II. HARRY COVENANT
No iron bars for Captain Jack Sparrow this time; this was no Navy vessel. Harry had tossed him into the deepest part of the Revenge to contemplate his fate. Well, it had been an interesting life, though it seemed it was going to be far shorter than he'd hoped.
Wringing the water from his clothes, Jack stood and tried to assess his situation. Not good, he decided. Beside him he could feel the rough wood of the ladder leading up to the opening. Climbing the ladder he felt around in the darkness - surely there would be a lamp near to the hatch. Questing fingers met cool metal and after searching through his pockets he found his flints. It took a few tries but soon Jack had the wick alight, sending a welcoming glow around his surroundings. He tried a tentative push on the hatch, then a harder one, battering time and again at the solid barrier – it didn't budge.
His actions had stirred up the other residents of the hold though. A scrabbling noise from behind the crates assured him he was not alone. He flinched – he had never liked rats. Nasty vermin-ridden creatures.
Jack made his way back down the ladder, and paused, contemplating the bilge water lapping at his boots.
He couldn't see himself talking his way out of this predicament. He and Harry went back too far. Too much anger and hate lay between them. With his ribs protesting mightily when he took too deep a breath, he settled himself down to a long wait, trimming the wick to make the oil last a little longer. He made himself comfortable on a packing case so that at least his feet would be out of the water, even if his body was uncomfortably clammy from his earlier dunking.
Silence settled in the hold and Jack closed his eyes, letting his head settle back against the hull, but the pounding in his skull made sleep impossible.
Something was scrabbling close to him. He could almost hear it breathe. Slowly he opened his eyes and found himself face to face with the biggest rat he'd ever seen. The two eyed one another for a moment before Jack bolted away from the sharp teeth. "Bloody hell!" he yelped staggering back into the watery waste. Gibbs had never let his ship get infested like this. And that thought brought him back to the Black Pearl.
Gibbs would take care of the Pearl. See her brought back to her former glory. Good man, Gibbs, though he had been a sad case when Jack had first met him. Well maybe that was not quite the truth. Drunk more often than not, the man may have been, but he'd certainly done well by Jack.
When Gibbs had found Jack washed up on the beach like a piece of driftwood, the man had taken him in even though it must have been obvious he wasn't your average shipwreck survivor. Even now, Jack wasn't sure just how long he'd been adrift on that battered piece of wood. For once his luck had held, and he'd managed not to fall off the side. The sun had beaten him into submission though; his body had screamed for water long before he had passed out. As near-death experiences went, it wasn't one Jack wanted to go through ever again. He'd rather be standing on the hangman's platform for a quick drop and a sudden stop.
The severe dehydration had wreaked havoc with Jack's system and he had struggled for a long while to get his speech back. He had rambled a lot, or so Gibbs had told him, and Jack had been afraid that in his delirium he'd said more than was wise. But Gibbs had become a friend in that time. Jack didn't blame him for taking his chances now; it was no more than he himself would have done.
Harry Covenant. Jack's thoughts drifted back to that fateful night. It was rare for Jack to lose his temper, his skewed outlook on life holding his darker emotions pretty much in check. But that night Harry had been spoiling for a fight, both of them drunk as could be on the poor quality rum Covenant insisted on keeping on board his ship. It had started out as a celebration after Harry's Fearless and Jack's Victory had cornered the Spanish plate ship between them, bringing down her sails and crippling the larger vessel. The cannon had hit her low on the hull and she was taking on water at a steady rate. The pirates wouldn't have long to salvage their booty.
The two captains had boarded her, checking for themselves the prize they had won. That was when the trouble had started.
"Ah, now this is a pretty boat," Jack murmured, feeling the Spanish ship dance under his feet. She reminded him of the Pearl in her clean lines and elegant proportions. He watched the two crews make light work of the feeble resistance the Spaniards were putting up. The surviving men had been herded together on the deck, waiting for their fate to be decided.
Harry was all for dispatching the Spanish crew there and then, but Jack had wanted to set them adrift in the long boats. He had never held with the senseless taking of life - he'd seen too much of it for it to have any appeal. Unlike some of his contemporaries, he had no liking for bloodshed. Not that that would stop him slitting a throat or putting a bullet through someone should the need occur. He'd do whatever it took to survive.
"Let 'em go, Harry. Set them adrift and let them take their chances. No sense in wasting good shot on a bunch of Spaniards."
"Don't need no shot, good steel will do just as well!" Harry took a swig from the hip flask that accompanied him everywhere.
To Jack, it seemed that his counterpart now spent most of his time bordering on a drunken stupor. Jack could carry his drink well enough but how Harry stayed upright on occasion fascinated him. It was an allowance he made the older man when he would start with his slurs and accusations. It had been chance that had led him to this day and the booty now waiting to be divided. Tortuga, that most welcoming of harbours, had been Jack's last port of call and it had been there that he'd heard of Covenant's quest. Covenant had heard of a shipment of Spanish gold and needed help taking the prize. But everyone in Tortuga knew Harry, knew his reputation for the booze, and no one had believed him – save Jack. For the sake of trying to reclaim the Pearl, Jack was willing to take a gamble on the older man. The Victory was a sad ship, but seaworthy, and the crew were willing enough with such a big prize in the offing. And so they had struck an accord, shaking hands on the deal and raising a glass or three to a happy result.
This haul would be enough for Jack to finally hire the men he wanted then take the Victory out to search for the Black Pearl. He cast a covert glance at the motley assembly that currently comprised his crew, thinking glumly that he wouldn't trust any one of them to watch his back. No, he wouldn't be sad to see the end of this marriage of convenience with Harry…or the backs of the men that followed him.
Harry must have seen the reminiscent look on Jack's face for he immediately launched into him once again.
"Pretty boat!" he started, going back to Jack's initial thoughts on boarding. Jack hadn't realised he'd spoken out loud. "Remind you of that scow of a ship you let Barbossa take from you, does it?"
"The Black Pearl is the fastest ship in these waters, Harry. And you know it. If it'd been the Pearl under my feet when we first met things would be different right now." 'Oh yes,' Jack thought, 'there would have been no need to join with a drunken sot such as you. I would be free to roam the sea, Captain of my own ship, master of my fate. And maybe I could have taken this prize for my own - no sharing with a poor excuse for a pirate such as Harry Covenant!
Jack felt his temper begin to rise and stamped on it hard. There was no profit in angering the man, what with no one to watch his back should things go amiss. "Let's not argue, Harry, there's more important things to discuss." He pointed to where box upon box of gold were being brought up on deck and opened. Everyone turned fascinated greed-filled eyes to the glistening mass.
Jack's wishes won out. The Spaniards were set adrift - and from that moment on, Harry had been pinching and poking with his words. The fact that Jack took no notice only seemed to add fuel to the fire of his anger.
From the deck of the Fearless, Jack watched the Spanish ship go down and found himself a little sad. If it had been seaworthy he would have taken her as his part of the prize and left the Victory behind. The Spaniard had felt comfortable under his feet. Ah well, he was not one for regrets.
Later that day, the two captains sat in the main cabin of Harry's ship, sharing a meal and a good deal of liquor. Each had discarded their jackets and put up their weapons - this was a celebration between two comrades. Jack had no thought above getting as drunk as possible for the first time in days then taking his share of the prize and sailing the Victory back to Tortuga to provision and take on a new crew.
"You're a soft bugger, Jack Sparrow!" Harry had started, tossing down another glass full of rum. "Call yourself a pirate - you've less bottle than the ship's cat!"
Jack had raised his scarred brow and took another swig of his own drink before replying. "Get the job done though, mate. No point wasting good bullets and powder when I don't have to. And then there's all that swabbing to get the blood out of the decks. Never was one for housekeeping."
"Ah, you never was a one to get your hands dirty. Too busy putting beads in your hair and paint on your face!"
Harry's snort of derision hit home. Without volition Jack's fingers came up to touch the latest set of beads he had plaited into his hair. It was an affectation he enjoyed. It set him apart from the other poorly dressed and less groomed pirates. So what if he wanted to be a little different? It got him noticed; it got his name known. A man needed a trademark didn't he? Besides, if Ed Teach could get away with putting ribbons in his beard, Jack Sparrow could damn well put beads in his hair. He'd seen the notorious pirate once when he was younger - the man had scared the daylights out of him, ribbons and all.
Harry leaned forward and tapped the hilt of Jack's sword where it lay discarded on the table between them.
"You ever spit someone with this little trinket of yours? I's seen you flourish it around like a court dandy, but I's yet to see you draw blood."
Jack's brows plunged together. "What's your problem, Harry?"
"You," came the bald reply. "I think I'm going to retire you 'Captain Sparrow'. I want someone with more balls than you fighting at my side. If I hadn't heard to the contrary, I'd say you were a damn eunuch. Though could be I've heard wrong, eh Jack?"
Harry took another swig, Jack matching him tot for tot.
Narrowing his eyes, Jack watched Harry swig another mouthful of rum, spilling half of it down his chest. "If we're going to talk affectations…" Jack began irritably, eyeing Harry's gaudy, rum-soaked waistcoat with disfavour – he didn't get to finish the sentence, Harry riding roughshod over his words.
"Damn lily-livered, that's you Captain Sparrow. Barbossa had the right of it when he tossed you off the Black Pearl. Never was good enough for that ship. Never thought you was much of a pirate either." He snorted and gulped down another tot of rum. "You, Captain of the Black Pearl!" And Covenant suddenly burst out into raucous laughter.
It was one comment too far. All day Harry had been digging at him, pushing him to his limits. Jack's self-control was over. The slow burn that had been quietly gathering momentum in Jack's gut was about to explode. The overwhelming anger took him by surprise, leaving him shaking – and then he acted on it, ignoring his usual maxim of waiting for the opportune moment. He grabbed the hilt of his sword and pulled it swiftly from the scabbard. "You want me to spit you, Harry, then let's take this on deck." Jack slapped his hat onto his head then buckled the scabbard to his hips.
Slamming his pistol under his belt he stomped up the stairs to the main deck. He half expected Harry to fall down the moment he tried to get to his feet, but Covenant surprised him once again by staggering after him, buckling his own sword around his slightly portly frame.
The sun was sinking low on the horizon, the two pirate crews dividing up the booty. Both sets of crews were crowded onto the Fearless' main deck as the prize was being shared out. Just two men stood watch back on the Victory. Jack saw the anticipation on every face as the two captains made their way to the poop deck, scattering crewmen as they went and a murmur went through the crowd. Lanterns had been lit against the gathering gloom and their crimson glow added to the angry red spots of colour on Harry's cheeks. It seemed the pirates were in for a little entertainment to seal a gloriously profitable day.
Jack had learned to fight the hard way through the years – for his survival. And he was good, but then so was Harry. And at the moment Harry's capacity for drink seemed to be negating Jack's youth. Back and forth the two men sliced and parried, lunged and slashed. Too evenly matched, Jack had thought, the rum slowing his reaction times to a dangerous level. But Harry was in a worse way, eyes fading in and out of focus as Jack's sword weaved in front of him.
Time to take the advantage, Jack had thought, his wits finally coming in to play. Harry had his back to the steps now, only a pace away from falling to the main deck, where the pirate crews watched in fascination. Each crew egged on their captain, though it was doubtful they really cared who won.
Jack lunged forward, the point of his blade slithering up Harry's until it hit the man high in the shoulder. Both men were moving too fast to avoid the fall to the deck below and Jack landed heavily on top of his adversary. He had heard the crunch of breaking bones, but it was the shout of 'fire' that moved him to his feet. In their fall a lamp had been knocked free from its place, spilling burning oil onto the deck where it flowed straight for the downed man. Crewmen ran for buckets to douse the fire but none were in time to stop the conflagration that seemed to consume Covenant. Jack dragged himself upright, shaking his head trying to clear his vision. Had he hit something on the way down or was it just the rum finally taking hold? Whatever it was it was bloody poor timing. He turned around, looking for another bucket to help put out the fire. Harry's cries ripped right into his pounding head - but Jack found himself being pushed and shoved from all sides by the men who had already taken action.
Water was quickly thrown over the burning captain and across the trail of fire that was running wildly across the deck. The deck was tinder dry and ripe for burning, and Harry kept on screaming. Mixed in with his cries Jack heard Harry exhort his men to rip Jack apart and to bring him his entrails. Jack backed away from the scene, looking for a way out. It was his fault, his actions that had sent fire searing across the Fearless' deck. At any moment someone other than Harry was going to figure that out and want reparation.
Jack's eyes flew to his own little ship. The Victory had drifted a distance away, but he was a good swimmer. The fire had been doused, Harry no longer screamed – it was time to make a graceful exit.
The bosun had helped Harry to his feet. The man's leg appeared to be broken and his arm hung uselessly at his side. Whatever Jack had hit with that last thrust had obviously caused more damage than he had supposed.
From the frantic rush to douse the fire, both crews suddenly turned on Jack. Emotions were running way too high and Jack had let his options dwindle to zero. His own crew had no loyalty to him; they'd sailed with the Victory strictly for the booty promised and Jack knew he was on his own. In seconds he was buried under a pile of men, feet and fists pounding into him. Jack's only good fortune was that there were so many of them that they got in each other's way. Slowly, he dragged himself out from under the pack, inching his way toward the rail. By now the fight had become a melee, pirate pounding on pirate in gleeful abandon.
Pain lanced through Jack as he dragged himself up to clutch the rail. He'd apparently taken a knife in the side at some point.
He poised on the rail taking one last look back at where Harry stood, leaning against the bosun. Covenant's eyes were fixed on him – Harry's face red and blistered, his clothes in tatters. Jack read the deadly message in the burning eyes, confirmed by the mouthed promise – 'I'll see you dead, Jack Sparrow'.
Jack stilled. He had always held Covenant in contempt but there was something in the man's eyes that promised a terrible vengeance should they ever meet again. For a moment Jack wished that he had run the man through in a clean hit, for he had the strangest premonition that should they ever meet again, the gods might not be so kind to him.
No. Shock and loss of blood were taking their toll on Jack's damaged body. That was all it was, this sudden chill that almost took his breath away. With a shudder, Jack dragged his gaze away and threw himself over the side, away from his enemy, clutching madly at his battered hat.
Jack tried to swim to the Victory…only to hear the sound of a cannon being fired over his head - and the Victory exploded right in front of him, a lucky hit to the gunpowder stored below decks, most like. It seemed Harry was determined that Jack would not reach safety, even if it meant killing the poor sods who had been left on board.
Jack's survival was more by luck than design. He took a lungful of air and let himself drop below the surface, ignoring the pain in his side as the Victory spread herself across the ocean. Finally coming up for air, he managed to cling to a piece of the wreckage, hiding beneath it time and again as the Fearless manoeuvred through the flotsam – Harry checking for his corpse, or so he supposed. It was full night when the Fearless finally sailed away, and Jack hauled himself up onto the largest piece of wood he could find before letting the darkness take him.
When he found Jack, Gibbs had asked how he'd come by his injuries, what had happened. "You should see the other guy, mate," Jack had replied hoarsely, before passing out again.