AN: SORRY SORRY SORRY SORRY SORRY SORRY SORRY SORRY SORRY SORRY SORRY SORRY SORRY SORRY SORRY SORRY SORRY SORRY SORRY SORRY SORRY!! Now take those sorry's, times it by a million, and you might get an inkling of how many times I feel I should apologise. No, seriously, when I'm reading a fic and I really like it then the author stops, I either get really pissed or depressed. Or both, so believe me when I say, I know how you feel. I'll make my excuses AFTER the chapter.
Disclaimer: For the last time in this fic, the only thing I own that's POTC related is the DVD. Or believe me, I will be wreaking havoc on the script for the sequel…
~*~ A Witch's Daughter ~*~
Chapter Four: Avarice's Paranoia (for lack of a better title)
"But you must know of some hidden cove they can anchor at!" Will pointed out, an inch away from strangling the pirate captain he was currently sailing under. Said captain ignored the young blacksmith, calmly studying the map of the Caribbean in front of him. He merely raised an eyebrow when Will, having calmed down, offered to bury the hatchet — in Jack's skull if he didn't discover the whereabouts of Elizabeth soon. Personally, Jack thought he was overreacting; all this for one girl? The kid needed to spend more time less sober.
"Will, Will, Will…" Jack sympathised, shaking his head and patting him on the shoulder in an irritatingly patronizing manner. "You've got to calm down, mate. It'll do Lizzie no good if you've lost your head before you even lay eyes on 'er. Though it won't be a great loss," Jack added contemplatively, fingers tapping on his chin as he spoke. As soon as Bootstrap had returned, all potential risk-free eunuch jokes had gone out the window, so Jack only had Will's tendency to not think to taunt.
"How many times have you been to Tortuga?" Will challenged. Jack's brow furrowed in thought as he started counting on his fingers. "The point is that you must have docked away from the main port at some time in your life."
"Why? It's a pirate haven; do ye realise how rare those are? May as well take advantage of the fact."
"But the Navy must've —"
"Young William, the Navy, whom you seem to think are some type of heroes are, in fact, all incompetent conscripts who try to not make more work for themselves than necessary, savvy?" Jack enlightened.
"But the Commodore must have once —"
"Ever since that little venture that resulted in the rescue of Elizabeth, Norrington has been…slacking where I'm concerned. Oh, 'e's still after me all right," Jack added as Will was about to interrupt his lecture on the British marine military, "just not so much. What's more, if ever there was a man that needed a girl, that would be him. Maybe I should introduce him to Scarlett; I 'ave an inkling he likes redheads." Jack added charitably. "Always the ones you least suspe —"
"But that doesn't mean there's not a hidden bay or large cave nearby!" Will turned the subject of conversation away from Norrington's lack of female company and back to the topic at hand; his abducted fiancée.
"I've ne'er had to hide from the citizens of Tortuga; just because this Avarice is paranoid —"
"That's one way of putting it. But we're following him right now, ain't we? Then there's the fact that two crews are not enough to man six ships, and not all of the ships are exactly lightning fast, so we'll have to wait offshore 'til we see 'em sail out." Turner Senior stood in the doorway. "I can't find any one of the crewmembers in any of the taverns, brothels, inns, or any other establishments you can think up."
"But we've been here six days, and that's enough time for a dinghy to sail from Tortuga to Port Royal. And vice versa." Jack spoke as though from experience, and a thought suddenly struck Will: how did Jack get to Port Royal without a ship four months ago? He didn't seem the type to stowaway. "You're saying not one?" The captain enquired.
"I think he'll wait a few weeks before giving shore leave; you know, once the whole kidnapping's died down."
"'Tis a cruel man that captains the Chimera," Jack said, shaking his head so that the various trinkets jingled. "I'll be worried 'bout the women; you know what happens when a sailor spends too long at sea without 'pleasurable company'?" He gave Will a look that seemed to say 'that goes double for Elizabeth'. He just gave Jack an angry 'I know what you're doing and it's not going to work' glare. Sparrow just shrugged.
"No one would want to incur his wrath," Bill explained, ignoring the silent dispute. "Besides, a hostage is more valuable if he or she's unharmed; you know that, Jack."
"How's that?" asked Will, momentarily intrigued.
Bill shrugged. "Well, if the ransom's unpaid for, they can always be sold for just as much into slavery or — something else. Price will be less if their arm ain't intact or somethin'," he replied nonchalantly.
"That's inhumane! How can either of you be so calm?!"
"Pirates," Bootstrap said. "It's what we do."
"That did not come out right, Bill."
"What are we going to do about Elizabeth?" Will asked dejectedly. He was unbelievably emotional where his bride-to-be was concerned. One word: al-co-hol.
Nevertheless, the small grin instantly slipped off of Jack's face. "We wait."
***
From her vantage point in the rigging, Catriona looked down as Avarice inspected his new recruits. They were all lined up, ranging from small and almost pathetic-looking to tall and dangerous men with big swords and bigger arm muscles. And there was her captain— Commodore — inspecting each and every man in turn. What she found strange was how… white they all were. Hardly any of them had ebony skin or slanted black eyes that she'd grown so used to seeing. Not that she was racist, it was just…strange to her.
Securing the white sail firmly in place, she swiftly made her way back down to the deck. Being light and fast, it was common sense that she, along with a few others of similar weight and build, should secure the sails every time they set sail. Leaning against the mast, she watched as Avarice made some enquiries to a boy a few years older than her. She had to give him credit; he managed to hold it together and answer his questions calmly and directly as Avarice observed him through narrow smoky grey eyes, the light of the setting sun casting a reddish glow and making his features all the more menacing.
"'Ello, poppet."
Cat nearly jumped out of her skin; the speaker was so close she could smell his breath. And quite frankly, it reeked. Turning, she came face to face with one of the ugliest balding men she'd ever seen, coupled with a tall one-eyed blond. Searching her mind, she located their names. "Pintel, Ragetti," she acknowledged, aware that they were not so discreetly trying to get a look down her shirt. Which was stupid, as the neckline's lowest point was just above her collarbones. "What do you want?"
They seemed to be struck dumb that she was capable of making an enquiry so intelligent; Ragetti looked at his companion with his one good eye. "Jus' to see how ye are," Pintel answered. Ragetti sniggered stupidly.
That sentence can be interpreted in many ways, Catriona thought sarcastically. "Fine."
"As we can see." Another snigger. These two really needed to get a life. Which, in piratical terms, meant:
"You have got to get laid." And she turned her back, striding over to the new commodore to watch the proceedings before they could come up with another 'sly' comment. Actually, she thought she was being a tad generous in their brain capacity when she used the word 'sly'.
"Is that all ye can do?" Avarice demanded of a tall, heavily built redhead whose arm muscles alone were larger than her waist in a sneer. "You sure you can't do something other than cracking open skulls, like cooking or sewing?" Personally, Catriona thought he shouldn't be pushing it, but to each his own.
Red looked like he was about to crack open Avarice's skull, but replied, "I can carry twice more than the average man, an'…an' I'm good with the cannons."
"Are you a good shot? 'Ow's your swordsmanship?"
Red seemed to think this question through carefully for a moment. Catriona got the distinct impression he wasn't that bright. But who needed brains when you could snap people in two with your bare hands? "Can't shoot something too far," he said slowly, "and can't partake in any fancy sword duels. Me weapons are me hands." She really, really found that easy to believe, his upper arm was about the size of a tree trunk. She knew Avarice wasn't going to let this one get away. Good for hand-to-hand combat, street brawls, and scaring the hell out of future victims; what captain would pass that up? Commodore! Her mind screamed at her.
"Obviously." Avarice seemed to be thinking along the same lines. It suddenly occurred to her that for a Frenchman, his accent was barely audible, practically nonexistent. But he was definitely French; she should know, having picked up a few choice words in that specific language from him.
By now the brunet in question was issuing orders over who was who on which ship. Unsurprisingly, he'd chosen the Silver Chimera as his flagship; slightly smaller and narrower than average, shallower-drafted with a taller mast and wider sails, she was built more for speed than firepower or loot. It's why they spent and traded their 'earnings' almost as soon as they got them.
On orders by Avarice, Catriona was soon in the Chimera's hold, checking and rechecking the supplies and the plunder they'd 'borrowed' from the citizens of Port Royal. By twilight, all six ships were sailing out of the secluded bay.
~*~*~*~
"Captain! You've got to see this!" The lookout situated in the crow's nest bellowed down.
"Gibbs, take the wheel," Jack commanded his first mate before climbing up the rigging. He peered through the spyglass, narrowing his eyes ever so slightly. Was that four ships he saw? Or were there more? And if so, were they Avarice's?
Bootstrap was beside him. "Well?" He demanded.
"How am I meant to bloody know, I haven't even heard of this bloke before you came back!" And he handed the spyglass over.
"It's hard to tell, 'specially in this light, but…is that fire?"
"What? Did I hear you right? Why'd it be on fire? Who's dumb enough to set a ship on fire?" Jack questioned, almost…dancing about in a comical manner with his hands together as though in prayer underneath his chin.
Bootstrap, with difficulty, suppressed some witticism involving tutus and en pointes or whatever they were called. Didn't make it any less amusing, though. Turning his attention back to the several ships and one flickering light, he focused his gaze as best he can at this distance. As though dazed, Bill slowly lowered the spyglass. "It's started; it's hap'ning again," he said grimly.
"Oh, bloody hell."
~*~
AN: Cliffies: don't you just love them? *evil laughter* As for the wait…bad news: I had writer's block and had no idea what to put in chapter 4. Good news: not writing chap 4 gave me time to come up with a definite plot. Yes, I'll say it again: a PLOT. Me and my own original plot.
Anonymous Voice of Truth: Actually, all those birthday/early Easter presents had something to do with—
Author (temporarily deaf): My own ORIGINAL plot.
AVoT: But you said it yourself that it kick-started your ima—
A: My own ORIGINAL plot.
AVoT: And your frien—
A: ORIGINAL. Plot. *glare* 'Til next time, buh-bye.
GinnyPotter4eva: *blushing* Aw, you're way too kind. Once again, apologies for the delay. And don't worry, Jack's love of rum comes in next chapter: I have an evil little plan to make Jack squirm. *cackles*
JessieRose: Wow, TWO reviews from the SAME person? That means more to me than those one-off reviews cos it means someone's reading and liking your work.
