RETURN TO THE BLACK PEARL
Hey hey hey, look who finally updated, with New and Exciting news! As per some of your oh-so-subtle hints, I have acquired a beta-reader.
CAST OF THOUSANDS: We're not sure how to respond to that just yet. Currently our reaction falls somewhere between "Thank goodness" and "Who would be crazy enough to take her on?"
ME: That would be my Crazy Cousin Adam, who has very graciously volunteered (was blackmailed into, same thing) betaing this fic and my Star Wars: Wraith Squadron story "Kettch Me If You Can." So you can no longer blame me for any grammatical, punctuational, or otherwise nasty mistakes you catch in this story. Now you can yell at him, not me! Yay!
CRAZY COUSIN ADAM: Wait...yelling? I'm not sure I signed on for this.
CAST OF THOUSANDS: Sucker.
So anyway, thanks to Crazy Cousin Adam and all you loyal reviews. Sorry for the long wait, but it should move a little faster than it has been.
Chapter Four: Oceans of Trouble
Jack stood at the bow of the Black Pearl, keeping his beloved but battered ship on a course for Tortuga. She needed repairs, and Tortuga was the obvious place for them. For one thing, it was a distance easily attainable even in the Black Pearl's current condition. For another, Jack had connections there and knew where to get the Black Pearl fixed up for a price that would not cause her owner's heart to stop or his pocketbook to cringe. And the best reason of all was the amenities there to provide distraction for the Black Pearl's crew while they waited for the repairs—namely, rum.
Jack needed a distraction in the worst way. He didn't want to think about Will's revelation, or the look on Elizabeth's face, or...any of that. But like a tongue probing a sore tooth, his mind kept returning to it. And instead of a sore tooth, Jack found himself facing a root canal.
Why would the news of Bootstrap's return cause him to feel this way? If anything, he should be happy—happy that a good man hadn't died happy that the father of another good man hadn't died.
It wasn't that Jack would rather Bootstrap be dead. Something else, then. The thought uppermost in Jack's mind was, "Am I sure it's really him?" He had recognized the signature on the letter. "Bill Turner." Was that right? If Bootstrap had signed his name as Bill and not Bootstrap, that must mean that the person he was writing to didn't know he was a pirate. Or was he even a pirate anymore?
That lead him to another question, which was why hadn't Jack known he was alive.To be alive, Bootstrap must have escaped from his underwater tomb at least more than a year ago. But Jack had not heard anything about this, and Jack usually knew everything that was going on. He heard things; low voices in dark taverns, whispers onboard his ship. But he had heard nothing about this. Not from Bootstrap. Not from anybody.
He hadn't heard from Bootstrap. Was that what bothered him? A small part of it, perhaps, was the sense of betrayal Jack felt when he thought about Bootstrap escaping and not bothering to tell him or contact him. But that could be for any number of reasons, something whispered in his ear, an annoying voice that caused Jack to shake his head in irritation. He was probably lying low, trying to hide from Barbossa and the former crew of the Black Pearl. After all, he didn't want Barbossa and the rest to be uncursed.
There was another reason that had occurred to Jack as well; one he didn't like to dwell on, but there it was: the thought that Bootstrap would not want to see Jack because of his role in the mutiny. Bootstrap might not have been a part of it, but he went along with it nevertheless.
Bootstrap had escaped, and had been free for at least a year, possibly up to eleven years, if he had escaped very soon after being tossed overboard.
And eventually, Jack would run into him.
Aha, yes, that was it. That was what bothered him the most. Eventually, they would meet. Because it wasn't just a funny ol' world, as Jack had discovered, it was a small one, too. Bootstrap could be on a ship Jack attacked. He could be the man sitting next to him at a bar on Tortuga. Hell, if Will's search for his father was successful, Jack could run into him on Port Royal. Not that Jack was planning to return to Port Royal for a good, long time. Maybe after that bloody commodore died. If Jack lived that long.
But they would meet, Jack was sure of it. And what would he say? Hi, thanks for finally deciding you were wrong about the whole mutiny thing, no hard feelings, mate, the drink's on me?
So that was it. That explained the queasy feeling in the pit of his stomach; that explained why he had refused to help Will search for his father. Because that was what Will had wanted him to do, Jack knew. Jump at the chance of a lifetime—the chance to find the man who had not said a word as Jack had been made to walk the plank of his own ship, to an island where there was no conceivable means of escape, though escape Jack had.
It was dark. It was still night. Jack could see nothing but fog surrounding them. Not the light, low clouds that seemed to follow the Black Pearl wherever she went, but a dense fog. If, when morning came and no ships belonging to any commodores of the Royal Navy were spotted behind them, Jack would be able to breathe a sigh of relief, but not one noticeable to anyone else, and declare that by now, Norrington would never catch up and they were home free.
It was right about now, Jack was sure, that things would start to go wrong.
Oh, yes, and we're on Chapter Four now.
CRAZY COUSIN ADAM: Does this mean I have to make guest appearances in your Author's Notes now?
CAST OF THOUSANDS: Yes, but don't worry. She'll only ruin one or two of your reputations. Or three, or four...
CRAZY COUSIN ADAM: That makes me feel SO much better.
ME: Oh, and you get to do it today.
CRAZY COUSIN ADAM: Do I have to?
CAST OF THOUSANDS: Yes, because we REALLY don't want to.
CRAZY COUSIN ADAM: Sigh. Okay. Review this fic. Happy?
ME: Ecstatic.
