Five

Captain McKay was surprised to realize that he had enjoyed Jack Sparrow's visit. The man was a scallywag and no mistake, but clever and well-educated for all his lowborn accent and slovenly person.

Will and McKay were watching the Black Pearl depart, after a fine meal and the completion of Jack's letter of marque. The Pearl was no longer a pirate ship, but an authorized agent of His Majesty's navy, a privateer destined to make unofficial war against any ship that flew an enemy flag. Since Britain was perpetually in conflict with France, Spain or both, the Pearl would have rich pickings enough without needing to trouble British ships. With the stroke of a pen, McKay had changed a powerful attacker into a fearsome ally.

Of course, there was the gold it had cost him. McKay grumbled as he lit his pipe. "What a day. I'm now one step above beggary. For some reason I had the thought that Captain Sparrow might be noble and refuse my offer of gold."

Will laughed out loud at that. "Not Jack! It's a matter of principle with him. I only wish I knew how he came to engage in piracy. I'd bet there's a story there."

McKay nodded. "And not a pretty one, I'm guessing. Something he said led me to think he's been to Arabia, and not under the happiest of circumstances."

"I know nothing of those lands. I've only ever been to Jamaica and London. I'd like to see more of the world, but I must think of Elizabeth. We shall probably live on her family estate in Kent." He sighed. "At least I've got funds, thanks to what I took away from the Isla de Muerta. I'd hate to live off her father's charity."

McKay gave him a surprised look. "She seems a sturdy lass, not given to faints or fits. Have you asked her what she would like?"

"Uh – asked her? Well… no."

"You young people. You should probably not be allowed to marry till you're at least thirty." McKay's pipe went out as the wind rose.

"That would probably kill me," Will remarked. His glance sought out Elizabeth. True to her word, she had worn her makeshift men's garb ever since the battle; the beautiful gown had long since gone to Davy Jones' locker. He thought she looked wonderful.

McKay followed his glance, then laughed at his expression. "Lovesick hound you are. Mark my words and talk with her, she may surprise you."

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Mr. Gibbs took the wheel as his Captain extended his spyglass and scanned the horizon. "I'm not sure I can get used to this notion, Captain, us bein' legal and all."

Jack's lopsided grin returned. "The Spaniards won't see it that way. To them, and the French, and everyone else we're still pirates. This just gets our own countrymen off our backs." He collapsed the spyglass with a snap. "I wish our friend Norrington were here – imagine how frustrated he'd be to know that we're now safe from his noose."

Gibbs laughed out loud. "He'd pop the curls off that fancy wig, and no mistake. Poor lad's got a mainmast for a backbone; no give at all."

Jack returned to the helm, and Gibbs bellowed a few good-natured orders to the crew as the wind shifted. The minor damage sustained in the battle had already been repaired, and the Pearl was in pursuit of a French barque northeast of Martinique. They outgunned the French ship 3 to 1, and the battle was brief and one-sided.

Gibbs watched his captain's expression as they left the enemy with all but her rear mast shattered, having "confiscated" the hold's cargo of rum, spices and gunpowder, as well as some much-needed medicines. Jack was humming a tune as he guided the Pearl north. This privateering thing might not be so bad, Gibbs reflected, if the captain was happy and didn't chafe at being unable to raid British ships and ports.

"You're in a mighty fine mood, captain," he commented. "Lookin' forward to nabbing a Spanish cargo or two, now that we've gouged the frogs?"

Jack's eyes shifted slightly, his expression unchanged. "I've got something a little more exciting in mind, mate. Something I've been meaning to do for a long while."

The growl in his voice gave the first mate a chill down his spine. "Aye, and might I be knowin' what that'd be, sir?" Gibbs wasn't sure he wanted to hear the answer.

Jack checked his compass and adjusted his course slightly. "I've a mind to go after another treasure; one that's dear to me heart." His lip curled slightly.

Gibbs coughed, and took a quick swig from his flask to bolster his courage. "I'm sure the crew will be behind ye all the way, Captain, whatever it is." He definitely didn't want to know. Ignorance was bliss.

"Ah, Gibbs, you're a smart man to not ask too many questions." Jack hummed for the space of a minute or two. "There's an Irish gentleman, and I use the term loosely, who owns a very large plantation on Santiago Island. In addition to his extensive land holdings, he controls a large part of the Spanish slave trade from Africa. He makes the likes of us look like the heavenly chorus."

Gibbs swallowed hard. "And we're going to raid his ships? Jack – Captain – that sounds daft to me! What'll we do with a shipload of slaves?"

Jack's face was twisted in a sneer now. "I don't want his slaves nor his ships. But there is something of his that I want very much. And I have it on the best authority that what I want is going to be aboard a nice little schooner of only six guns, departing for England two days from now."

Gibbs' eyes nearly rolled back in his head at the tone in his captain's voice. "I'm afraid to ask why we're doing this at all, chasin' after one particular ship instead of raiding whatever we come across." His hand shook every so slightly as he screwed the lid back on his flask.

A laugh erupted from Sparrow as he noted his mate's nerves. "It's very simple, eh? No mystery." Then his scowl returned. "I've got a score to settle."

Six

"Morning, Miss Sarah. Lovely new bonnet that is!"

"Thank you, Mrs. Jamison, I brought it with me from England and just took it out of the trunk this morning." Sarah smiled cheerfully at the beaming owner of the bake shop on Market Street. The wharves began just one street over, and she could hear the rhythmic slapping of water and the shouts of sailors and officers.

That worthy lady nodded knowingly. "Must be a special day then, to have you wearin' it. A young gentleman I'm thinking, eh?" She chuckled at her own perceptiveness.

Sarah flushed. "Oh! Ah, yes. Captain Gillette is meeting me here. He's offered to escort me on a tour of the port. My brother is usually so busy that I haven't seen but a tiny bit of the town, you know, and I'm burning with curiosity to see all the excitement." She bought a sticky bun and popped a piece in her mouth.

"Well miss, the excitement we have around here is usually not the pleasant sort. Horrid pirates showin' up at all hours and blasting the devil out of our town, not my idea of fun at all. The Commodore's done a fine job of making the town a great deal safer for us tradespeople, and we're grateful for it I'm sure!" The hefty baker-woman energetically kneaded a huge mound of bread dough in a wooden trough.

"I suppose so. It's just that I had imagined how thrilling my life here would be. I expect you think it's silly, but I spend nearly all day in the house or the garden, except when I come to the shops. James is very strict about my not wandering off alone, and we really can't afford another servant just to go trotting around with me." She sighed gustily and took another bite.

Booted feet approached the open shop door, and Sarah turned to see Gillette removing his hat as he bowed. "A very good morning to you, Miss Norrington." He had an odd little smile on his face; but then his whole face was rather odd.

"Good morning, Captain. I've had my breakfast and I'm ready for my tour!"

"Wonderful. I thought we would start with a walk over the old stone bridge, there's some very nice views from there. Then perhaps a stroll along the sea wall, if you like." Sarah breathed in the fresh sea air as they set off.

"Watch your step, now, the cobbles can be very rough." Gillette's proud posture as they walked told Sarah that he was congratulating himself for being seen with the Commodore's sister. She felt a bit like a well-groomed champion hound, or an especially large fish he'd caught and was showing off.

"This bridge is the very one over which the pirate Jack Sparrow attempted to make his escape. Look there, you can see the chinks left by the bullets we sent after him as he ran. I'm sure the Commodore has told you a great deal about the incident." His chest was actually puffing out. "A terrible battle it was, too; but in the end we were victorious."

The walk might be ordinary, but the story caught her attention. "Mrs. Jamison was telling me about the attack on the town. It sounded terrifying." She adjusted her bonnet to keep the sun off her face.

Good Lord, the man was swaggering. "I'm thankful to say that we acquitted ourselves with honor, Miss Norrington. We lost many good men that day, but the result is what matters. Bloody-handed pirates sent to the depths or the gallows."

"Mr. Sparrow must have been a horrid man."

Gillette clenched his teeth; it had the unfortunate effect of making him resemble a ferret. "Sparrow managed to escape. But the other pirate crew was entirely defeated after a pitched battle. One or two managed to leap overboard, but the rest have gone to their just desserts."

Sarah resisted rolling her eyes. The man had no idea how to tell a story, that was plain; she would simply have to ask her brother for more details. Her eyes lit on the ships docked in the bay. "Oh! Is the Cornwall within view? I should very much like to have a look at it."

Gillette halted, and stood rather too close to her as he pointed. "She's the two-masted schooner right close to us, with the green trim. Not impressive, but a good stepping stone for my career."

Sarah quickened her steps and made for the Cornwall's dock, Gillette hustling along beside her with a distressed expression. "Miss Norrington – not sure your brother would approve – a great deal of rough language."

The Cornwall was beautiful, she thought, watching as sailors shouted to each other and tightened rigging. Just the sort of ship one would like to own oneself. Fore-and-aft rigged for easy handling by a small crew, good lines, and she was pleasing to the eye as well. Sarah fell in love with the ship right then and there. "She's lovely."

"Right, erm, we'd better be getting along home, don't you think? I mean, it's been an honor to escort you, but I'm afraid duty is calling." Gillette sounded out of breath. He was quite irritating, really.

"Very well, if we must return we must. It was very kind of you to make time for me, Captain." She favored him with a cool smile as they made their way back through the town.

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The jolly boat Blade approached Port Maria under cover of dusk and a lowering fog. The north side of the island generally had brisker winds, and the accompanying heavy storms, but tonight was unnaturally still. This suited the crew of the Blade very nicely indeed.

They rowed in silence, the tillerman giving orders with hand signals, until they were able to draw the boat up on the sandy shore a hundred yards from the tiny dock. Eight men went over the side into the shallow lapping wavelets; the ninth remained in the prow, ready to fire the single swivel gun against intruders.

Anyone watching might have been puzzled by the men's silence, or the low clatter of iron and steel, and especially the hunched way the figures scuttled forward over the sand until they reached the cover of vegetation. But the watcher would not have wondered for long; at least not past the moment at the edge of the town when the men straightened, all of them letting out terrifying yells and drawing their weapons.

The attack might look chaotic, random, to the untrained eye; but the madness had a distinct purpose, creating distraction and drawing attention from the two brigands who split from the main group and hacked their way into the small Customs House. They scooped up cash boxes and small arms and returned to the Blade in less than twenty minutes, emptying their pistols as they passed through the town. A man and a teenage boy lay crumpled in the street, dead or dying. The wharf tavern smoldered from a thrown torch recently extinguished, its shattered window mirroring the splintered pub sign.

The cries of outraged townspeople reached the ears of the pirates, but they were already aboard the Blade and making good their escape. One burly man slapped another on the back as they congratulated themselves on a smooth raid. "Bloody hell, I thought you'd come back empty-handed this time f'sure! How'd you get in, eh? Bit of slap-and-tickle with the inspector's wench?" He laughed raucously as they bent to their oars.

The second pirate snorted, stringy hair swaying as he pulled. "Cor no, I just whacked the door latch wi' me hatchet till it fell apart like a boiled chicken. Didn't take long, cos I was enthusiastic an' all." He cackled, his fetid breath leaving an oily stain on the humid air.

"I got some good stuff from the pub, a barrel of salt meat an' a pair of ladies' knickers." The first man chuckled evilly. "She didn't much want ter give em up, neither." The entire crew howled at that, and they pulled with a will as the tillerman began to raise the sail.

"Come on, lads, keep pullin'. Tomorrow Sir Robert's ship will be calling for us, and we got to be looking sharp for it. An extra tot of rum for us all tonight!" The cheers of the brigands rode the mist into the sorrowful night.