Chapter Five, Buckets of Luck
A lumpy knot of dread squirmed down Gibb's gullet after hearing Jack mention the code. He wasn't so sure when it started to happen, but lately the code went from being a scant semblance of civility in a world which had none, to being something of a obstacle. The almighty code, the pirates creed, a law for the lawless, Gibbs took another swig of ale and stifled a chuckle; one could go on for hours with the poetic descriptions. But one slip of a girl explained it best, when things came down to it, the code was more of a guideline.
Right?
So, when he heard the scuffle starting inside the tavern, Gibbs got up off his arse and moved to help his Captain.
Right?
Not quite. Gibbs did get up off his arse, but not to help. He got out of the way. If there were going to be a bunch of red coats getting involved, then he'd do best to stay quiet and keep an open eye for a bit.
Captain Sparrow was escorted out of the tavern with the aid of two red coats. The men pushed Jack forwards a bit, and that's when Gibb's caught sight of the blood.
Too much blood.
He even came out of his hiding spot behind the building somewhat to get a closer look. No way was he standing back and doing nothing after the sight of that. Was it Jack's blood? Had to be, cause the other prisoner had already been dragged out and down the road, and there'd been no injuries on him.
Blood covered Jack's arm, dripping down and off his fingers into little pools on the ground. Gibbs watched as the Commodore stared at the pirate captain, and then halted his men from taking him farther. That was odd. All set and ready to take action, Gibbs hesitated again. He remembered James Norrington. He remembered a stuffy, stick-up-the-ass-soldier who seemed more mechanical than human.
Right now, his stick-up-the-ass former commanding officer seemed to be escorting a well-known villainous pirate across the road to a… public surgery.
Not exactly, the same James stick-up-the-ass Norrington that Gibbs remembered. Curiosity and concern prodded Gibbs to continue following, and he made it to the door just as the fat doctor cupped a grey cloth over his Captain's face.
"What the hell is going on here?"
Norrington turned slowly to regard the intruder. If there was any recognition, it did not show past the steely look in his eyes. "You are a member of mister…" He looked to the old surgeon meaningfully a moment before continuing. "Smith's rabble I presume."
"I'd be that." Gibbs admitted readily enough.
The doctor lifted one of Jack's eyelids and peered beneath for a moment before continuing with the assessment of his now unconscious patient. He pulled up the injured arm and unwrapped the temporary bandage Norrington had wrapped around the wound. Blood soaked the fabric and yet still continued to flow from the gash in the palm.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Sinking. That was how it felt. In just a single breath, the world slipped through his fingertips and the fog rolled in. Not just any fog, but a dense murky fog, a fog that could be felt, and when you breathed it in, you felt it become a part of you.
Like all things at sea, the fog too held spirit, it knew you, and held you in its mercy until it was ready to let you go.
And Jack was lost in it.
There were so many things that ceased to matter. All the things, (the Black Pearl), and all the people, (Anamaria), they grew in size even as Jack pulled away. Jack Sparrow pirate extraordinaire, lost in the fog he could see clearly how little he mattered. How easy it would be to simply, not be. How tempting it would be. How… comforting to simply stop.
Stop.
"I'm as competent as any o' t' fancy ass surgeons at t' fort. Ask any one o' em if they's ever 'ad twenty men die on their table in one day, as I's bet 'ey'd say no."
The voice tore through the darkness, bringing with it a slice of cold wind that chilled Jack's body to the bone. The wind chased away most of the fog.
"Thank-you for helping him James." This voice Jack recognised. It belonged to the rum-burner, otherwise known as Elizabeth Turner.
Something touched his shoulder, a warm pressure; a hand. "How long before he wakes?"
The whelp was so close that Jack could feel the boy's breath on his cheek. Bloody stupid lot of them were talking like it was over a deathbed for god's sake.
"E's awake now, young Turner." The time came to now open his eyes and accept the inevitable return to the real world. The pirate's attention shifted towards the Commodore standing by the window, the light behind him creating an iridescent backdrop even as it cast the man in comparative darkness.
"Count yourself lucky to be here, Mr. Sparrow, and not in prison."
"Captain." Jack corrected automatically. "And aye, so its luck that's rainin' down in buckets, is it?"
"Luck is that you are not bleeding to death while waiting for a hangman's noose." Norrington countered.
"And I've you to thank for that, I'm sure." Jack pushed himself up, and cautiously rose to his feet. "I've got to find Anamaria."
"I can assure you the matter is being investigated." The Commodore spoke in clipped tones.
"Ye' found Anamaria?" Brief hope flashed in Jack's eyes.
"The situation is more complicated than storming the building Mr Sparrow. The addition of a medical training facility has brought prosperity and respectability to Port Royal. I cannot simply raid the building based on rumours brought by pirates and brigands."
The momentary energy in Jack's eyes died. "Of course, mate. Whatever possessed me t' think the bloody Navy would raise a finger? If it were noblemen being abducted, action would come swift and efficient. But the poor beggars not attendin' the fancy to-do's up at the fort? Might as well not even exist."
"This is not a matter of…" Norrington's words were cut short as Jack lurched towards him.
"S' not a matter at all is what the problem is."
"It is a matter for the Navy to investigate properly. Appropriate protocol must be followed if you wish justice to be served in this matter."
"Ap'ropriate protocol can hang. A member of my crew is in t' care o' those bastards, an you better not expect me t' sit aside and let 'em kill 'er."
"And you can not expect me to allow you to partake in unlawful vigilantism." The Commodore placed his hand on the hilt of his sword, but it was an empty threat because he turned and started walking towards the door, stopping only briefly to make one last statement. "Ensure that whatever you do, it is done quietly, or the next time we meet your luck will not be so kind."
"That went better than I imagined." Jack muttered softly.
Gibbs stood leaning against the wall on the other side of the room. "Good to have you back Capt'n. The Commodore told me about Anamaria, are we goin' after her?"
"Bloody hell yes."
Will picked up Jack's blade and contemplated it thoughtfully. "I'm coming with you."
"No you're not." Jack answered firmly.
Will looked unconcerned by the dismissal and tossed the blade in Jack's direction, knowing the pirate would reach to catch it.
Instinctively Jack reached out to catch his blade right handed, bad mistake. A shock of fire ran up his arm at the contact, and rather than be caught, the blade clattered to the floor.
Things went blurry for a minute. It took time to remember to breathe, and a bit more time after that to find a voice to curse with.
"Ow." The curse didn't come, he couldn't even articulate that much now that he was faced with yet another problem.
"Bloody idiot." The doctor, still in the room yet thus far ignored, yanked Jack's hand up and studied the bandage. "S' barely been an hour and yer 'set t' undo my work." The old man prodded at Jack's fingers a bit flexed and extended them, and then ordered the pirate to make a fist.
The hand was just a hand after all. He had another one did he not? Maybe his left hand wasn't as good at aiming a pistol or swinging a blade, but it would make do in a pinch. And, this qualified as a pinch.
And yet another thing, he reminded himself, having his hand slit was still a much better option than having his throat slit. Agreed? Agreed. Hooks were getting to be fashionable anyhow, and it was about time he thought about adding one to his accessories.
With that out of the way, Jack stood up, blade firmly clasped in his LEFT hand, and levelled it squarely towards the young meddling Turner couple.
"Now, if you'll be so kind as to move out of the way." Jack stepped cautiously past and towards the door. "Doctor, I trust you've got a cloak, or a bag, or something doctory around here somewhere?"
"For what purpose?"
The pirate just grinned. "Just answer the question mate."
The old man grunted and shuffled across the room towards an old chest where he dug out a dusty pile of ancient clothing. "S' all I've got. Back in the day, ye should o' seen me. Ye wouldn't think it to look at me now, but I once served the likes of the wealthiest of the ton in London, I did. Life time ago." He cast a dubious eye towards his patient. "What r' ye thinking o' doin' wit' em?"
Jack lifted the shirt from the top of the pile. "Goin' back to school it would seem."
Despite the seriousness of the situation, Elizabeth couldn't contain herself. The sight was just too much.
Jack Sparrow dressed in a Surgeon's gown stood before them, beads and braids and golden teeth making it more than a little obvious that he was not a young wealthy medical student.
"It's not going to work Jack." She held a hand over her mouth, hiding a grin she could not erase.
"It will work." He insisted.
Will stepped up and lifted one of the surgeon's gowns. "I'll do it."
Silence filled the room as the idea took root. There was no way Jack could pass himself off as a medical student, but Will Turner? The boy's acting skills were akin to that of a wooden board, but that might be exactly what was needed.
It might just get them both right through the front door.
Authors note: Okay, after a brief run of inspiration the well has run dry, and it was only with the help of Jackfan2 that all was not lost in the dust clouds of Writers Block. Gasp!
Please review, it really does help get the waters flowing, cause if it don't start flowing again soon I'll likely die of thirst before this fic is finished.
-A man who views the world the same at fifty as he did at twenty has wasted thirty years of his life. -Muhammad Ali