her quarters. Turning the appendage this way and that she cries in sudden triumph and her black eyes dart to mine. I see them filled with wonder, of all things. Swallowing, she finally says, "Guinevere?"
"How do you know my name?" I respond, lost in confusion. I get no answer from the piratess, mostly because it's somewhat difficult to formulate one while fiercely hugging the person who asked the question.
"I can't believe it," the captain mutters, her voice thick with emotion, "Oh, little Swallow, I simply can't believe it." She pulls back from me and once more stares at my face until she breaks into a beaming smile and pulls me to her again, "Oh, an' yer the spittin' image as well- I'll be damned!"
Now, I don't have much aversion to touch, but I have to draw the line somewhere. I pull out of the captain's embrace and try to look dignified. "*Who* is little Swallow?" I ask firmly, and the captain burst into laughter.
Once Anamaria, as it happens, collects herself, we both sit in chairs in her quarters, her still sporting an amused smile, me trying to figure out exactly what kind of luck I have run across. I know from Jack's letters that this woman is the one who personally delivered me to Will and Elizabeth, and the shock of that knowledge is taking its sweet time wearing off.
Anamaria is staring at me like I could vanish at any second. Finally she says, "An' I had you in me brig- an' I almost *killed* ye'! Oh, Jack would'a killed *me*, he find out. An' he gonna kill *you*, he find out you left Will an' Elizabeth. Speakin' o' which, what made ye' do a daft thing like that?"
I don't blink, "I wanted to find my father."
Anamaria's question was only half-joking, but now her face is deadly serious, "Now, ya' know Jack did possibly the best thing he's ever done, takin' ye' to the Turners, lettin' 'em raise ye' proper-"
"I was miserable there," I cut her off firmly.
Anamaria regards me for a moment before saying, "Stands ta' reason, what Sparrow *would* be comfortable land-bound?" She settles back in her chair, "So, I assume ye' want me ta' take ye' to him, then, eh?"
"Be grand of ya'."
All kind of emotions have been flitting across Anamaria's face throughout the conversation, quite few of them I can truly decipher. The one she wears now joins the majority, "I don't know. No offense, but I doubt he'd be overjoyed ta' see ya', girl, after everything dat's happened..."
"Do ye' truly think ye' can stop me?" I ask, honestly curious to hear the answer.
Anamaria frowns deeply, "Could kill ya'."
"Sure you could," I reply as if pacifying a child, and watch a few more unfathomable emotions glide like sharks under her surface anger.
"Don't test me, Swallow," she quite literally growls, and I get a glint of the lightning-quick adversary from the alley.
But for now I choose to disregard the warning, "Might I inquire as ta' why ye' keep callin' me Swallow?"
"Not a question fer me ta' answer, 'm 'fraid," she says quickly.
"I suppose there's only one person who *can* answer it, eh?"
"Possibly."
"Well, then it's simply too bad I'll never know, isn't it? 'S probably a great story, full o' my true origins an' whatnot. Certainly help me sleep better, knowin' it. Quite a shame, really..."
I'm beginning to notice the subtle differences in people that can lead to one's benefit; little chinks in seemingly impenetrable armor that, when properly taken advantage of, can yield all kinds of possibilities. The piratess was cagey as a clam throughout my understated attack, but it seems a good old-fashioned guilt trip is what did Anamaria in- starting with being given free reign of the ship, along with my gang. Anamaria doesn't look at all surprised by my entourage; instead she chuckles slightly and asks exactly how long I've been a captain. I gaze at her in confusion.
"You well on yer way, little Swallow. Got a crew o' yer own already." She puts a hand on my shoulder, "Jack'd be proud."
I surprise even myself as my face reddens and I study the ship's deck. I never thought about my boys and me like that before, but I see she's right. We're pirates alright; we simply haven't got a boat yet. Smiling warmly at her, I join my crew as we settle in on Anamaria's ship, the Red Osprey.
I try to relax on the Osprey, but I know it's no good, not when I know by heart where our path leads. I've decided if I can't unwind, I might as well get to know one of my father's closest allies. I find we have more in common than even I could have guessed, and we find plenty to talk about. Anamaria is kind enough to divulge the path our ship will take, which ends at a speck of an island no bigger than a thumbnail on the map. She reveals to me that she has been a rum runner for this part of the Caribbean since... Here she trails off, still unwilling to share exactly what ended her days as Captain Jack Sparrow's first mate.
"The only piratin' I do anymore is ta' protect the island," she says, "An' Jack," she adds and I can see she instantly regrets it. I recognize her wince as the one I gave Faulkner when I nearly let go of *my* secret.
I show her no more mercy than he did, "An' the great Captain Jack Sparrow would need protectin', would he?"
To my surprise, Anamaria doesn't transform into a steel vault. She sighs tiredly and slumps in her seat, as if her muscles have given way. "I suppose I should give ya' fair warning," she muses quietly.
"Fair warning?" I hate the quiver in my voice. How can I care so much about someone I haven't even met to nearly dissolve into tears at the slightest mention of bad news?
Anamaria meets my eyes, and I see hers are filled with sorrow, "The reason Jack quit is because his luck ran out one day."
Will's stories of Jack's perilous deeds run in a blur past my mind's eye. "That's some kinda luck ta' run out of," I murmur as my mind whirls with endless, horrible possibilities of what she could mean.
"The worst," Anamaria solemnly agrees, "He was left blind by it, Guinevere."
My gut feels like it's turned to stone. I can hardly breathe. I think of every possible scenario I dreamed up of our first meeting, my father and I. Needless to say, none of them include the fact that he won't be able to see my face.
Anamaria puts a hand on my limp one lying on the table we sit at and continues, "He told us all, his crew of the Black Pearl, that we were ta' go ashore an' make our own lives. He swore us all ta' secrecy, we were not ta' breathe a word o' him or his whereabouts, an' we were ta' make certain no one else did. It took a while, but I managed to convince him ta' live at one o' the checkpoints in me new rum runnin' route. Wid every shipment I deliver any news, do my business- just make sure he's as comfortable as possible. Hasn't been easy, I been wonderin' how he may react ta' yer arrival."
"How long do we have 'til we get there?"
"Not long, Swallow. Fair warning, like I said. I don't want you goin' to him unprepared." Anamaria stands up, "I'll let ya' think on it, see if ya' change yer mind."
Just like that, I'm left to my own thoughts. It's a long while before I leave that table.
Morning dawns sweet and clear and the Red Osprey weighs anchor in a charming lagoon on the coast of Jack's island. I stand at the rail, gazing in mute fear at my tropical surroundings. I'm tempted to wake my crew, or at least Pete, for moral support, but I don't. No, if there is anything I have to do alone in my life, this is it.
"Ye' don't have to go, Guinevere. Ya' know that," I hear Anamaria's Caribbean/English accent behind me.
"Of course I do, Anamaria. I sure as hell didn't come all this way ta' turn coward now. If I can't face this, what else can't I face?"
"Ye' never know how far ye' can go 'til ye' go there."
"'S damn right."
"Well, I won't abandon ya' yet, Swallow. Come, we take the first boat to the island."
Yippee, I think, my mind's voice thick as petrified wood with sarcasm. The bitter thought reminds me of how I felt in the house of Turner, and I'm deeply saddened by it. Of all the times to feel resentful and morose, this is NOT one of them. I should be humming with excitement, but I only feel apprehension. Our boat runs aground, and Anamaria and I leave the crew to their jobs of unloading crates of illegal rum onto the beach. Apprehension digs in now as she leads me into the lush foliage of the island, sand becoming brown-streaked with dirt beneath our feet. After what seems like hours but could only be minutes, I see a simple cottage among the greenery, little more than a hut. It's unpainted, and the gray wood looks mossy. There is a small, sand-covered porch in front with a chair. A man is sitting in that chair, polishing with a rag a cutlass on his lap. His eyes are closed.
"Jack," Anamaria calls to the man as we near him.
His head rises in our direction and his closed eyes open slightly. I can see that whatever their color they are obscured by a milky fog of blindness. The rest of his face, which is surrounded by a thatch of dark gray hair, shows the years like badges of honor, including the scars around his sightless eyes. He licks his lips and says, "Anamaria. Fine day fer a visit, ya' think? An' who's yer friend?"
"Beggin' pardon, sir," I announce my presence once I've worked enough spit into my mouth.
"Aye," he says. He regards me- or I guess my voice as he stands up from the chair and lays the spotless cutlass against the cottage's wall, "and what ye' be wantin', eh, lass?"
This catches me by surprise, but I stick to the plan I scraped together at the table, if slightly adjusted. I have to remember, this is Jack Sparrow I'm dealing with. My voice is tremulous as I say, "H-how did you know I was a girl?" I blink wide eyes at the man even though I know he can't see them.
He, with the ease of years' experience, leans back slightly and gifts me with a perfectly executed, gold-gilded smirk. I suddenly find myself wondering if MY smirk is anything to compare to it, and know I'll soon find out as the words glide from his mouth, "Because, luv, I'm Captain Jack Sparrow, an-" He freezes mid-boast, plays back his words in his mind, and then squints with suspicion. "Who are you?"
I ignore Anamaria's snort, and introduce myself, "Some call me Gawain Burns." I'm feeling much better now than I did aboard the Osprey, at least good enough to do some bragging, "Ye' may've heard tell o' me."
Jack's face is inscrutable as he says bluntly, "Nope, never heard o' ya'." I continue to grin, unswayed by his quick attempt to stunt my arrogance. No luck there, Captain, this isn't some wharf rat you're toying with. "Now, tell us yer true name, eh? The one yer parents gave ye'?"
Moment of truth time already? I drop any pretense of jocularity and fix a gaze on the Captain. He's still in a joking mood, now that I can see them, his cloudy eyes dance with it, but I know that won't last long. "My parents, ya' say? Well, if ye' must know, they didn't give me my name."
"Ye' don't say," Jack murmurs as his face smoothes as much as the wrinkles allow into cool solemnity. He's a quick one, blind or no, and no one can tell me otherwise.
"Aye," I continue, "In fact, I don't rightly know who gave me my name. What I be wantin' here, to answer your earlier question, is to find out. And I think you can tell me."
Jack recoils from me as only he can, by standing very still, his stance screaming with caution. His voice is a ruddy mix of hope and dread as he murmurs, "Guinevere?"
I allow a small lip quirk before bowing once more then looking him straight in his eyes, a murky reflection of my own mossy brown, "The one an' only, at yer service, *Captain* Jack Sparrow."
"Interesting."
"Very interesting."
A/N: There, it's done. The moment you've all been waiting for. It meet your collective standards? Won't know if you don't tell me... To reviewers:
Meaghan1: Newbie! Glad you've enjoyed so far. It's no fair, though. You only had to wait- what? One chapter? - before the great big question was finally answered. I got folks been waiting since the very beginning for me to give up a secret or two. Well, count your blessings, hon, and keep reading.
PED-sarah: To tell the truth, I have no idea what Stanton would say, if he found out. And about the title, I kinda had to veer off course of that particular plot to reunite Jack and Guinevere, hope you don't mind. By next chapter or two, we should be getting back on track with that. Finally, sweetheart, in case you haven't noticed yet, I'm ALL ABOUT the secrets and amusing twists. I doubt you'll find a story of mine without at least one.
Calex: I think my favorite cool word of all time has gotta be mellifluous. Isn't it great? I think so. Anyways, hope this chapter was to your liking. Don't worry, I've still got a mystery or two up my sleeve, this wasn't the biggie you probably think it was. Keep reading!
Fire Pixie: Mix-up? Uh, okay, apology accepted ^^. Glad you're glad the boys are back, you didn't really think I'd leave 'em out, did ya'? Well, I bet you feel like Ms. Silly now. LALE, huh? To be honest, not really looking for an ego bruiser, more like something along the lines of an air pump. Know anybody that's good for that? Keep reading, this isn't the ultimate climax it seems.
Autumn: A thousand thanks for the compliments, hope you've enjoyed this chapter. As for "Quest of Wingchild"- aw, you poor thing. I hate to tell you this, but Lin and the gang will have to wait for Guinevere and *her* gang to finish up. And then there's my Artemis Fowl fic to take care of... All in all, "Quest of Wingchild" is about third on my list of things to finish. Sorry, but them's the breaks, kid. Hey, at least you've got "Mermaid's Ransom" to keep you company and, who knows, maybe your lovely review will spark a hint of inspiration in a Wingchild-like direction.
Oh, this is not how I wanted things to go at all. This is my prevalent thought as the minutes tick by in the pirates' ship's damp brig. I was so close too; all I've been working towards since abandoning the only home I've ever known was nearly within my grasp. And now? Now I'm trapped in a leaky, creaky brig with only the rats and my boys for company. Needless to say, my patience is wearing thin.
"I just had a thought," Pete breaks the silence at some point in our captivity.
"Is it lonely?" I snap viciously at him. The silence is pieced back together. The more I sit the angrier I get until I feel like my eyes must be burning red coals in my face. I glare at the door to the brig, swearing silently that nobody better come through it without a death wish. I reconsider when that person is the dark-skinned captain and the old man from the alley, the gaudy blue parrot perched arrogantly on his shoulder.
"I must say, boy," the piratess begins, "I'm impressed wid yer obvious dedication to findin' Sparrow. Not to mention quite curious about yer purpose."
"I'm like a bad penny," I snarl, "I always turn up. But just let me say I got a grand purpose fer seekin' out Captain Sparrow, an' it's nothin' ta' do with you."
I can see amusement in her crow-feet-adorned eyes, and my blood boils. I try to keep from shaking with rage as she stoops down to my level and gazes directly at my face. Her weathered face turns thoughtful as the silence stretches over the recommended amount before she speaks again, "You'll have ta' cut yer hair again, girl, 's gettin' a touch shaggy." I say nothing, and neither do I look back to gauge Stanton's reaction to the captain's assessment. The captain nods at the old man, who pulls out a set of keys and opens the door to the cages. "Come with me, lass," the woman says, "I b'lieve we've some words to exchange."
The captain's quarters are sparse, as if she wasn't aware that things like masses of moldy maps, or trinkets from various plunders, were supposed to clutter the small area. I stand near the door; she sits easily in a convenient chair.
"Let's start wid yer name, then, shall we?" she asks.
"Gawain Burns," I reply with stubborn pride. Let her second guess her assumption that I'm a girl, it can only benefit me.
But the captain only gives me a tired look mixed with something like nostalgia before saying, "Do ye' think I may, just possibly, know a thing or two 'bout hidin' yer true sex? I know it seems unbelievable, but I am only a pirate captain in charge o' me own ship."
"No."
The older woman actually chuckles at me, "'No' she says. Right. Well, maybe a few more days in the brig will bring ya' round ta' my way o' thinkin', eh?"
Self-preservation leaps into action in spite of all my idiotic pride, "Do ye' know where Captain Jack Sparrow is?" I never said my self- preservation doesn't have a touch of idiocy itself.
The captain scrutinizes me again, "Never forget the captain, do ya'?"
"Never," the answer flies from my mouth, "The captain's the whole thing of it, ain't it? He'd be just another pirate without it. An' he's not- he's Captain Jack Sparrow."
I don't even see her move until she's got my wrist in a vice-grip and is examining the inside of my forearm. I can only stand as she probes the skin with her calloused fingers. Without a word she drags me by the forearm to the small, grimy bay of windows along one wall of her quarters. Turning the appendage this way and that she cries in sudden triumph and her black eyes dart to mine. I see them filled with wonder, of all things. Swallowing, she finally says, "Guinevere?"
"How do you know my name?" I respond, lost in confusion. I get no answer from the piratess, mostly because it's somewhat difficult to formulate one while fiercely hugging the person who asked the question.
"I can't believe it," the captain mutters, her voice thick with emotion, "Oh, little Swallow, I simply can't believe it." She pulls back from me and once more stares at my face until she breaks into a beaming smile and pulls me to her again, "Oh, an' yer the spittin' image as well- I'll be damned!"
Now, I don't have much aversion to touch, but I have to draw the line somewhere. I pull out of the captain's embrace and try to look dignified. "*Who* is little Swallow?" I ask firmly, and the captain burst into laughter.
Once Anamaria, as it happens, collects herself, we both sit in chairs in her quarters, her still sporting an amused smile, me trying to figure out exactly what kind of luck I have run across. I know from Jack's letters that this woman is the one who personally delivered me to Will and Elizabeth, and the shock of that knowledge is taking its sweet time wearing off.
Anamaria is staring at me like I could vanish at any second. Finally she says, "An' I had you in me brig- an' I almost *killed* ye'! Oh, Jack would'a killed *me*, he find out. An' he gonna kill *you*, he find out you left Will an' Elizabeth. Speakin' o' which, what made ye' do a daft thing like that?"
I don't blink, "I wanted to find my father."
Anamaria's question was only half-joking, but now her face is deadly serious, "Now, ya' know Jack did possibly the best thing he's ever done, takin' ye' to the Turners, lettin' 'em raise ye' proper-"
"I was miserable there," I cut her off firmly.
Anamaria regards me for a moment before saying, "Stands ta' reason, what Sparrow *would* be comfortable land-bound?" She settles back in her chair, "So, I assume ye' want me ta' take ye' to him, then, eh?"
"Be grand of ya'."
All kind of emotions have been flitting across Anamaria's face throughout the conversation, quite few of them I can truly decipher. The one she wears now joins the majority, "I don't know. No offense, but I doubt he'd be overjoyed ta' see ya', girl, after everything dat's happened..."
"Do ye' truly think ye' can stop me?" I ask, honestly curious to hear the answer.
Anamaria frowns deeply, "Could kill ya'."
"Sure you could," I reply as if pacifying a child, and watch a few more unfathomable emotions glide like sharks under her surface anger.
"Don't test me, Swallow," she quite literally growls, and I get a glint of the lightning-quick adversary from the alley.
But for now I choose to disregard the warning, "Might I inquire as ta' why ye' keep callin' me Swallow?"
"Not a question fer me ta' answer, 'm 'fraid," she says quickly.
"I suppose there's only one person who *can* answer it, eh?"
"Possibly."
"Well, then it's simply too bad I'll never know, isn't it? 'S probably a great story, full o' my true origins an' whatnot. Certainly help me sleep better, knowin' it. Quite a shame, really..."
I'm beginning to notice the subtle differences in people that can lead to one's benefit; little chinks in seemingly impenetrable armor that, when properly taken advantage of, can yield all kinds of possibilities. The piratess was cagey as a clam throughout my understated attack, but it seems a good old-fashioned guilt trip is what did Anamaria in- starting with being given free reign of the ship, along with my gang. Anamaria doesn't look at all surprised by my entourage; instead she chuckles slightly and asks exactly how long I've been a captain. I gaze at her in confusion.
"You well on yer way, little Swallow. Got a crew o' yer own already." She puts a hand on my shoulder, "Jack'd be proud."
I surprise even myself as my face reddens and I study the ship's deck. I never thought about my boys and me like that before, but I see she's right. We're pirates alright; we simply haven't got a boat yet. Smiling warmly at her, I join my crew as we settle in on Anamaria's ship, the Red Osprey.
I try to relax on the Osprey, but I know it's no good, not when I know by heart where our path leads. I've decided if I can't unwind, I might as well get to know one of my father's closest allies. I find we have more in common than even I could have guessed, and we find plenty to talk about. Anamaria is kind enough to divulge the path our ship will take, which ends at a speck of an island no bigger than a thumbnail on the map. She reveals to me that she has been a rum runner for this part of the Caribbean since... Here she trails off, still unwilling to share exactly what ended her days as Captain Jack Sparrow's first mate.
"The only piratin' I do anymore is ta' protect the island," she says, "An' Jack," she adds and I can see she instantly regrets it. I recognize her wince as the one I gave Faulkner when I nearly let go of *my* secret.
I show her no more mercy than he did, "An' the great Captain Jack Sparrow would need protectin', would he?"
To my surprise, Anamaria doesn't transform into a steel vault. She sighs tiredly and slumps in her seat, as if her muscles have given way. "I suppose I should give ya' fair warning," she muses quietly.
"Fair warning?" I hate the quiver in my voice. How can I care so much about someone I haven't even met to nearly dissolve into tears at the slightest mention of bad news?
Anamaria meets my eyes, and I see hers are filled with sorrow, "The reason Jack quit is because his luck ran out one day."
Will's stories of Jack's perilous deeds run in a blur past my mind's eye. "That's some kinda luck ta' run out of," I murmur as my mind whirls with endless, horrible possibilities of what she could mean.
"The worst," Anamaria solemnly agrees, "He was left blind by it, Guinevere."
My gut feels like it's turned to stone. I can hardly breathe. I think of every possible scenario I dreamed up of our first meeting, my father and I. Needless to say, none of them include the fact that he won't be able to see my face.
Anamaria puts a hand on my limp one lying on the table we sit at and continues, "He told us all, his crew of the Black Pearl, that we were ta' go ashore an' make our own lives. He swore us all ta' secrecy, we were not ta' breathe a word o' him or his whereabouts, an' we were ta' make certain no one else did. It took a while, but I managed to convince him ta' live at one o' the checkpoints in me new rum runnin' route. Wid every shipment I deliver any news, do my business- just make sure he's as comfortable as possible. Hasn't been easy, I been wonderin' how he may react ta' yer arrival."
"How long do we have 'til we get there?"
"Not long, Swallow. Fair warning, like I said. I don't want you goin' to him unprepared." Anamaria stands up, "I'll let ya' think on it, see if ya' change yer mind."
Just like that, I'm left to my own thoughts. It's a long while before I leave that table.
Morning dawns sweet and clear and the Red Osprey weighs anchor in a charming lagoon on the coast of Jack's island. I stand at the rail, gazing in mute fear at my tropical surroundings. I'm tempted to wake my crew, or at least Pete, for moral support, but I don't. No, if there is anything I have to do alone in my life, this is it.
"Ye' don't have to go, Guinevere. Ya' know that," I hear Anamaria's Caribbean/English accent behind me.
"Of course I do, Anamaria. I sure as hell didn't come all this way ta' turn coward now. If I can't face this, what else can't I face?"
"Ye' never know how far ye' can go 'til ye' go there."
"'S damn right."
"Well, I won't abandon ya' yet, Swallow. Come, we take the first boat to the island."
Yippee, I think, my mind's voice thick as petrified wood with sarcasm. The bitter thought reminds me of how I felt in the house of Turner, and I'm deeply saddened by it. Of all the times to feel resentful and morose, this is NOT one of them. I should be humming with excitement, but I only feel apprehension. Our boat runs aground, and Anamaria and I leave the crew to their jobs of unloading crates of illegal rum onto the beach. Apprehension digs in now as she leads me into the lush foliage of the island, sand becoming brown-streaked with dirt beneath our feet. After what seems like hours but could only be minutes, I see a simple cottage among the greenery, little more than a hut. It's unpainted, and the gray wood looks mossy. There is a small, sand-covered porch in front with a chair. A man is sitting in that chair, polishing with a rag a cutlass on his lap. His eyes are closed.
"Jack," Anamaria calls to the man as we near him.
His head rises in our direction and his closed eyes open slightly. I can see that whatever their color they are obscured by a milky fog of blindness. The rest of his face, which is surrounded by a thatch of dark gray hair, shows the years like badges of honor, including the scars around his sightless eyes. He licks his lips and says, "Anamaria. Fine day fer a visit, ya' think? An' who's yer friend?"
"Beggin' pardon, sir," I announce my presence once I've worked enough spit into my mouth.
"Aye," he says. He regards me- or I guess my voice as he stands up from the chair and lays the spotless cutlass against the cottage's wall, "and what ye' be wantin', eh, lass?"
This catches me by surprise, but I stick to the plan I scraped together at the table, if slightly adjusted. I have to remember, this is Jack Sparrow I'm dealing with. My voice is tremulous as I say, "H-how did you know I was a girl?" I blink wide eyes at the man even though I know he can't see them.
He, with the ease of years' experience, leans back slightly and gifts me with a perfectly executed, gold-gilded smirk. I suddenly find myself wondering if MY smirk is anything to compare to it, and know I'll soon find out as the words glide from his mouth, "Because, luv, I'm Captain Jack Sparrow, an-" He freezes mid-boast, plays back his words in his mind, and then squints with suspicion. "Who are you?"
I ignore Anamaria's snort, and introduce myself, "Some call me Gawain Burns." I'm feeling much better now than I did aboard the Osprey, at least good enough to do some bragging, "Ye' may've heard tell o' me."
Jack's face is inscrutable as he says bluntly, "Nope, never heard o' ya'." I continue to grin, unswayed by his quick attempt to stunt my arrogance. No luck there, Captain, this isn't some wharf rat you're toying with. "Now, tell us yer true name, eh? The one yer parents gave ye'?"
Moment of truth time already? I drop any pretense of jocularity and fix a gaze on the Captain. He's still in a joking mood, now that I can see them, his cloudy eyes dance with it, but I know that won't last long. "My parents, ya' say? Well, if ye' must know, they didn't give me my name."
"Ye' don't say," Jack murmurs as his face smoothes as much as the wrinkles allow into cool solemnity. He's a quick one, blind or no, and no one can tell me otherwise.
"Aye," I continue, "In fact, I don't rightly know who gave me my name. What I be wantin' here, to answer your earlier question, is to find out. And I think you can tell me."
Jack recoils from me as only he can, by standing very still, his stance screaming with caution. His voice is a ruddy mix of hope and dread as he murmurs, "Guinevere?"
I allow a small lip quirk before bowing once more then looking him straight in his eyes, a murky reflection of my own mossy brown, "The one an' only, at yer service, *Captain* Jack Sparrow."
"Interesting."
"Very interesting."
A/N: There, it's done. The moment you've all been waiting for. It meet your collective standards? Won't know if you don't tell me... To reviewers:
Meaghan1: Newbie! Glad you've enjoyed so far. It's no fair, though. You only had to wait- what? One chapter? - before the great big question was finally answered. I got folks been waiting since the very beginning for me to give up a secret or two. Well, count your blessings, hon, and keep reading.
PED-sarah: To tell the truth, I have no idea what Stanton would say, if he found out. And about the title, I kinda had to veer off course of that particular plot to reunite Jack and Guinevere, hope you don't mind. By next chapter or two, we should be getting back on track with that. Finally, sweetheart, in case you haven't noticed yet, I'm ALL ABOUT the secrets and amusing twists. I doubt you'll find a story of mine without at least one.
Calex: I think my favorite cool word of all time has gotta be mellifluous. Isn't it great? I think so. Anyways, hope this chapter was to your liking. Don't worry, I've still got a mystery or two up my sleeve, this wasn't the biggie you probably think it was. Keep reading!
Fire Pixie: Mix-up? Uh, okay, apology accepted ^^. Glad you're glad the boys are back, you didn't really think I'd leave 'em out, did ya'? Well, I bet you feel like Ms. Silly now. LALE, huh? To be honest, not really looking for an ego bruiser, more like something along the lines of an air pump. Know anybody that's good for that? Keep reading, this isn't the ultimate climax it seems.
Autumn: A thousand thanks for the compliments, hope you've enjoyed this chapter. As for "Quest of Wingchild"- aw, you poor thing. I hate to tell you this, but Lin and the gang will have to wait for Guinevere and *her* gang to finish up. And then there's my Artemis Fowl fic to take care of... All in all, "Quest of Wingchild" is about third on my list of things to finish. Sorry, but them's the breaks, kid. Hey, at least you've got "Mermaid's Ransom" to keep you company and, who knows, maybe your lovely review will spark a hint of inspiration in a Wingchild-like direction.