Quick recap seeing as it's been so long since the last post….
Psst, you don't (as in DO NOT) need to read this bit if you've read the story so far, THE STORY SO FAR (ahem… Sloan is the bad guy who killed Jack's friend and Jack has discovered that Sloan is selling bodies to someone and seeing as this is Port Royal business and none of Jack's business he decides Norrington would be best to deal the whole justice thing but Sloan has kidnapped Anamaria and sold her to evil doctors who want cadavers to work on because Sloan thinks Anamaria is pregnant but Anamaria isn't pregnant Elizabeth is pregnant but Elizabeth is too daft to tell Will and Will is too daft to know on his own and so Jack meets with Sloan (Jack not knowing Anamaria was kidnapped) and Norrington follows and Sloan knows that Norrington followed even though Jack does not know Norrington followed and Sloan thinks Jack did know that Norrington followed and so Sloan is mad and tells Jack he kidnapped Anamaria cause she is pregnant and the doctors paid extra for a fresh pregnant cadaver and Jack is a little shocked at hearing that Anamaria is pregnant and possibly dead but he doesn't really believe she is pregnant or dead because Jack would know wouldn't he and why wouldn't Anamaria tell him she was pregnant and so Sloan tries to slit Jack's throat for revenge on Jack bringing Norrington around but Jack blocks the knife with his hand and has his hand cut deeply cut and there is lots of blood and Norrington in a moment of weakness takes Jack to a public surgeon rather than the jail and the surgeon stitches Jack's hand but Jack has lost some feeling in that hand and there is the question of infection and all that lovely stuff and also there is the question of possibly losing the hand cause it was such a DEEP cut and the main artery and possibly the nerve for the hand were cut too and if the fingers were without blood supply for too long the tissue will die but there is hope because there are other arteries that can take over for circulation so long as things start healing properly and so Jack gets patched up and wants to rescue Anamaria and Will comes with him because it is Jack's sword hand that is injured and Jack can not hold a sword and seeing as Jack doesn't look like a young wealthy doctor and Will might be able to pass as one …) *author faints from saying all that in one breath*
Chapter Six, Pirates Honour!
There comes a time in a man's life when he must come to terms with the fact that nothing is ever going to change. You are who you are, and that is who you are going to be for the rest of your bloody life.
Maybe it'll happen once or twice that you'll have an adventure and life will become worthwhile for that slip of time. Nevertheless, things go back to the way they were. Your thoughts drift back to the mundane equations of every day life. How many pence for that, how am I going to pay for this? What goods can I expect to appropriate from what ship? It's all the same no matter who you are. Except for maybe the last bit …
Life is spent collecting things, memories, sights, places, and people. Life is spent hoping that maybe it'll be the next treasure found that makes the difference.
That was what Jack found in Anamaria. She made the difference in his life.
Keeping the things you find is another story all together. People can be stolen just as easily as anything else can, and nothing is forever. You're going to be alone for the rest of your life no matter how many bodies you've got collected around you, cause that's all anybody ever is. Alone.
"Jack?"
The pirate blinked and looked once more at the majestic old building blocking out the sun in front of him. Will Turner stood, looking ridiculous, in a slightly tattered and very outdated doctoring costume lent to him by the public doctor. Jack didn't fare much better in the wardrobe department. Being cast the role of servant, Jack ended up wearing Will Turner's own itchy clothing. It wasn't a good trade, and if any of his crew saw him wandering around in respectable type clothing like this, he'd never hear the end of it.
"You've a thing on yer back." Jack swept his hand just under the collar of Will's jacket and several pieces of ancient mummified moth drifted delicately to the ground. The younger man twisted to inspect what was going on behind him, but didn't quite catch sight of it.
"So, like we agreed then?" Will turned his sight back towards the building in front of him, steeling himself for the mission to come.
"We've only been over 't a million times." Jack sighed, sick already of following the whelp's orders, and who said the whelp could take over anyhow?
"And you will follow my lead?"
"Pirates' honour." Jack nodded and held up his right hand in pledge. The injured hand, but a glove hid the damage nice enough. As soon as they were out of sight of the ruthless hack surgeon the bandages came off, and the sight of the repair work underneath didn't settle any fears. The wound its self reminded him of week old shark bait, and as for the stitching; Jack saw better sewing made by a blind rat catcher.
"We'll find her, Jack." Will assured his friend, and with that, the young man bounded up the steps and entered the school the fragile grace of a lame donkey.
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Anamaria pounded on the door and yelled till her throat turned raw. That didn't work, and it didn't take her long to get bored of it. This would more than likely be where the brute Sloan sold his bodies to, thus meaning she too now fit that category of a body sold. It was a blessing that Jack had been wrong about one thing at least; Sloan didn't do the killing on his own. This left her with ample time to contemplate whatever fate lay before her.
Maybe being killed quick would have been for the best. Being locked in the dark in a room barely big enough to sit down in naturally didn't raise one's spirits. There was nothing else in the room with her, nothing to hasten escape.
Anamaria was not afraid though, she felt only a cold anger burning deep within her, and that gave her strength. The next man to open that door would find out exactly how dangerous a pirate can be.
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It took all of five minutes for Jack to slip away from young Will Turner. No offence to the lad, but really, the whelp would only get in the way. He appreciated the assistance, posing as the servant of a wealthy young doctor-in-training was just the right trick to get him in the building, but the time for play was over.
Jack stuck to the servant halls; the unadorned, unwashed, and unpopulated bowels of the great house. Here he found the storage rooms, and thinking about it, where else would they squirrel away a person? It would have to be somewhere out of the way where no one would think to wander into, where no one would hear the struggles of a person locked up.
Somewhere like here, where they stored old furniture and stained linens. Most of the doors did not sport locks, and only one boasted a lock on a sturdy oak door. Who would bother putting an expensive door on a storage closet? The planning department of this little operation had to be somewhat daft, this door begged to be opened, and Jack was only too happy to oblige the request. Fortunately, the lock on the chain was old and rusted, and needed only a little prodding to coax it free.
The chain noisily rolled out from the metal handle, and he turned the handle.
What happened next was unexpected, though maybe it should have been expected when considering who he anticipated to be on the other side.
The door swung outwards, and sent Jack stumbling backwards by the shear force behind it. Without even a moment's hesitation a crazed banshee flew out of the closet and landed on his chest, fists set and ready to pummel the living daylights out of whoever might be in the way. What kind of evil could he possibly have unleashed… oh wait, it was Anamaria.
"Wait! It's me!" It came out as something as a croak.
The banshee's fists hesitated. "Jack?"
"Yea."
Anamaria got off him and stood up, looking down at the sight of her Captain in the strange clothing. "I didn't recognise ye."
Slow, steady, plodding boot steps make their way towards them, still out of sight but dangerously close to coming around the corner and spoiling the daring rescue. Jack started to rise. It wasn't so easy getting up one handed, more over wrong handed, and his head still swam from its collision with the floor.
He couldn't blame Anamaria for being a might bit impatient with him, what with looming discovery and all. He really, really, tried to keep it in perspective, even as he tried really, really, hard to keep from yelping when she grabbed his hand. The cursed injured hand. In the spirit of being helpful, his ladylove encased that hand in a steely grip, and used it to yank the rest of him to his feet and into the closet.
She meant no ill intent. That was what Jack focused on as fire raced up his arm. He could feel each beat of his heart in the palm of his hand, each beat pounding at the broken skin and the torn threads of stitching. A thousand needles bore deep into his flesh and reminded him just how in fashion hooks seemed to be becoming, and how pleasant it would be to simply not have a hand there to drive him mad like this.
The boot steps passed without stopping.
"You commin?" Outside of the closet again, and never having been all that comfortable with the role of damsel in distress, Anamaria stood with her hands on her hips and toe tapping impatiently for the whole escaping thing to continue.
Through a haze of pain, Jack could only stare up at her in wonder and awe. This was his woman, his first mate, his… the toe tapped the floor a bit harder with every passing moment… he nodded and carefully pushed himself up. Yes, enough with concentrating on how bloody much his hand ached, and on with the escaping. Back in the light, he saw the faint colour of blood through his glove, and made a mental note not to touch anything he didn't want to leave a big red smear on.
"Jack?"
He grinned, not very convincingly, and he could see right away that it made her suspicious. Her eyes travelled the length of his body, examining and considering, and came to rest on his right arm. He took a step back, but not quick enough to escape as she grabbed hold of his right wrist and pull him closer.
"What's with your hand, Jack?"
Blood not only discoloured the leather, but also seemed to be seeping through it.
"Just a scratch is all." Telling lies and half-truths seemed to be the sport of the day. If she could keep from him the pregnancy thing, he could keep from her the wounded hand thing. He pulled free and looked back down the hall. "We were on our way out, remember? I'm guessing there's got to be a back door out of here somewhere."
They continued down the hall. Jack hadn't noticed before, but the halls in this area of the house didn't follow much logic. After turning one corner, then turning right, then down a small staircase, they seemed to be walking through more of a wall then a hall. Light came from cracks and holes in the boards lining either side, and the holes were at exactly the comfortable height to sand and peek through.
"We're on our way out?" Anamaria asked.
"Of coarse." Jack answered and peeked through yet another hole. Whatever room this space led to was empty and dark. Moreover, it smelled strange. Bad strange.
Anamaria didn't seem to catch the bad strange part of the whole atmosphere thing, and she managed to find cracks in the wall forming a door, one little push and she was inside.
He couldn't very well let her go alone. In for a penny in for a pound, he found her so he might as well keep her. The room felt large, and a draft tickled the back of Jack's neck. With the draft came a scent, and now Jack could identify it as a tangy unpleasantly dead scent.
"D'ya have a flint?" Anamaria whispered.
Ignorance is bliss. The death scent all around them really didn't need further investigating, or so Jack believed. He fumbled with his coat and pulled the small flint box out of his pocket. If Anamaria wanted light, she could do the making of it herself. It took her a moment to get it lit, and once it was lit, they saw exactly what crowded around them.
Multiple tables lined the walls. Soiled sheets over top of them covering lumpy shapes, and from under one of these shapes Jack caught sight of exactly what he did not want to be seeing.
A human hand, pale and swollen with long thick-yellowed fingernails, hung off the table with a gnarled finger pointed towards the floor.