Chapter Nine: To Catch a Wink

Hunts Bay, resting to the west of Kingston Harbour, was lifeless and dead in comparison to Port Royale's bustling docks. The still algae-tinted waters settled across the bay as if it were a never-ending plate of stained glass, marred only occasionally by a quarterboat or rowboat. Four strangers accompanied Will and Mr. Gibbs as they stood atop the salt-bleached pier that jutted into the bay. Jack, or rather, Jacques was always a prompt man, one of the more surly looking gentlemen pointed out, whilst tapping his foot impatiently. That was fifteen minutes ago.

The sun beat down against their brows, as there was not a cloud in the sky to shield them. Few words passed between the party of pirates and party of merchants as they shifted uncomfortably in the blazing sun. Gibbs was wearing an ill-fitting brown woolen suit that he wore many years and many stones ago. It had taken nearly half the Pearl's crew and Anamaria's deft sewing hand to get him into it, much to the fabric's protests. Marcus Pullman, a short rotund, red-faced chap with a wispy blond mustache fluttered a fan against his sweat-mopped face, growing more agitated and red with every passing moment. Whereas he was amiable upon their introduction not more than a quarter of an hour earlier, Pullman was noticeably agitated now.

"Mister Turner," the man spoke with a foreign lisp and an accent Will could not place, "You must understand my concern when my most trusted supplier arrives even but minutes late. I am a man of business, and my time means money."

"Yes, Sir." Will bowed his head subserviently as his heart beat irregularly fast in his chest. "I assure you, Captain Briault will arrive and compensate you for your time. He, too, is not an idle man."

Pullman rolled his beady black eyes. "I would most certainly hope not, Mister Turner. I have many customers waiting for this... barley."

Not but five minutes later did the company spot the Atropos round the bay's end, its French colors flying at a modest height. Will hissed a sigh of relief and anguish as the large brigandine nestled into dock. Jack strolled out, dressed in fine silk of gold and teal with an obscenely large feathered hat. Montebello, portraying the very picture of a timid young Londoner followed behind the Captain, piles upon piles of journals and papers bundled arms.

"Ah, Mister Pullman!" Jack would have offered the man a flourishing bow, but feared his hat would cause him to tip over. Instead, he begrudgingly curtsied. "Forgive my lateness, but my bumbling imbecile of a first mate did not show up until the very first signs of dawn!"

Montebello had the good graces to blush for that was not a fabrication of Jack's imagination. He had spent most of the evening with a striking blonde Dutch girl, whose name he had successfully forgotten by morning. Greta? Or was it Gretchen?

The plantation owner, though evidently perturbed, offered a cordial greeting to both the French captain and his first mate. Though within a moment of shaking their hands, it was down to business. "I take it our cargo arrived safely and without difficulty?"

Jack gave Pullman a none-too-subtle knowing wink at the mention of said cargo. "Yes, your cargo," another wink, "is stowed quite safely. If you'd allow my men to retrieve the cargo," yet another wink, "we may part with much haste."

A smug smile settled on the plantation owners face as he signaled two of his able bodied slaves to bring the wagon around as the Atropos' crew began to lower the crates, one by one, onto the dock.

"It's been a pleasure, Captain." No further words passed between the businessmen as Pullman slipped a thick envelope from his jacket and placed it in Jack's.

Notably, the pirate's eyes bulged as he stealthily surveyed the amount of paper money crammed into the small envelope. Roughly four thousand sterling, he surmised. As an ecstatic smile tugged at the corners of his lips, Jack straightened. "Ah, merci, Monsieur Pullman. My felicitations to you and your... cargo." Another barrage of knowing winks followed.

Will, Gibbs and Montebello stood around the brightly dressed Captain, all of them just barely able to control their enthusiasm.

As soon as Pullman and his companions scuttled off into the horizon with their cargo in hand, Will smacked the stupid dapper little hat right off Jack's head. "You idiot! You couldn't have been more subtle, could you?" The blacksmith crossed his arms over his chest, bubbling with previously unspoken quips.

Sneering as he reared back, Jack shrugged. "Whatever do ye mean, boy?"

"All that bloody winking!" Will proceeded to demonstrate, fluttering his lashes at odd intervals. "Had I not known better, I would have thought you had a nervous twitch!"

Jack gave a halfhearted shrug as he tucked the envelope of money (which he had already counted thrice in under a minute) into the liner pocket of his embroidered vest. The Atropos set sail once again, headed for the hidden cove that bore the Black Pearl.

Fulfilling a promise he never intended to keep, Jack handed the Atropos' command to Anamaria as soon as she laid eyes on the impressive brigandine. At hearing such wonderful news, she leapt clear to Jack's shoulders, hugging him for his charity and clawing at him for not doing it earlier.

Each man aboard the Atropos was compensated generously for his time, and Jack saw to it that no crewmember left without a bottle in each hand, or in One Armed Bob's case, two in each hand. A number of the Atropos' crew remained on board, and even few turned on the account to do so.

All was well aboard the Black Pearl, once again. The crew, thought they lamented Anamaria's absense (particularly Gibbs, who had grown fond of the girl as of late), was in particularly high spirits as they sang and bandied about the quarterdeck. Mister Cotton and his parrot danced up a surprisingly coordinated jig as Marty, Ladbroc and Crimp sang a little ditty.

The bottles of rum had been appropriated amongst the crew, and there was much cheer as Jack rose to his feet atop a large barrel and uncorked a bottle. As cheers and grunts of approval from the crowd grew to a feverish pitch, Jack raised the bottle above his head. "Here's to freedom, boys!"

The crowd erupted in cheers as Jack tipped back the bottle, chugging a substantial portion in seconds.

As soon as he pulled the bottle from his lips, the colour drained from Jack's face. His smile wilted into a bewildered grimace and his merrily shining eyes burned with the very flames of hell. The crew had only mere seconds to shield themselves from the fine mist of rum that Jack spew forth as he let out a surprising yelp. "Bloody fuckin' hell!"

Everyone turned around. When Jack says 'fuck', one had to wince. He did not toss around that word so lightly as the others aboard.

Jack stumbled off the barrel, clutching the bottle in his right hand as his still-shaven face scrunched up in indignation. "Is this some sort of bloody joke?" He spun to face Montebello, spitting lividly with each word.

"N-No." Montebello leaned back, cleaning the spittle from his spectacles with the back of his knuckle. "What's gotten into you, man?"

Shaking with a rage no one aboard the Pearl had ever laid witness too before, Jack extended his arm and poured the entire contents of the bottle on the deck (much to Mister Gibbs's dismay) and then tossed it over the side of the ship. "It's water!" Jack bellowed as he rubbed his mouth against his sleeve, as if he has just nipped some turpentine. "It's nothing more than tinted fuckin' water!"

Author's Note: Ah, the plot thickens, eh? Oh, and it gets even more convoluted! Many thanks to those who have reviewed this story so far! I'm quite amazed at the amount and quality of the reviews, and I take every one to heart. I'm also quite pleased (and suprised) to hear someone found this story worthy enough to be mentioned in a journal! Hot diggity damn! Thanks again!