As a dreamer of dreams and a travelin' man
I have chalked up many a mile
Read dozens of books about heroes and crooks
And I learned much from both of their styles
Luck.
I'm of a double mind when it comes to luck.
Oh, some might say that fortune is a straightforward, predictable thing. Something that can be attracted or repelled. Four leaf clovers. Black cats. Rabbit's feet. Spilt salt. Fortune favors the bold.
Landlubbers are like that. They're so used to everything they lay hands on being . . . solid. Unshifting. As unmovable, unchangeable, and unyielding as a mountain. That's what comes of walking on a surface that doesn't jump under your feet.
But a sailor . . . a sailor knows better. He knows that Lady Fortune is two-faced. It's his lot in life after all. The sea his mistress is cold and implacable, and his patron is two-faced. One person's gamble is another's gain. Every turn of good luck is another disappointment in your neighbor's string of bad luck. The examples can go on forever. What tempers a man's luck – good or bad – is remembering that staying on top is only a matter of seeing both sides of a trick coin. If one can understand the give and take of loss and gain, then they can retain control of the situation.
It's undoubtedly true that some situations take longer to resolve than others. For a decade I've forever been a step behind my greatest loss. The stinged kiss of fate – cruel to me, kind to the mutineers who stole my ship – has never fully faded from my cheek. It has been tempered – rescue by the rumrunners to my delight and Barbossa's unknowing downfall – but never forgotten.
But today . . . today the wind may be with me if I can only track its course. It is that task that consumes me as I sit in this straw-scattered cell, gazing up at a young man who is less skilled at reading fortune than I.
Managing to steal a boat from neighboring Morant Bay was easier than it should have been. I thought I'd been lucky. Then a few hours out, the small boat had started to take on water. Luckily I reached Port Royal and encountered guards whose minds I could turn into mush if I tried. However, they couldn't swim and so I ended up saving the Swann chit whose bloody Naval suitor had me arrested for saving her life. Escape followed. A good thing one would think, until it led me into that blasted blacksmith's shop with it's overeager apprentice. But that wasn't anything I couldn't handle, right? No, the lad turns out to be a decent – more than decent – swordsman. Lost time equals ol' Jack being sent to jail to face the hangman. Next there's an attack on the town, which is a very good distraction. That the ship attacking was my Pearl . . . Wonderful.
The escape of my cell mates certainly seemed like a setback. It's hard to carry out revenge from inside a prison cell. But then my believes were proved true; an unlikely wrong turn led two of those blackhearted miscreants into what they had hoped was the armory. And in a fit of temper, they revealed . . . everything.
"So there is a curse . . ."
They left me in the godforsaken prison of course, but at least I knew where they'd eventually go. Cursed . . . at least I know that Barbossa is still alive. If I have my way it won't be for long, but we've still a long way to go before we see how this will all play out.
Now, the final bit of luck that Fortuna threw out the night before is bearing its fruit. It truly was bad luck for the Swann girl to get herself kidnapped. Not just for her, but for all who care for her. Luckily by not knowing her that well, I'm saved that taint. No . . . No, this is wonderful luck for me. The tide has changed, and perhaps my ship, my Pearlwill finally come in, because standing in front of me is the last piece that I – and coincidentally Barbossa – need. Here I am, face to face with the whelp of my former crewmate. Imagine that out of all the places on the globe to be, that he's here on an island that reviles pirates.
Did I mention that fortune also has a sense of humor?
"Well, Mr. Turner, I've changed me mind. If you spring me from this cell I swear on pain of death I shall take you to the Black Pearl and your bonny lass. Do we have an accord?"
A deal is still a deal, even if it is only witnessed by the God and the Devil. He shakes. "Agreed."
"Agreed. Get me out."
No matter of luck at all, they said.
My name isn't Captain Jack Sparrow for nothing.
Author's Note: And that, my friends, is the end of 'One Shot'. I have no more tales to tell at the moment - at least in this vein. I thought it appropriate to end on one of Jack. I want to thank you all for reading this, and what more, for telling me what you've thought. Best wishes on Thanksgiving and through the New Year, and here's hoping that sometime in 2005, I have another PotC tale to tell.
Sarah