Will stared at the paper in disbelief. This discovery left him destitute of breath as he gripped the edge of the bow-legged Queen Anne table to keep from toppling over like Montebello had been so prompt to do. Will read the words aloud, hoping the sound of them on his lips would dispel the cloud of bewilderment and bring some solid answers into sharp relief.
"Gillette," he softly echoed the last word as he brushed a finger across its darkened letters. "It can't be."
"What can't be?" Jack's gruff voice asked, as the cabin door swung open. Wearing little more than a wicked grin and a towel draped across his tanned shoulders, Jack stretched out across his freshly stolen chintz settee.
Will tossed a sidelong glance over his shoulder. "Oh, for the love of decency, Jack!" He grew red in the face as he caught sight of the naked pirate.
Jack, who found nothing even the slightest bit offensive or indecent about his present state of undress, clucked in protest. "Well, fine manners ye've got there, young Turner. You insult a man's sense of fashion in his very own quarters? Have ye no shame?"
"Have you?" Will bit off, then awkwardly averted his eyes. "J-Just cover up, will you? I can't think with you waving that... thing all over the place."
"Don't say I never did anythin' for ye," grumbled Jack. Rifling through his armoire, the pirate compromised with a pair of crimson breeches and a white linen shirt he had stolen from the less garish drawer of Briault's wardrobe. His own clothes, hung up on a line next to the fire, were still soaked to the lining with Eau de Jacques. "What's got ye in such a tizzy anyway, boy?" Jack cried as he shrugged the shirt over his head.
Will listlessly motioned to the map, then to the man unconscious on the floor.
"Ah, see? I knew ye two would get along famously." Jack chuckled to himself, and then settled into a seat across the mahogany table from Will. His eyes grew wide as he spied the charred ruin that was once a map, but the hidden script quickly caught his attention. After a weighty silence, he sighed. "Oh, dear."
"Oh dear?" Will spat in frustration. "Oh dear! Is that all you've got to say? I don't know what the hell your dear old friend got us into, but I don't like it one damn bit."
Jack was a bit incredulous. Will must have meant business, for he managed to swear not once, but twice in one breath. "Calm down, mate. I'm sure there's a logical an' sound explanation for all of this. Who's this Andre Gillette fellow the letter mentions?"
"I can only assume Lieutenant Gillette, what with the mention of the Dauntless bit a line above his name." Will grunted, his eyes dark as he stared at the flickering. "That bastard came to my wedding, Jack. He kissed Elizabeth's hand, and I let him.
"That fellow?" Jack quirked a brow. "Now that ye mention it, I never did like him. Always had an ill-favored look about him, like he knew he was up to no good."
Will laughed scornfully, his voice raw with emotion. "Peculiar words coming from a man who lies, cheats and steals for a living."
"I'm a one man crime wave, I am," chuckled Jack. "But really, piracy and espionage are worlds apart, my boy. I may lie, cheat an' steal, but it just ain't very sportin' to kill a man in cold-blood."
"You seemed to have no misgivings against it." Will admonished.
"I, uh... Oh, yes." Jack withdrew a bit into his chair, as if he were a child caught in a grand fib. "Well, there was that one time. But in my defense, mate, the man was already dead when I shot 'im."
Will just shrugged, for he could hardly refute what he had seen with his own eyes.
A comfortable silence settled between the two men as Will and Jack rifled through a recently 'acquired' box of cigarros Cubanos, a treat he had never had the pleasure of indulging in before. After lighting the end like he had witnessed countless high-toned gentlemen do, he gave it a few experimental puffs and kicked back in his chair, propping his feet on the table. Montebello, still little more than an unconscious puddle of gray corduroy under the table, began to snore softly, but otherwise refused to contribute to the conversation.
"We have to give the letter to Governor Swann." Will shattered the silence with his sudden declaration. "Immediately."
"The Governor?" Jack coughed, swallowing a burning mouthful of cigar smoke in the process. "Oh, what would Swann do, anyhow? He's little more than a puppet figurehead these days. Smile, nod, sign this paper, have dinner with the Minister of This-an'-Such and the Governor of Where-Ever-the-Hell. You know as well as I, our dear Commodore Norrington is the one whose pullin' the strings 'round Fort Charles. And he'd sooner hang us than believe his second in command was a spy for the bloody Bourbons."
"Then if not Governor Swann, someone higher up." Will's face lit up as he leaned forward in his chair. "King George! Surely he could-"
"He could." Jack interrupted. "But he won't. Least, not soon enough. Ye want to know what I think we oughta do?" Before Will could squeak out a no, he elaborated with a dark twinkle in his. "We take care of Gillette ourselves."
"Absolutely not, Jack!" Will hissed through gritted teeth. "A traitor he may be, but he's trained just like any sailor in the King's Navy. And we haven't any more evidence than this single letter to support our claims. Its barely enough to spark a formal inquiry against him.
"Then, what say you, we make a formal inquiry of our own. Briault was the one haulin' this stuff around ta begin with. Surely he can shed a little light on our predicament." Jack snuffed out his stub of a cigar on the tabletop (finish be damned) and pushed himself out of his chair.
It was time for another trip to the brig.
Jack woke Briault up with a swift kick to the knee that inspired a colourful string of insults that no language barrier could obscure. Even mild-mannered Will Turner took a few pot shots at the Frenchman, feeling frustrated and altogether betrayed. The thought that he and Elizabeth had been residing in the midst of a villainous traitor all these years chilled him to the bone. Fortunately, Briault began blubbering in a manner most unfashionable of a man of his station when droplets of blood from his broken nose (likely only fractured, Gibbs announced upon later examination) began to stain his soiled shirt. "Please! I surrender! I surrender!"
"Tell us what you know of Gillette!" Will barked as he caught a handful of the Frenchman's cravat and hauled him to his feet.
"Who? I know no Gillette, I swear to you." Briault shook his head fervently, his façade cracking under pressure. "Who is this Gillette? I know no Gillette."
"No time to be tellin' fibs now, Jacques." Jack shoved a grubby accusing finger in his counterpart's face. "Who's mail have ye been haulin' around? Playin' messenger boy fer Louis the... what are they up ta now, thirteenth?"
"Fifteenth," Briault blurted out, but recoiled as he quickly realized his folly.
The correction was confirmation enough for Jack. "So King Louis sends ye out ta piddle about the West Indies with a brigandine fulla parcels, no doubt of a sensitive nature. I've gotta say this, Jacques, my boy. I was mighty disappointed to find not a drop of rum in yer hull. Not a one. Fine ship though."
"My ship! What have you done with her, you wretch!" He bawled and lamented for his ship as if he lost the love of his life. "If I find so much as a scratch on her, there will be hell to pay, Sparrow."
Jack placed his hand over his heart in a grand gesture. "Not a blemish on her, I swear. I'm sure Anamaria will keep 'er fit and shiny. A fine Captain she'll make."
It took a moment for shock to register on Briault's face. "Y-you gave my ship to a woman? A woman? How dare you use my ship to dote upon some floozy, as if it were your own to give! I will see you hung for this, Sparrow, if I must tie the rope around your neck and choke the life from you myself!"
In a quick fluid motion, Jack retrieved a cleverly concealed flintlock pistol from his right boot and held it against Briault's temple. "I dare you to say that one more time."
Will, who had been content to stick to the background, was but seconds away from interjecting. He didn't like the way this was going, not one bit.
The irate Frenchman froze, and his stern countenance quickly melted into a guilty nervous smile. "I retract my words. You have my greatest apologies, mon Capitaine. My deepest apologies. What is it you English say? Do not shoot ze messenger." Briault shrugged, palms facing up in an admission of defeat as he tried to weasel his way out.
"This is yer last chance to come clean. All or nothin'." Jack withdrew the pistol from Briault's temple, but kept his finger on the trigger as a lingering threat. "What was in those crates?"
"Monsieur Sparrow, I assure you I am just as uninformed as you. I would be a liability to my self and the crown if I had even the barest knowledge of what it is that I am shipping. I ask no questions. I receive no answers. I provide my King with an utmost manner of discretion, and for that, I am well compensated."
"I would hardly consider anythin' about you discreet, Captain." Jack scoffed. Briault's tattered silk waistcoat, despite the dingy dust, was still an eye watering shade of green. "You couldn't be more discreet if you wore a flippin' bullseye on yer back."
"I only tell you what I know, mon Capitaine." Briault clasped his hands together, and held them to his chest. "Please, I know no more. Je ne sais plus."
He knew no more. And they left it at that.
Upon returning to the cabin, both men fairly exhausted from the physical exertion and excitement of being up a froggie and the lateness of the hour, they were most surprised to find Montebello mulling about the cabin, rifling through a trunk beneath Jack's hammock."Find anythin' interestin', Monty?" Jack's voice cracked across the empty room, and Montebello damn near shot clear to the ceiling.
"Curse you. Don't sneak up on me like that!" cried Montebello as he kicked the trunk closed and then turned to his companions. "I've got a splitting headache. Tell me you've got something other than rum. Anything."
"Water." Jack suggested, with a point to the sea outside.
"Fat lot of help you are, Sparrow," grumbled Montebello as he claimed Jack's chintz settee and cradled his head in his hands. "I assume from all the whimpering and sniveling I heard, you paid Monsieur Briault a visit?"
Balling his fists to display an impressive set of bloodied knuckles, Jack nodded. "A visit of tha best kind."
"Gads." He inspected Jack's knuckles with a sneer. "No need to go to such Draconian measures with that fellow. I imagine if you merely threatened to step upon his favourite hat, he would squeal like a schoolgirl."
"Aww, but where's tha pleasure in that?"
Waving at the bloodied knuckles dismissively, Montebello asked, "Well, what did you manage to pummel from Monsieur Briault?"
"Nothing of much help," confessed Will as he collapsed in an lush velvet-lined chair he could have sworn he'd seen on the Atropos but days earlier. "He doesn't know what was in the letter, or whom it was sent from nor to."
"Think he's lying?" The question was directed at Jack.
"Oh, he's not lyin'. Ya should have seen it, mate. He was this close," Jack pinched his thumb and forefinger together, "to pissin' his breeches. This close."
"Your powers of intimidation are unsurpassed." Montebello rolled his eyes, before continuing. "I'm not surprised to hear he's unawares of what he's been shipping around the Atlantic. One must wonder exactly when he abandoned the rum running in favour of playing errand boy to the Cabinet noir."
"Cabinet noir? Whuzzat?"
Montebello cleared his throat. "French for 'Black Chamber'. They're as obscure as they name suggests. The Cabinet noir is an institution, albeit one that the French government loathes to speak of, that combs through every last letter, parcel and shipment sent through their post. Cryptographers and military men fill out their ranks, so Briault, being neither, has likely never risen to anything more commendable than 'Obedient Lackey'."
"Oh." They sighed in union. Then Will asked. "But what are they doing out here then?"
"That's what I've been wondering myself, Turner. They're chiefly concerned with domestic affairs, rarely, if at all, venturing outside of Europe. There's something right peculiar about all this. That note... it was just sloppy."
"It was jus' half burnt, that's what it was." Jack grunted under his breath.
"Well, I suppose we have no option now, if we want the truth. We sail for Tobago in the morning." Montebello declared.
Jack shot up from his chair. "Tossin' about orders on my ship? Yer mama taught ya better'n that, Monty. Plus, whadda we need to go to Tobago anyhow? Me crew's dismantled the crates beyond all recognition. No one in their right mind would shell out a piece o' eight for that sad lot'a scrap wood."
"They don't have to know that. A box is a box is a box."
"Do we hafta?" the pirate whined, rolling his eyes heavenward.
"Think about it, Jack." Montebello tossed a conspiratorial smirk at him. "The only thing the British crown holds in a lesser regard than a pirate is a spy. I'd think, no, I know presenting a handful of French spies to the King on a silver platter would be a task so worthy of gratitude that it could completely clear your transgressions against the crown. You could become a modern-day Frances Drake."
"Sir Jack Sparrow." Jack whispered, the name dripping off his tongue like honey. "Captain Sir Jonathon Augustus Sparrow the Third. Now that's more like it."
Will and Montebello exchanged curious glances. Will mouthed "Augustus?" Montebello just shrugged and countered by mouthing "The Third?"
"Right then." Jack slapped his knee, breaking from his knighthood-induced reverie. "We sail in the morning, eight bell. For..." he coughed, "Tobago."
And so that night, they drank a toast to their new adversary. To la Belle France.
Author's note: A shiny new piece of eight for the first person to spot a Fast Show reference! Johnny Depp snuck one in the movie ("And then they made me their chief.") and I could not resist the temptation myself. And once again, reviews and comments would be much appreciated. And anyone with any questions about any historical references, feel free to shoot me an email and I'd be more than happy to clarify anything.