Disclaimer: see prologue.
Author's note: I've down-rated this fic from R to PG-13 - I don't think it's going to get terribly graphic anywhere. I was probably over-cautious. Many thanks for comments!
----
Chapter 5
The Dauntless arrived in the Upper Pool of London the next morning, slightly battered from the long journey but still every bit as majestic as when she left Port Royal weeks before.
Anamaria was on the quayside to see the Dauntless dock, amongst a crowd that had gathered to watch the marines come ashore, cheering wildly at every red coat. They cheered again when Admiral Norrington, resplendent in dress uniform, appeared on deck. By the quayside, a cart had drawn up, and Anamaria thought she could guess who that was for.
She loitered amongst the Londoners, her hat shading her dark face from being noticed by the sailors, and watched as Jack Sparrow was brought out into the pale English sunshine. He looked thin, and a little gaunt, but he said something to his guard that brought a smile to the marine's face.
They led Sparrow, chained at the wrists, off the ship, to the evident fascination of the crowd. Against the drab dress of those watching, Sparrow looked like some exotic creature - even though his clothes were torn and dirty. He held his head high as he was taken into the cart, and it rattled off towards Newgate.
Anamaria spent the next two days preparing. She loitered outside the gaol for a full five hours, watching people go in and out. She watched the guards, who they allowed in, what bribes they took; she noted the dress and manner of those entering. She walked as far round the perimeter of the prison as she could, examining the high, thick walls and the iron bars on the windows.
On the second day, she went shopping. She had plenty of money both from the Lady Mary and from savings over many years - when she chose to leave the Black Pearl, Jack Sparrow paid her handsomely. So Anamaria was able to select her goods carefully and without too much concern for cost.
The third morning, she dressed in her little room at the 'Dagger' and frowned at herself in her little scrap of mirror. Her hair was combed out, and was now down to her shoulders. Still, that was normal. It was the sensation of the tight bodice around her torso, and the full, flouncy skirt that was wrong. She did not look like Anamaria, the feared pirate of the Black Pearl; and more to the point, she did not feel like her. The days when men had jumped to obey the orders she relayed from Jack Sparrow on the quarterdeck seemed a very long way away.
But she forced herself out of the room and along the street to Newgate. On the way to the gaol, she was on the receiving end of far more catcalls and comments than she had ever heard before.
By the time Anamaria arrived she was seething inside, and hoped that extricating Jack Sparrow would not prove too difficult. She tagged herself on to a group of whores who, in exchange for a few coins from the women and wandering hands on the guards' part, were being allowed into the prison.
Newgate inside was dark and dank. Anamaria followed the other women across a courtyard and through a door. She found herself in a narrow corridor, with the cells on either side filled with prisoners. The place stank, of stale bodies and waste and rotting straw which lined the cells. As she made her way along the corridor, she looked to both sides, searching for Sparrow. By the end of the line of cells, it was clear he was not there, and she paused to speak to a guard.
"I'm looking for a man called Jack Sparrow," said Anamaria.
"Bet y'are," the guard returned, appreciatively examining her.
"A pirate. Here just two days," she persisted.
"Oh, him." The guard nodded. "Thought he already had a lass."
Anamaria paused a split second, taking this in.
"I was told he wanted another," she said, regaining composure.
Leering, the guard picked through his keys. "Don't doubt it," he said. "He's a right queer one, mad, like, you know?"
"Never met him," Anamaria lied, following the guard through a door and down another corridor. "Was just told to come here and ask for him."
The guard paused, and waved towards a cell door ajar a little way down the corridor. "That one. Come and see me when you're done." He grinned at her, lasciviously.
She smiled sweetly at him, before turning and making her way towards the cell. There was a strange noise emanating from the little room - a sort of thumping, interspersed with the sound of chains clanking. Anamaria's lips pursed, and she pulled open the door.
The noise stopped, and two pairs of eyes met hers - one pair blue, and rather annoyed, the other dark, and evidently astonished.
"Who are you?!" the owner of the blue eyes exclaimed, skirts rucked up around her waist and bodice unfastened.
"Anamaria?!" the other said, propping himself up on his elbows.
"Salut, Jack," Anamaria said.
For a few moments everything was chaos, as Jack Sparrow tipped the blue-eyed girl off his lap and adjusted his breeches. Then there was an awkward squeeze at the door, as money changed hands between the pirate and the whore, and the latter tried to get out whilst Anamaria was still standing there. But finally it was just the two of them.
Anamaria stepped forward and hit him, hard, on the face.
"Ow!"
"You deserve it," she pointed out.
"What for?" Sparrow moved backwards and sat down, twitching the long chain which attached him to the cell wall out of the way. "And what the hell are you doing here, Ana? Dressed like that?"
"I expected to find you … well, I did not expect to find you with a woman!" Anamaria said, still furious and not entirely sure why.
"I've got a couple of weeks in this place," Sparrow said, "and I fully intend to get as much pleasure out of 'em as I can. It's not going to be much. Hardly the luxury of Fort Charles, here." He folded his arms. "Still haven't explained your presence, love."
"I …" She sighed, exhausted, suddenly, and without heed for her blue skirts sank on to the straw-covered floor alongside her friend. "We heard about the Pearl," she said. "In Tortuga. I am sorry, Jack."
He shrugged. "Aye. But that don't explain what you're doing in Newgate."
"They said you were to hang." She continued with her tale, raising a brief smile from him as she described Briggs's involvement. But the smile disappeared, and Sparrow listened with uncharacteristic gravity as Anamaria told of her voyage to London and her doings since arrival.
When she concluded, he sighed. "Oh, Ana."
"Quoi?"
"This ain't Port Royal. This is Newgate Gaol. I've no ship at hand to carry us away, even if we could get out of here. And in case you ain't noticed, I'm chained to the bloody wall." He demonstrated, tugging at the chain which was linked to the shackle around his ankle. "In a matter o' days, they'll cart me out of here, take me down to Execution Dock, and I'll swing for the seagulls. Much as I hate to say it, love, I reckon Jack Sparrow's luck's run out."
She glared at him. "You should not say that."
"The Pearl's at the bottom of the Caribbean, Ana. The crew's dead. Even if you could get me out, what've I got to look forward to?"
"You managed ten years without her, once," she said.
"Always knew I'd get her back." His eyes, oddly naked without the kohl lining them, met hers. "She, at least, died the right way. She went down fightin'."
"Then fight!" Anamaria exclaimed, getting up and pacing the three steps across the cell and back. "At least try, Jack. I got in. I am sure we can get you out."
"Hush, love." He sent an expressive look towards the door, still ajar. "Already done too much talking. They hang lasses here, too."
"I am no longer a girl, Jack," she said.
"They hang women, too," he returned. "For God's sake, Ana, just get out, and go home to your nevvie. How old's the lad?"
"Huit ans," she said, thinking of Zac. "Only eight."
"Needs his aunt. Go on."
She dropped belatedly into French, in case of the guard loitering outside. "I have to get you out, Jack. You cannot die like this!"
He closed his eyes, and leaned his head back against the stone wall. "Thanks for coming, love. Safe journey back to Tortuga, eh?"
There was finality in his voice.
Anamaria turned on her heel, and stalked out.
Author's note: I've down-rated this fic from R to PG-13 - I don't think it's going to get terribly graphic anywhere. I was probably over-cautious. Many thanks for comments!
----
Chapter 5
The Dauntless arrived in the Upper Pool of London the next morning, slightly battered from the long journey but still every bit as majestic as when she left Port Royal weeks before.
Anamaria was on the quayside to see the Dauntless dock, amongst a crowd that had gathered to watch the marines come ashore, cheering wildly at every red coat. They cheered again when Admiral Norrington, resplendent in dress uniform, appeared on deck. By the quayside, a cart had drawn up, and Anamaria thought she could guess who that was for.
She loitered amongst the Londoners, her hat shading her dark face from being noticed by the sailors, and watched as Jack Sparrow was brought out into the pale English sunshine. He looked thin, and a little gaunt, but he said something to his guard that brought a smile to the marine's face.
They led Sparrow, chained at the wrists, off the ship, to the evident fascination of the crowd. Against the drab dress of those watching, Sparrow looked like some exotic creature - even though his clothes were torn and dirty. He held his head high as he was taken into the cart, and it rattled off towards Newgate.
Anamaria spent the next two days preparing. She loitered outside the gaol for a full five hours, watching people go in and out. She watched the guards, who they allowed in, what bribes they took; she noted the dress and manner of those entering. She walked as far round the perimeter of the prison as she could, examining the high, thick walls and the iron bars on the windows.
On the second day, she went shopping. She had plenty of money both from the Lady Mary and from savings over many years - when she chose to leave the Black Pearl, Jack Sparrow paid her handsomely. So Anamaria was able to select her goods carefully and without too much concern for cost.
The third morning, she dressed in her little room at the 'Dagger' and frowned at herself in her little scrap of mirror. Her hair was combed out, and was now down to her shoulders. Still, that was normal. It was the sensation of the tight bodice around her torso, and the full, flouncy skirt that was wrong. She did not look like Anamaria, the feared pirate of the Black Pearl; and more to the point, she did not feel like her. The days when men had jumped to obey the orders she relayed from Jack Sparrow on the quarterdeck seemed a very long way away.
But she forced herself out of the room and along the street to Newgate. On the way to the gaol, she was on the receiving end of far more catcalls and comments than she had ever heard before.
By the time Anamaria arrived she was seething inside, and hoped that extricating Jack Sparrow would not prove too difficult. She tagged herself on to a group of whores who, in exchange for a few coins from the women and wandering hands on the guards' part, were being allowed into the prison.
Newgate inside was dark and dank. Anamaria followed the other women across a courtyard and through a door. She found herself in a narrow corridor, with the cells on either side filled with prisoners. The place stank, of stale bodies and waste and rotting straw which lined the cells. As she made her way along the corridor, she looked to both sides, searching for Sparrow. By the end of the line of cells, it was clear he was not there, and she paused to speak to a guard.
"I'm looking for a man called Jack Sparrow," said Anamaria.
"Bet y'are," the guard returned, appreciatively examining her.
"A pirate. Here just two days," she persisted.
"Oh, him." The guard nodded. "Thought he already had a lass."
Anamaria paused a split second, taking this in.
"I was told he wanted another," she said, regaining composure.
Leering, the guard picked through his keys. "Don't doubt it," he said. "He's a right queer one, mad, like, you know?"
"Never met him," Anamaria lied, following the guard through a door and down another corridor. "Was just told to come here and ask for him."
The guard paused, and waved towards a cell door ajar a little way down the corridor. "That one. Come and see me when you're done." He grinned at her, lasciviously.
She smiled sweetly at him, before turning and making her way towards the cell. There was a strange noise emanating from the little room - a sort of thumping, interspersed with the sound of chains clanking. Anamaria's lips pursed, and she pulled open the door.
The noise stopped, and two pairs of eyes met hers - one pair blue, and rather annoyed, the other dark, and evidently astonished.
"Who are you?!" the owner of the blue eyes exclaimed, skirts rucked up around her waist and bodice unfastened.
"Anamaria?!" the other said, propping himself up on his elbows.
"Salut, Jack," Anamaria said.
For a few moments everything was chaos, as Jack Sparrow tipped the blue-eyed girl off his lap and adjusted his breeches. Then there was an awkward squeeze at the door, as money changed hands between the pirate and the whore, and the latter tried to get out whilst Anamaria was still standing there. But finally it was just the two of them.
Anamaria stepped forward and hit him, hard, on the face.
"Ow!"
"You deserve it," she pointed out.
"What for?" Sparrow moved backwards and sat down, twitching the long chain which attached him to the cell wall out of the way. "And what the hell are you doing here, Ana? Dressed like that?"
"I expected to find you … well, I did not expect to find you with a woman!" Anamaria said, still furious and not entirely sure why.
"I've got a couple of weeks in this place," Sparrow said, "and I fully intend to get as much pleasure out of 'em as I can. It's not going to be much. Hardly the luxury of Fort Charles, here." He folded his arms. "Still haven't explained your presence, love."
"I …" She sighed, exhausted, suddenly, and without heed for her blue skirts sank on to the straw-covered floor alongside her friend. "We heard about the Pearl," she said. "In Tortuga. I am sorry, Jack."
He shrugged. "Aye. But that don't explain what you're doing in Newgate."
"They said you were to hang." She continued with her tale, raising a brief smile from him as she described Briggs's involvement. But the smile disappeared, and Sparrow listened with uncharacteristic gravity as Anamaria told of her voyage to London and her doings since arrival.
When she concluded, he sighed. "Oh, Ana."
"Quoi?"
"This ain't Port Royal. This is Newgate Gaol. I've no ship at hand to carry us away, even if we could get out of here. And in case you ain't noticed, I'm chained to the bloody wall." He demonstrated, tugging at the chain which was linked to the shackle around his ankle. "In a matter o' days, they'll cart me out of here, take me down to Execution Dock, and I'll swing for the seagulls. Much as I hate to say it, love, I reckon Jack Sparrow's luck's run out."
She glared at him. "You should not say that."
"The Pearl's at the bottom of the Caribbean, Ana. The crew's dead. Even if you could get me out, what've I got to look forward to?"
"You managed ten years without her, once," she said.
"Always knew I'd get her back." His eyes, oddly naked without the kohl lining them, met hers. "She, at least, died the right way. She went down fightin'."
"Then fight!" Anamaria exclaimed, getting up and pacing the three steps across the cell and back. "At least try, Jack. I got in. I am sure we can get you out."
"Hush, love." He sent an expressive look towards the door, still ajar. "Already done too much talking. They hang lasses here, too."
"I am no longer a girl, Jack," she said.
"They hang women, too," he returned. "For God's sake, Ana, just get out, and go home to your nevvie. How old's the lad?"
"Huit ans," she said, thinking of Zac. "Only eight."
"Needs his aunt. Go on."
She dropped belatedly into French, in case of the guard loitering outside. "I have to get you out, Jack. You cannot die like this!"
He closed his eyes, and leaned his head back against the stone wall. "Thanks for coming, love. Safe journey back to Tortuga, eh?"
There was finality in his voice.
Anamaria turned on her heel, and stalked out.