Chapter I – Lo . . . lad
Flames rose higher into the sky, licking the inky blackness, meeting the shining stars. He glanced up, always finding it strange how the sky was a different colour right around fire. With a shrug, not really finding that quite important enough to occupy his time, he rolled a cigarette and leaned towards the nearest wooden structure. Drawing on it, the end lit up and he puffed, inhaling.
Then he coughed, taking the rolled tobacco out of his mouth and giving it a baneful glare.
Screams greeted his ears, but he ignored them. They were just another part of the routine. A pirate jostled him on his way by, a girl slung over his shoulder, sobbing and carrying on as if it were the end of the world.
Well, perhaps for her it was, but that didn't concern Michael.
"Watch where yer goin' ye scurvy dog!" he shouted, jamming the cigarette in the corner on his mouth.
The crew member turned and studied the young man. "Sorry Cutthroat sir – but aren't ye gonna get one fer yerself?"
Michael snorted then spat on the ground. "Why bother? Slim pickins after you fools are done wit 'em."
"Right-o sir." And he hustled off, the first mate seeming to be in a right awful mood and not wanting to provoke him he just continued on, the girl still carrying on.
"Monkey!"
A spider monkey came scurrying through wreckage, seemingly flame retardant, a bag hanging from his mouth.
"Good Monkey." He took the bag and opened it. "You know, ye could have done better. Git outa here."
Monkey sulked and ran down Michael's body, then off through the dirty streets. The first mate pulled out the few rings and coins Monkey had brought him, then slipped them on, pocketing the coins. His hands drifted back up his front, picking off a few pieces of lint on the way and rolling them between his fingers. It wasn't the greatest amount of riches, but he couldn't risk actually going into these buildings and looting. The captain relied on him too much and death would not be a wise career move.
Diamonds and rubies sparkled in the glinting firelight. He whipped his head around, watching the festivities. The men enjoyed ransacking every shop and home they came across, not to mention dragging women out of these places and raping them right on the streets. Some weren't as courageous and kept the "fun" to the bedrooms.
Without turning around or looking anywhere but down the burning street, Michael said clearly, "And why ain't ye doin' nothin'?"
The cabin boy, fresh out of England, shifted uncomfortably. "I am, uh, I am still becoming used to . . ." he gesticulated vaguely, "this."
Michael snorted and spat on the ground, a habit he suspected came from the tobacco. "Ye'll git used to it alright. Either that or stay the cap'n's errand boy yer whole life, matie."
"You really expect me to do," he pointed to where one of the crew was raping a screaming, thrashing woman, "that?"
"Yeah." He was flustered for a moment. "Ye don' have ta, but ye know, twould help ye if ye became like the crew." He gave him a wicked grin. "Or ye could be a eunuch."
"Ah." Giving the first mate a careful study and backing away a few steps, he nearly shouted over the screams and distance, "I suppose you have a point!"
Throwing the nearly dead cigarette into the nearest building as he began a jaunty, yet relaxed walk, "Of course I do, Thomas." He snickered as he stopped and turned after making sure his men were all fine, and headed back to the ship. His worn black boots scuffed along the street, which almost matched, eager to get some sleep. Or drink. If he could get into the captain's private stash (which was enough to keep a town going for a few months) he would be set for at least tonight. That was if Jack hadn't already drunk it all.
"Monkey!" Michael roared, waiting for Monkey to appear. A tugging at his clothes and chittering in his ear – along with the slight pressure on his shoulder – let him know that Monkey was with him. A small sack was banged on the top of his head a few times until he finally grabbed it away, grumbling. Monkey grinned and laughed, then started playing with his tail. Shaking his head slightly, wondering how he had been damned to this animal, Michael continued on his way. He could see the ship now, the Pearl in port, foreboding to all who would approach. After all, they knew what was happening in town if they were there.
"Rum, matie?"
Michael jumped slightly at the sudden sound of Jack's voice. He whipped out his pistol and pointed it at his groin.
"What," he said through clenched teeth, "did I say about poppin' up outa nowhere?"
Jack grinned, swaying on the spot as gold teeth flashed. A bottle was lifted in merriment then finished off in less than a second. "Ne'er do it when sober. And as ye see, matie, I don't fill the requirements, savvy?" Another grin.
If Michael's eyes were to become any more narrowed, they'd be closed. "That's not what I meant." But he retracted the pistol and put it back to his hip.
"Sure, sure," Jack said absentmindedly, peering into the bottle as if wondering where his rum went. The kohl under his eyes (identical to the kohl around Michael's eyes) would have made him look quite mysterious, if it were not for the absolute bewilderment etched in his features. "Wha –" He looked curiously up at Michael who silently handed him a fresh bottle, pulled out of his layers of clothing.
"'Ere, cap'n."
"Ah, thanks lo . . . lad."
Michael's brow arched. "Careful there Jack."
He sniggered and cracked open the bottle, swigging half the bottle down, some of it spilling down his face. "Damn." He wiped his chin with the back of his hand. "Course I'm careful lo . . . lad. I'm cap'n Jack Sparrow!" He lifted his arm again in celebration and nearly toppled over.
"Okay there captain," Michael said dubiously, taking a few quick steps to him and grabbing his arm. "Don't concuss yerself. Again."
He snorted and waved the bottle dismissively. Then his eyes rose up to the taller man's. "Care to join me, lo . . . lad?"
A similar smirk to the captains appeared on the first mate's face. "I'm headin' back to the ship, sir."
Another snort and dismissive wave.
"I'm headin' to bed," he tacked on, as if that explained something.
"Join me fer a drink first then, lo . . . lad." His eyes scanned the events on the streets and the sounds from the ruined buildings.
"If ye would join me on the ship, I suppose a few drinks are fine," Michael relented.
"Fine fine. I'm sure the crew knows what they're doin' anyhow." He turned and swaggered back towards the Black Pearl, Michael following a half-step behind.
"We kindle and char, inflame and ignite, drink up, me 'earties, yo ho. We burn up the city, we're really a fright, drink up, me 'earties, yo ho." Michael did a jig around the room, rum in hand, belting out the song at the top of his lungs. Jack sat on the edge of his bed, drinking and trying to remember the words. He first squinted at the floor, but couldn't find the lyrics there, so looked to his first mate with a puzzled expression on his face. Then he took a long drink of rum.
"We're rascals, scoundrels, villains, and knaves, drink up, me 'earties, yo ho. We're devils and black sheep," at this point Michael broke off and stared at Jack. "C'mon mate, ye know this part!"
Jack's eyes lit up and he grinned as they chorused: "And really bad eggs! Drink up, me 'earties, yo ho!"
Michael fell to the floor, drinking happily in a warm haze of dance and alcohol. Mostly alcohol. He slopped some rum down his face and clothes, making Jack jump up and fall over.
From the floor, he roared, "You jus' wasted me rum!"
Arching his brows, then leering at his captain, Michael shot back, "What, ye wanna lick it off, cap'n?"
Jack pulled himself up into a sitting position, ignoring the fact that he had himself spilt a puddle of rum onto his floor in his haste to yell at Michael. He stood carefully, and put up his finger, addressing Michael again. "That," he said slowly, "was uncalled foooooor!"
Michael winced as the captain hit the floor with a thud, having slipped in his own rum. He got up, towering over the captain.
"Actually, cap'n, I think you spilling that much rum was what was uncalled for."
Jack just glowered at him then shot out his hand. "'Elp me up, ye stinkin' maggot."
Grabbing the captain by the wrist and yanking him up, he still said, "Why should I bother?"
Wiping down his clothes, he scowled up at Michael. Then he stood up straight, still looking up at Michael, eyes glinting.
He took a drink of rum. "Yer tall, lo . . . lad."
Michael's eyebrows rose higher, threatening to leave his forehead. "Ye just figured that out, matie?" He sat the captain on the bed again and handed him another bottle of rum, pressing it into his free hand. "Ye had better drink more, cap'n. Yer startin' ter think."
Shooting him a murderous glare, Jack drank from both bottles at once.
"Easy there, cap'n." Michael sat beside him with his own rum, trying to ignore the slight lurching of the ship.
"The waves er rough t'night, lo . . . lad," Jack mumbled as he collapsed back on the bed, splashing rum onto his coat. "Damn it."
Michael stood then and shakily put his rum onto the small table by the captain's bed. "I should check on deck then, cap'n." He stumbled to the door and grabbed the doorframe to steady himself. "If it'sa storm, I'll gitch ye." Walking along the wall to keep himself upright, the first mate inched his way along to the deck. Looking up at the sky he wobbled on the spot and had to take a few steps to the side to keep his balance.
The sky was no longer a clear, twinkling black. It was a dark grey, and appeared quite angry.
"Cap'n! Storm approachin'!"