Savvy Rum Drinker: Thanx for reviewing, glad you liked the beginning of the
story. Jack doesn't come in for a while but when he does it will be good -
as good as I can make it at least!
=======================================
Through the cold gray water of the Port Royal harbor came a ship. The fishermen lingering on the dock gazed up at it with wary interest as it came sliding silently into the bay. It was a tall ship, closely resembling the merchant vessels the East Indiamen, spread with white sails to catch the stormy wind, and made of a very dark wood. By the stiff British frigates and the low rigged fishermen's Ketches and Howkers, the newcomer made quite a contrast as it slunk it's way about. At the mouth of the port it stopped to lower anchor.
All the fishermen were watching it now.
"Were we spectin' a ship from ol' Englan' today?" one grizzled old angler leaned over to his partner to ask.
Up at the Fort the guards were also keeping their eyes on the strange ship.
"It's probably not dangerous," said one without conviction, talking merely because the atmosphere was so eerie, and hoping that his companions would add their advice. Not knowing what to say, they remained silent.
Finally, on shore, one of the fishermen spoke what they were all privately thinking.
"It i'nt much like the Black Pearl at least."
Everyone jumped, and immediately pretended that they hadn't. The ship wasn't like the Pearl at all, and besides...it had come in daylight while the other had come in the dead of night. All persons looked now at the ship rocking almost imperceptibly in the calm sea water and relaxed.
"Well," said an officer from behind the wall of the Fort, "They'll have to sign to dock here." He looked smugly at a lieutenant beside him. "Call the Commodore."
Almost as if on cue, three longboats appeared from behind the strange ship and began to close into the dock, all manned by sailors in striped shirts.
"They almost look like the British," mumbled the angler to himself.
As the head of the first longboat touched the wharf five men in finely tailored coats stepped out onto it. They had long hair and massive feathered hats and though they were all dressed mildly well in waistcoats and lapels they were not nearly so well as their captain, for clearly he stood among them. He was not taller or shorter than any of his companions and might have looked exactly like them, but his coat - a long, full skirted jacket as worn by the wealthy - was brocaded in Spanish gold filigree and dotted with hand carved Indian ivory buttons. From under his feather-bedecked hat one noticed that he had a very carefully and delicately curled mustache and that his hair, unlike that of the men around him, was wavy.
"Some kind of gentleman then," one of the fishermen commented as he surveyed the strangers' finery with one protuberant eye.
The dock keeper met the newcomers before the rest of the sailors had even left their boats.
"It's a shilling to tie up your boats here," he said emphatically. "You owe me three." The sailors glanced at their Captain who was keeping his hat close covering his face.
"What did he say," asked the Captain.
"He said we owe him three bob," answered one of the well-dressed men to his right. The Captain twitched his head ever so subtly and immediately everyone moved aside. He looked up slowly at the dock keeper.
The man jumped nervously at the sight of the Captain's deep green snakelike eyes that stared at him inertly with their narrow pupils.
"We owe you nothing, man," said the Captain in a chillingly soft tone. The dock keeper was far too unsettled to contradict him, and without further adieu the Captain walked away down the dock, followed mutely by his men.
"Hold on now," spluttered the dock keeper as he regained his voice, "You hafta pay up!" The Captain didn't turn around only kept walking and snapped his fingers impatiently. The dock keeper felt a piece of paper being shoved into his hand. Surprised, he looked down at it.
An expression of horror spread over his face as he marked the crumpled slip with a perfect black circle drawn in the center.
"The black spot," he said hoarsely, and tucked it hastily into his waistcoat pocket before anyone could notice. "They're pirates." He looked back at the band of men disappearing into the town.
"I've got to tell the Commodore."
As the group moved through Port Royal the townsfolk watched them inquisitively out of windows and from the doorways of shops. Housewives closed the shutters against them as if they carried some evil pestilence and as they continued on down the streets towards the town center people scattered out of their way.
On reaching the Square, the group stood for a moment by the colossal fountain that graced the center of the cobblestone marketplace and marked the center of Port Royal. All the people watched them out of the corners of their eyes though they pretended that they weren't.
There was a clanking of swords and the sound of boots against the cobblestones as a small flank of the British Royal Navy came marching authoritatively into the square led by the arrogant Lt. Gillette with the bumbling Murtogg at his side.
The red coated soldiers approached the sailors with a stiff gait. Gillette raised his hand for them to stop directly in front of the group and stepped forward with a pompous swagger.
"I presume that you are the gentlemen whose ship is now docked without permission in his Majesty's harbor?" he asked, directing his question to the Captain more than to the men around him. The Captain merely lifted his head and stared at Gillette, who started uncomfortably.
"Very well," he said, a little unsettled, "There have been some complaints against you." Gillette motioned for Murtogg to hand him a small piece of parchment in a rolled seal, which he unfolded. Clearing his throat loudly, he proceeded to read.
"Firstly, that you have not signed your ship for permission to dock; secondly, that you did not tie up your longboats - being three in number - at the wharf; and thirdly, that you gave the docking master . . ." he squinted closer at the paper " . . . a black spot." Gillette rolled the paper up and handed it back to Murtogg.
"Explain," he commanded, turning back to the sailors and staring intently at the Captain's mustache.
"We merely wished to explore your lovely Port," said the Captain silkily, curling that edifice of waxed facial hair with one roughened finger, "Though I suppose we've come to the wrong place to look around. It seems that his Majesty is not so well-disposed towards strangers here."
"His Majesty the king," Gillette said irritably, "does not wish his ports to be overrun by miscreants. All we ask is that you sign for your ship."
"Where do I sign," asked the Captain sharply. Gillette stepped back a little at the sight of the man's reptilian eyes and grabbed nervously at the thick book that Murtogg was handing him. This he opened in front of the Captain.
"This line," he pointed.
The Captain took the quill they gave and wrote in flowing letters:
"J. Wilde."
Gillette inspected the signature closely as if checking for counterfeit. He was trying to think where he'd heard that name before - it sounded all too familiar. He looked up.
"Captain Wilde," he said. "Welcome to Port Royal."
Wilde didn't smile. His green eyes flickered warningly and he turned to leave.
"Wait," Gillette called. "Three shillings for - "
But Wilde and his men kept walking, and finally Gillette decided to ignore it. He snapped the book shut and shoved it at Murtogg before marching away with a signal for his guards to follow.
From the parlor window polishing a silver teapot, Elizabeth was staring lazily out at the street below when Wilde's band walked by.
The Captain's gaze met Elizabeth's for a moment and his weird eyes fixed on her as he passed slowly by the window, taking in the sight of her as if he was committing her to memory. Elizabeth returned his look with a scathing one of her own that would have set fear to any landlubber but the cold Captain Wilde.
She shivered a little at his eerie eyes. The unnaturalness of the man only added to her rampant dislike for being stared at without a reason, and with another scowl Elizabeth turned away from the window in disgust. Wilde stared for a little longer before continuing on towards the Inn, not far away.
"Dolt, sailors," Elizabeth muttered petulantly. The silver on the parlor table was left neglected as she went to join Estrella in the kitchen.
"There's some new sailors come," she said conversationally as she entered.
"Really, ma'am."
"Lt. Gillette cornered them in the Square, but I think they scared him off."
Estrella gave a little laugh as she stirred a pot of soup over the enormous kitchen fireplace.
"Not surprising ma'am; Mr. G is not a tremendously brave man, for all he says."
=======================================
Through the cold gray water of the Port Royal harbor came a ship. The fishermen lingering on the dock gazed up at it with wary interest as it came sliding silently into the bay. It was a tall ship, closely resembling the merchant vessels the East Indiamen, spread with white sails to catch the stormy wind, and made of a very dark wood. By the stiff British frigates and the low rigged fishermen's Ketches and Howkers, the newcomer made quite a contrast as it slunk it's way about. At the mouth of the port it stopped to lower anchor.
All the fishermen were watching it now.
"Were we spectin' a ship from ol' Englan' today?" one grizzled old angler leaned over to his partner to ask.
Up at the Fort the guards were also keeping their eyes on the strange ship.
"It's probably not dangerous," said one without conviction, talking merely because the atmosphere was so eerie, and hoping that his companions would add their advice. Not knowing what to say, they remained silent.
Finally, on shore, one of the fishermen spoke what they were all privately thinking.
"It i'nt much like the Black Pearl at least."
Everyone jumped, and immediately pretended that they hadn't. The ship wasn't like the Pearl at all, and besides...it had come in daylight while the other had come in the dead of night. All persons looked now at the ship rocking almost imperceptibly in the calm sea water and relaxed.
"Well," said an officer from behind the wall of the Fort, "They'll have to sign to dock here." He looked smugly at a lieutenant beside him. "Call the Commodore."
Almost as if on cue, three longboats appeared from behind the strange ship and began to close into the dock, all manned by sailors in striped shirts.
"They almost look like the British," mumbled the angler to himself.
As the head of the first longboat touched the wharf five men in finely tailored coats stepped out onto it. They had long hair and massive feathered hats and though they were all dressed mildly well in waistcoats and lapels they were not nearly so well as their captain, for clearly he stood among them. He was not taller or shorter than any of his companions and might have looked exactly like them, but his coat - a long, full skirted jacket as worn by the wealthy - was brocaded in Spanish gold filigree and dotted with hand carved Indian ivory buttons. From under his feather-bedecked hat one noticed that he had a very carefully and delicately curled mustache and that his hair, unlike that of the men around him, was wavy.
"Some kind of gentleman then," one of the fishermen commented as he surveyed the strangers' finery with one protuberant eye.
The dock keeper met the newcomers before the rest of the sailors had even left their boats.
"It's a shilling to tie up your boats here," he said emphatically. "You owe me three." The sailors glanced at their Captain who was keeping his hat close covering his face.
"What did he say," asked the Captain.
"He said we owe him three bob," answered one of the well-dressed men to his right. The Captain twitched his head ever so subtly and immediately everyone moved aside. He looked up slowly at the dock keeper.
The man jumped nervously at the sight of the Captain's deep green snakelike eyes that stared at him inertly with their narrow pupils.
"We owe you nothing, man," said the Captain in a chillingly soft tone. The dock keeper was far too unsettled to contradict him, and without further adieu the Captain walked away down the dock, followed mutely by his men.
"Hold on now," spluttered the dock keeper as he regained his voice, "You hafta pay up!" The Captain didn't turn around only kept walking and snapped his fingers impatiently. The dock keeper felt a piece of paper being shoved into his hand. Surprised, he looked down at it.
An expression of horror spread over his face as he marked the crumpled slip with a perfect black circle drawn in the center.
"The black spot," he said hoarsely, and tucked it hastily into his waistcoat pocket before anyone could notice. "They're pirates." He looked back at the band of men disappearing into the town.
"I've got to tell the Commodore."
As the group moved through Port Royal the townsfolk watched them inquisitively out of windows and from the doorways of shops. Housewives closed the shutters against them as if they carried some evil pestilence and as they continued on down the streets towards the town center people scattered out of their way.
On reaching the Square, the group stood for a moment by the colossal fountain that graced the center of the cobblestone marketplace and marked the center of Port Royal. All the people watched them out of the corners of their eyes though they pretended that they weren't.
There was a clanking of swords and the sound of boots against the cobblestones as a small flank of the British Royal Navy came marching authoritatively into the square led by the arrogant Lt. Gillette with the bumbling Murtogg at his side.
The red coated soldiers approached the sailors with a stiff gait. Gillette raised his hand for them to stop directly in front of the group and stepped forward with a pompous swagger.
"I presume that you are the gentlemen whose ship is now docked without permission in his Majesty's harbor?" he asked, directing his question to the Captain more than to the men around him. The Captain merely lifted his head and stared at Gillette, who started uncomfortably.
"Very well," he said, a little unsettled, "There have been some complaints against you." Gillette motioned for Murtogg to hand him a small piece of parchment in a rolled seal, which he unfolded. Clearing his throat loudly, he proceeded to read.
"Firstly, that you have not signed your ship for permission to dock; secondly, that you did not tie up your longboats - being three in number - at the wharf; and thirdly, that you gave the docking master . . ." he squinted closer at the paper " . . . a black spot." Gillette rolled the paper up and handed it back to Murtogg.
"Explain," he commanded, turning back to the sailors and staring intently at the Captain's mustache.
"We merely wished to explore your lovely Port," said the Captain silkily, curling that edifice of waxed facial hair with one roughened finger, "Though I suppose we've come to the wrong place to look around. It seems that his Majesty is not so well-disposed towards strangers here."
"His Majesty the king," Gillette said irritably, "does not wish his ports to be overrun by miscreants. All we ask is that you sign for your ship."
"Where do I sign," asked the Captain sharply. Gillette stepped back a little at the sight of the man's reptilian eyes and grabbed nervously at the thick book that Murtogg was handing him. This he opened in front of the Captain.
"This line," he pointed.
The Captain took the quill they gave and wrote in flowing letters:
"J. Wilde."
Gillette inspected the signature closely as if checking for counterfeit. He was trying to think where he'd heard that name before - it sounded all too familiar. He looked up.
"Captain Wilde," he said. "Welcome to Port Royal."
Wilde didn't smile. His green eyes flickered warningly and he turned to leave.
"Wait," Gillette called. "Three shillings for - "
But Wilde and his men kept walking, and finally Gillette decided to ignore it. He snapped the book shut and shoved it at Murtogg before marching away with a signal for his guards to follow.
From the parlor window polishing a silver teapot, Elizabeth was staring lazily out at the street below when Wilde's band walked by.
The Captain's gaze met Elizabeth's for a moment and his weird eyes fixed on her as he passed slowly by the window, taking in the sight of her as if he was committing her to memory. Elizabeth returned his look with a scathing one of her own that would have set fear to any landlubber but the cold Captain Wilde.
She shivered a little at his eerie eyes. The unnaturalness of the man only added to her rampant dislike for being stared at without a reason, and with another scowl Elizabeth turned away from the window in disgust. Wilde stared for a little longer before continuing on towards the Inn, not far away.
"Dolt, sailors," Elizabeth muttered petulantly. The silver on the parlor table was left neglected as she went to join Estrella in the kitchen.
"There's some new sailors come," she said conversationally as she entered.
"Really, ma'am."
"Lt. Gillette cornered them in the Square, but I think they scared him off."
Estrella gave a little laugh as she stirred a pot of soup over the enormous kitchen fireplace.
"Not surprising ma'am; Mr. G is not a tremendously brave man, for all he says."