Chapter 6 - Tortuga Day and Night

Tortuga dockside was dedicated to providing everything a returning sailor had been dreaming of, which meant that whores, cheap drink and a place to flop between sessions of whoring and drinking pretty much covered the facilities on offer. Jack strolled through the crowded streets, trying to stay out of the overflowing mess of the gutters and keeping an amused eye on his companion. Norrington walked beside him, his face a rigid mask of disgust. He looked so forbidding that even the most optimistic girls tried their luck elsewhere, which generally meant Jack.

"Not me love, I've business to see to" he smiled as he turned down another pouting doxy.

"Later then?"

"Who knows love, maybe it is my lucky night" he gave her a small bow and swaggered on.

"Charming company you keep, Sparrow"

"It never hurts to be nice Commodore. It may come in handy some day" he replied. The fewer girls in Tortuga who wanted to slap his face, the better.

They had been walking steadily uphill, away from the docks. The further they got, the broader, cleaner and emptier the streets became. After ten minutes walk, the district they were in could have passed for any of the poorest parts of Port Royal. Another five minutes and the street was neatly cobbled and lined with trees, which provided a welcome shade for their path. The houses were large, freshly whitewashed and looked expensively fitted out. Norrington looked about with surprise.

"Didn't think there were any fancy bits to Tortuga did you?"

"No. Why on earth would anyone live here who can afford to be anywhere else?"

"Well, some of 'em have a small matter of a death warrant or three, but mostly they live here because they own all the bits of Tortuga that Tortuga is famous for." When all was said and done, Tortuga worked just like everywhere else. Who ever heard of a landlord that lived in his own slum?

"Where are you taking me?"

"I told you. I know a safe place where you can stay. Right here, in fact" replied Jack, leading the way up a straight path made of crushed shells.

Instead of going to the front door, Jack led the way down the side of the house. The sound of swords clashing was coming from the yard at the back. Jack reached the yard and stopped to watch.

Will Turner, the finest swordsmith, and arguably finest swordsman, in the Caribbean was giving his wife her daily lesson. He had, Jack knew, been quite reluctant at first to teach Elizabeth swordplay, but it seemed that the lass could be most persuasive when she had a mind. And of course, once he was committed to something, Will would be most conscientious in pursuit of it.

Elizabeth was clad in a simple shirt and breeches, which seemed to fit her very well indeed. All this exercise she was getting had certainly done her no harm. Her hair was tied back in a plain braid and her face was slightly flushed from her exertions. Very nice.

Norrington made a move, obviously about to call attention to himself. Jack put out a hand to stop him.

"We should keep quiet. Dangerous to interrupt when they're concentrating" he whispered. It was perfectly true that a momentary lapse in attention could be dangerous, even in a practice bout, but he also wasn't averse to standing and watching Will and Elizabeth battle it out to the finish. Was she that trim when we were on the island together?

Elizabeth was fighting valiantly - she had reached a standard that would make her more than a match for most locals, whose knowledge of swords was limited to which end to stick in the other man. Will however was a master and when he decided to press an attack Elizabeth was forced to steadily give ground. Jack watched with interest as Will forced his wife back, pace after pace until her shoulders were pressed against the stone wall of the yard. A practised flick of his sword sent her weapon spinning from her hand. Will moved in and grasped her wrists, pressing them lightly against the stones. Elizabeth stood looking up at him, a slight smile on her face, gaze locked with his. He moved even closer, crushing her body against the wall with his own.

Norrington coughed loudly. Bloody spoilsport thought Jack.

Will turned his head for a moment and saw that it was Jack. He grinned then turned back to his wife. Dropping his sword with a clatter, he bent his head and pressed his lips to hers. After a moment he released her right hand and she slipped her arm over his shoulder, hand at the back of his head, fingers twining through his soft brown curls. Will's free hand ran lightly over her ribs, coming to rest on her hip, pulling her forward, tighter against his own body.

Jack stood there and watched, grinning in frank enjoyment. Looks like he's got over that problem with wooing her anyway. Norrington looked as though he was about to collapse with shock at the indecency of the pair.

The kiss lasted quite some time but eventually the couple separated and turned their attention to the visitors. Both of them seemed rather more flushed from the romance than from the swordplay.

"Jack, it's wonderful to see you. Did the Pearl have a good voyage?" Will's opening pleasantries were interrupted by Elizabeth.

"Commodore?" She gasped, staring at Norrington.

Jack returned to the Pearl that evening, feeling thoroughly content with life. He had settled the Commodore with the Turners, so that was one problem he was well shot of. Will and Elizabeth had insisted he stay for dinner, which had turned out to be a truly magnificent meal, complete with fine imported wines that had driven any thought of the waterfront dives from his mind. They were doing well for themselves those two - there was a great demand for Will's swords in Tortuga , and no one cared about any supposed difference in social standing between the pair of them. Yes, they were far happier here than they had been in Port Royal.

He stepped onto the Pearl's deck, and paused for a moment to give the railing a friendly pat. I'm home love. Humming tunelessly and feeling pleasantly light-headed from the wine, he headed into his cabin.

Even before he lit the lamp, he knew she was there. There was a subtle fragrance that hung about her, from the herbs she used to keep the moths from her clothes chest and the pomade she used to dress her hair. As the flame caught, he saw her, standing a couple of feet away. The golden light touched her cheekbones with copper and revealed deep bronze glints in her hair. She was so beautiful.

"Ana" she stopped him, stepping close and placing a single finger on his lips. He caught his breath for a moment, then kissed her fingertip, very softly, keeping his eyes on her face all the while. She smiled and let the finger trace over the line of his lips, moving up to caress his cheek. He leant his head into the touch like a cat begging to be stroked. Her hand stole from his cheek to tangle its fingers in his long hair, then she pulled his head down to meet her upturned lips.

His arms slid around her holding her tight against his chest. Breaking the kiss at last he let his lips run a trail of kisses down the side of her neck, coming to rest at the open collar of her plain cotton shirt. He nuzzled there against her collarbone for a moment, drinking in the warmth of her, the scent. Her hand tugged insistently at his hair, demanding another kiss, which he was only too ready to deliver. He felt her pluck the hat from his head and heard it hit the floor as it went spinning into the shadows. He grinned, then stooped and swept her up into his arms.

"Jack!" she said, glaring at him, half angry, half laughing. She would have carried on talking but he kissed her again to silence her. She was a strong woman, but not very heavy for all that. He whirled her around recklessly, laughing as her foot caught a stack of papers and sent the fluttering to the floor.

"Put me down you fool" she gasped as she freed her lips from his from a moment.

"Whatever you say darling" he responded , depositing her carefully on the bunk. He kicked off his boots and shrugged out of his long coat, then lay down beside her, squashed enticingly against her body by the narrowness of the space. His hand found her waist and slipped up under her shirt, caressing the warm smoothness of her back, pausing to explore a tiny ridged scar where a sailor had caught her with a knife the year before. She sighed and shifted a little, encouraging him to continue stroking her. Her hand was working at the buttons of his shirt. He growled contentedly as her fingers stole beneath the cloth to stroke his chest.

I love it when she forgives me, he thought.