Chapter Fix: Bffmmnt!
"Belmont!" Briault cried, but thanks to the scarf and subsequent burlap bag, it came out decidedly more like "Bffmmnt!"
Tossing the most nonchalant look he could muster over his shoulder, Jack cast his eyes on the intruder frozen in the doorway to the cabin. Belmont, still clutching his leather-bound accounts journal and a pair of spectacles shot his nervous eyes between the bag and the pirate. The bag. The pirate. The bag. The pirate.
Will felt his fingers twitch, eager for action but still hesitant to act. Surely the man was little more than an obedient lackey. Will, though quite nervous, was not nearly so jumpy as to slay a plain-clothed civilian. Gibbs on the other hand...
"In or out, man!" Jack pushed off from his knees, and rose to his feet. "I know, for a fact, that you were not born in a barn."
Silence engulfed the party of men. After a drawn-out moment of hestitation, Belmont closed the door behind him in a careful, cool manner. Making sure all the bolts were securely locked, he spun to face the band of pirates. "I..." He swallowed a deep breath as he smoothed out his vest. "I didn't expect to see you until we reached harbor in Kingston."
A perplexed frown washed across Will's face as he stepped forward. "What do you know of Kingston?" He demanded, his sword nearly drawn.
"Bffmmnt!" Briault mumbled again, whipping his head from side to side.
Jack cupped a hand to his ear, and leaned closer to the Frenchman in a bag. "Belmont, you say?" He waited for another muffled grunt before continuing. "Surely you're mistaken, mon Capitaine. That strapping chap over there is none other than me old chum, Montebello. A thief and a charlatan of the noblest kind. Half Italian, half... Spanish?"
"Portuguese." Belmont, or rather, Montebello corrected, squinting through his spectacles at burlap bag with the aloof disposition of a naturalist. "I see my last letter found you well. Always a pleasure." The man's voice had an unmistakable Mediterranean lisp to it.
"Always." Jack presented the man with a flourishing bow before turning to his shock-stricken companions. "May I present to you one of my oldest and dearest chums, Anto-"
Montebello raised his hand to silence Jack. "Is it entirely necessary to toss names about? I've got a king's ransom worth of francs on my head, and no need to have him add a single centime to it."
"Ah, certainly." Jack brushed off his waistcoat as he stood. "Seems you've kept busy since I last saw you in... what was it, Corsica?" Jack tapped a finger against the tip of his nose.
"Cyprus." Montebello corrected once again, and rose to his full height. While he was nearly a full head shorter than Jack, he was a well-built and well-dressed man, with a distinctive diplomatic air about him. He turned his tactful smile to his old friend. "Seems you're getting forgetful in your old age, Sparrow."
Jack smiled lazily. "Like a fine wine."
Montebello inclined his head towards Briault, his near-black eyes narrowing on the bag curiously. "Tell me you've got a plan that consists of something far grander than carrying the man from his own ship, in an old potato sack, at high noon."
Gibbs motioned to the skirts around Briault's bound legs with an open hand. "As ye see, Sir, we've got him dressed to tha nines."
"Rather impossible to miss that fact, my good man." Montebello snorted, the faintest hint of a genuine smile on his lips. "Though I must note, it's markedly similar to his normal attire."
Will's hand on his sword eased. Montebello, while a bit bristling, seemed a competent, sharp-witted and even amiable man. A most fortunate ally in a situation such as this. It left Will much relieved to learn that perhaps Montebello, not Jack, was the mastermind behind this plan. While the infamous Captain Sparrow was certainly a proficient seaman and valiant leader, his plans had the unfortunate habit of going horribly pear-shaped. As to why Will agreed to such a plot, he'd never really know. Perhaps the pints of tafia were to blame, as was usually the case when in the company of said Captain.
"And on such a note, are you sure you wish to continue, Jack?" Montebello pulled the rimmed glasses from his face, casting a surreptitious glower at the man. "While you hold an incontestable likeness to dear Jacques here, his wardrobe has sent many a tailor and sailor screaming into the night."
"Precisely why I plan to continue, mate." Jack gave him a pat on the shoulder as he tightened the tie around Briault's bag, causing the bag to launch into another fit of muffled French curses. "As they say, it's the clothes that make the man. An' certainly no man other than our dear Capitaine here would be caught dead in such apparel."
The bag wiggled in protest.
Casting a disgusted and detached look at the bag, Montebello gave a half-hearted grunt in approval as he moved to the door. "I'll see your men and the captain out, then I've got a few choice words for you, Sparrow."
"Choose them wisely." Jack waggled a brow at the man as he found his way deeper into the Atropos' majestically decorated cabin, fingering every trinket and bobble in plain sight.
Montebello spun to Will, whose expression hadn't changed since the moment he'd stepped in the room. The poor fellow looked beyond baffled at the turn of events, and Montebello couldn't blame him one bit. He nearly pitied the poor lad, who now found himself the timid protégé of a bold captain. He nearly pitied him, but pity was far too often cast by the ignorant. Montebello was far from ignorant. He too had been taken under the very same wing young Will now shrank beneath. That was many long years, hardened wrinkles and thousands of tankards of rum behind him, though.
Briault had somehow managed to wriggle free from his chair and began to flop about the cabin floor like a fish out of water. Gibbs was quick to act, and pounced on the man like a wildcat. Will could not help but crack a smile.
"I'm leaving the Pearl in your charge, Will." Jack called from behind a mahogany desk, his boots propped atop a pile of books. "Or should I say, Captain Turner."
"What?" Will coughed out, narrowing his eyes suspiciously at him. He suspected Jack would never miss the opportunity to make such a joke, no matter how dire the state of affairs may be.
"Rest assured, I don't leave my Pearl in just anyone. She'd never speak to me again if I left her in idle hands." Jack grinned, thumbing the breadth of his mustache.
"B-but Jack," Will shook his head. "I know a good bit about sailing, but not near enough-"
"M'boy," The pirate let out a jaunty laugh. "That's why the Gods blessed us with first mates." His nod indicated to Gibbs who was unsuccessfully grappling with the incensed contents of a burlap bag.
Oh God, Will nearly spoke aloud as he buried his face in his hands.
The first mate looked up, holding one of Briault's legs in an iron-like vice as he sat on the poor man's back with a ridiculous grin on his ruddy face. "Slippery little frog, he is!"
"Gibbsy will show you the ropes." Jack said, rather confidently. "We'll rendezvous in Chocolata Hole Bay by eight bells, in three days time. Keep the Pearl at least half a day behind. I dare not risk her bein' spotted on the horizon. Far too many men aboard this vessel know me ship better than they know me face. In fact, I rely on that holdin' true."
Will nodded, absently, still pondering the weight of his newfound responsibility. Montebello's lips twitched either amusement or annoyance -no one could ever be sure- as he smoothed his crumpled cravat.
"Good? Now, go." Jack waved hurriedly towards the door.
"But..." Will pointed to none too handy Frenchman-in-a-bag. He feared having to explain Jack's absence and Jacques' presence to the crew.
"Keep him in the brig, under watch." The pirate captain grinned, waving a feathered quill in hand like a wand by which to weave his magic. "Don't let him slip above deck. Frogs can swim."
Gibbs tossed the bag over his shoulder, with surprising strength and balance. Even as the bag attempted to wriggle free, he held as strong and steadfast like the experienced seaman he was. Will shot Jack one last defense-shattering puppy dog look, before Montebello corralled him out the front door, barking orders to the idle crew.
"Godspeed, ye magnificent bastard," was Gibbs' final encouragement as he tipped his nonexistent hat to Jack and slipped out the door, a little bounce in his step.
One final puzzled "Bffmmnt?" was the last the handsome Atropos heard of its beloved captain as he was carried into the sweltering Cuban sun.
Author's Note: Leave a review if you've got the time! I really appreciate those I've gotten so far. They're damned encouraging, which comes in handy when you're suffering from a wickedly vicious case of writer's block. (Chapter Nine refuses to cooperate but will be beaten into submission very soon.) As well, if anyone want me to read and review any POTC pieces of theirs, let me know and I'd be more than happy to lend some honest (or dishonest, if that's yer bag) opinions. I'm always looking for new favourites.
And regarding the title of the last chapter 'Mission Improbable', yes, the reference/pun was intended. I get cheesy like that.