Depressing thoughts seemed to be Jack's constant companion. And Harry's ship wasn't lightening his mood either. Twice now the Revenge's motion had tossed Jack into the dark murky waters and he was forced to conclude that the ship didn't like him. Well, the feeling was mutual.
There were times when Jack found his long hair a problem - this was one of them. It stunk. His dip in the bilge water had soaked more than just his clothes. His moustache and beard held the foul stench of Covenant's bilge water, as did his hair. Stripping off the red bandanna, he twisted his hair tightly to get what water he could out of it, then undid the plait which hung down in a soggy mess at the back of his head. As he squeezed water from his hair, his fingers encountered the beads he had so recently plaited in. From there his fingers strayed to older ornamentation, and the dark bilge faded away as Jack's thoughts returned to Tortuga…and one visit there in particular. That had been a good time and he couldn't resist the reminiscent smile that lit his face in the gloom.
It was one day until Jack's twenty-first birthday - if he had kept count correctly, that was. And to celebrate, the Bloody Cutlass was heading into the natural harbour that made Tortuga such a haven for the pirate brethren. Not that the rest of the crew knew they were celebrating their youngest pirate's birthday.
Anticipation brightened Jack's eyes as he stared at the crowded mass of houses that constituted civilisation in this part of the island. The town pushed its dirty skirts right up to the harbour, its life ebbing and flowing with the tide.
Jack was high above the deck, furling the last of the sails as the ship glided into place by the harbour wall. Their last foray had been a good one and each man had more than enough to enjoy the time they would have on the island. Captain Telford had given them all two weeks before he'd be hiring once again. He was a good captain and brought them plenty of booty, but was strict as hell. Heaven help the crewman who went against the articles he had set out. Ex-Navy, he ran a tight ship, though his attitude toward plunder and the fair distribution of wealth gladdened his crew's hearts. Perhaps if the British had treated him better he'd have stayed with them, but there was little chance of promotion and even less recompense for the work done. Why take the King's shilling when he could plunder good Spanish gold?
"Jack, get your skinny backside down here. Let's go and enjoy ourselves!"
Jack glanced down at Bootstrap's upturned face split in the biggest smile he'd seen in a long while. He grinned back and, with all the agility of a monkey, he scampered down to the deck.
"And where, you dog of a pirate, are we going to start?" Jack clapped his old friend hard on the back.
"First I have to send some of these," Bootstrap jingled the coins in his pocket, "back to Maggie and the boy, then how about meeting at Lizzies place?"
Jack's feral grin lit his face. He was still full of rampaging hormones and curiosity, both of which he had indulged in every port they had docked at, but he had a fondness for this place that had nothing to do with the brothels.
He stepped onto the jetty and strolled toward the main street letting the sights and smells surrounding him permeate into his senses. So much life, so much energy. Jack felt it light a fuse within him, until he was ready to explode from it all. For a moment he stood still, eyes closed, feeling welcomed and wanted in a way he had never experienced anywhere else.
"Hello, sweetie. Want a good time? You're a pretty lad; if it's your first time I'll give you a discount."
She was older than him by more than a handful of years; her figure overripe and not terribly clean. Jack wasn't usually so fussy, but this time around he had money in his pocket and he could afford better. Just to see how different it could be. A quickie up against a wall, or the five minutes at Lizzie's wasn't what he wanted this time around. He could get drunk anywhere, and probably would, but first he had other needs to attend to. Climbing the hill, trading comments with unfamiliar faces, he headed to Madame Bernice's bordello.
Standing outside, he caught his reflection in the curtained window. He did look young, Jack decided. Bare chin, hair pulled back into a ponytail, he appeared a mere stripling, not a man of nearly twenty-one. Pulling the band from his hair, he let it fall forward till it hung around his shoulders and studied the effect. He still looked years younger than his age, though it was something of an improvement. Perhaps the bandanna? He dragged the dirty red rag he sometimes wore on board ship from his back pocket and tied it around his head, stepping back to admire the effect. Better. Definitely better. And better yet, as of now he was growing a beard. Or at least he would try. Shaving had never been a huge problem for him. Jack's long fingers caressed the smooth skin as he grimaced at his reflection. His reflective mood didn't last long though, and with an anticipatory grin, he hammered on the door. His smile broadened as he saw who had answered, turning the full effect of his dark brown eyes and winning smile on the dark haired lovely who stood in the doorway.
The hangover was a beauty. From all around him came the cacophony of sound that heralded the beginning of a new day. The tavern staff were cleaning up from the night before, prodding into wakefulness those drunks who still slumbered in their chairs, or in Jack's case, on the floor. Propping himself up on one elbow he prised open one eye then quickly shut it again. Groaning only made his head ache even more, so he stifled the moan that was threatening to escape and prepared himself to try again. Bright daylight scorched his brain as Jack opened his eyes to the new day and he did groan, sending a sledgehammer pounding into his skull. He really needed a drink.
Some three drinks later he was upright and mobile once more. Little memory of the night before lingered in his tender brain. Well, not much after he had left the bordello and found Bootstrap. The two of them had embarked on some serious drinking, and perhaps some singing? He wasn't sure about that bit - but then he wasn't sure about a lot of things at this hour of the morning.
He aimed his footsteps toward the docks. Time to find Bootstrap and get some breakfast. Grog was fine, but did little to keep a man on his feet and energised. Jack had every intention of paying a return visit to Madame Bernice's. He'd learned a lot last evening from a happy-go-lucky whore who had taken a fancy to him. He smiled inwardly; he'd proven he was no boy last night.
Turning the corner into the main street, eyes still unfocussed, Jack didn't see the light carriage that was coming the other way. His head shot up as he heard the warning cry but it was too late and he was far too uncoordinated to dodge out of the way. The near-side wheel brushed against him, sending him sprawling onto his back against the hard cobblestones and reanimating the remnants of his hangover, setting the hammers battering at his temples once more.
For a long moment Jack lay still, face up and staring at the blue cloudless sky, wondering why he always ended up flat on his back. It wasn't that he was accident prone. No, just someone up there having a laugh at his expense. His internal musings faded as a pair of stunning green eyes came into view, looking down at him in concern.
"Oh, ma pauvre! Are you all right? Can you move?" With a rustle of silk, the sweet-smelling creature moved closer.
Jack lifted his head experimentally as she smiled at him encouragingly. "Be careful, little one – wait, Jules will help you."
That was it. He was definitely growing a beard…and a moustache. And maybe he would get some tattoos and another scar. Perhaps a nice slice down his face to match the one through his eyebrow. He was fed up with everyone seeing him as a child! Jack let his head drop back to the ground groaning - and immediately regretted his action as pain lanced from the back of his skull to meet the pounding over his eyes.
Jules turned out to be the brawny individual who had been driving the carriage. With the lady watching carefully, Jack was helped to his feet and he got his first good look at her. And, for the first time he found himself having to look up to see a woman's eyes. She was taller than he by at least two or three inches, and built on statuesque lines that would not look amiss on the prow of a ship. Plus, he was quick to note, she was dripping with jewellery. Jack staggered a little then added a moan for good measure, having seen the sudden sympathy in her eyes.
"Do you have anywhere to go?" Her accent blurred her words delightfully.
"No, m'lady." He'd found it never hurt to be polite to the ladies. "My ship docked a while ago and I haven't found another berth yet. I've nowhere to lay my head tonight."
"Mon Dieu, and you so jeune! You must come to my home until you are well."
Jack decided he like the sound of her voice almost as much as he liked the look of the diamond pendant around her neck and the exposed bosom where it lay. He may not understand the foreign words, but her compassion was evident in every one of them.
After giving him a painkilling draught they put him to bed in a room that was the size of his old cottage in Cornwall. The bed was the most luxurious thing he had ever seen, its fine cotton sheets sliding sensuously under his fingers.
"Sleep mon petite moineau. I will have someone call you when dinner is ready." Jack watched her leave through slitted eyes, feigning a tiredness he no longer felt. And, thanks to the foul tasting medicine m'lady had made him drink, his hangover was a pale ghost of its former self.
The moment the door closed he was out of bed and checking through the closets and drawers. Satins and heavy brocades met his questing fingers, undergarments in the finest silks and lace that made his eyes light up. It seemed he was in m'lady's own rooms! He searched diligently for any sign of a jewellery box, or a hiding place for her gems but found nothing. He was still standing in the middle of the room, a pair of her silk drawers in one hand when he heard footsteps outside the door. Hastily, he dove for the bed, shoving the knickers under the covers and closing his eyes.
Jack felt the bed dip under her weight and the cool touch of her fingers on his forehead. Keeping his eyes tight shut he continued to feign sleep. Her touch was stirring parts of him that he would be better off keeping under control, for the moment at least. But when her fingers trailed down across his cheek to lay softly against his lips he couldn't help but open his eyes and found himself drowning in her gaze. Jack gulped and realised that, for once, he was in way over his head.
"So, you are awake after all." Her hands now rested on either side of him, perforce pinning him to the bed. Not that he minded, Jack thought, watching the diamond pendant swing slowly towards him as she moved forward.
"Tell me who you are. You are so young to be at sea."
Jack had been toying with names for quite a while now, not really feeling that John White had quite the right ring to inspire dread. As a pirate bold, he needed something with a bit more cachet, a little more style. The crew of the Bloody Cutlass just knew him as Jack, or more commonly young Jack. Only Bootstrap knew his real name, as he knew his.
"Jack Hawke, m'lady. And I'm not so young, I'm twenty-five." Well if you're going to lie, might as well make it a good one. Besides, he thought, that might put him a little closer to her age.
Her fingers scraped against his smooth chin and her eyes twinkled at him.
"So, a man then?"
"Aye," he said firmly, pushing himself up. He felt too much at her mercy laid flat on his back. Not that he'd pass up the opportunity to get horizontal with her later on…just not right now.
"And Hawke, qu'est-ce-que c'est? I have not heard this name before. Does it have a meaning?"
Jack thought rapidly, wondering how he had come to that name. He caught her eye, saw the curiosity and kindness there and found himself telling the truth, much to his own amazement.
"It means freedom. To be able to go where I want, do what I want. To have no cage around me."
It was obvious from her puzzled gaze that she didn't understand everything he'd said, so he tried once again.
"It's the name of a bird," he began, flapping his arms and pretending to fly, though severely hampered by the bed linen. He let his hands swoop and soar in an expression of the bird in flight.
"Ah, like the moineau I named you." She nodded, setting her dark hair dancing.
Jack nodded, hoping they were on the same line of thought.
"M'lady, may I ask the name of the person to whom I owe my rescue?" God, he was proud of that sentence. Spending all that time with his uncle must finally be paying dividends.
The bright green eyes danced wickedly as she replied. "I am Genevieve Charmant."
Jack's eyes widened, his jaw dropped and he let his head fall into his hands. He had been rummaging through the undergarments of the Governor's mistress!
As he bent forward, the cover slid further down, exposing the silk drawers he had tried to hide. His hostess reached forward and picked them up, eyeing him speculatively.
"I hope you do not intend to wear these? I do not think they would suit you at all!" She dropped the garment onto the bed shaking her head. "Such a waste. But maybe you have been at sea too long, little one."
"I am not a little one, and…" Good god, had she just suggested he was…? Well, he'd better scotch that idea, right now. After all, wasn't that how rumours got started? Jack leant forward suddenly, catching her unawares, his hands on either side of her face as he kissed her as thoroughly as he knew how.
For the next week and a half no one from the Bloody Cutlass even saw Jack. He was quite happily ensconced with Genny in her home while the Governor was away on business - and a fine time was had by both. But he knew it had to end. He was no more than a toy to her, and he wanted no cage, however gilded, to tie him down.
"I have a little gift for you."
Her voice woke him from his half-asleep state, his head still cushioned on his arms where they rested on the table. She was sitting beside his chair, her fingers working a slim strand of his hair into a plait. He watched her fingers moving deftly through his locks, remembering how good they had felt on his skin.
"Come, look." Genny pulled him up and dragged him to the mirror over the fireplace. She had plaited into his hair a set of beads that pulled uncomfortably at his scalp.
"They come from the America's. I was told they bring bon chance to the wearer. I think you might need it, Jacques. It is a difficult life you have chosen."
Jack didn't like the feel of the beads in his hair much, but the more he looked at them, the more he liked the effect, and the thought that lay behind them – a way to remember the generous woman who stood behind him now, admiring the effect of her handiwork.
"Mon petite moineau, you will take care of yourself?"
He kissed her soundly before pulling back and asking the question that had been in his mind since their first day together.
"Just what is a moineau?" Jack asked. "It's not something cute and cuddly - is it?" suddenly horrified at the possible affectionate appellation.
She smiled at him with a disconcerting twinkle in her eyes. "It is a bird, mon cher, flying free as you do."
Jack was drunk. Again. The last two days had passed in a haze. The Governor had returned and Jack had left his cosy little nest to wander the streets of the town once more, getting as drunk as he could in as many places as he could manage. And now it was his last night before signing back on the Bloody Cutlass and he wanted to do something special.
The tattooist watched Jack with eyes that said he'd seen this all so many times before. A drunk sailor wanting a tattoo. Always had to be something special, something no one else had. The only problem at that moment was a complete and utter lack of communication. Jack's French was non-existent and the tattooist's English was barely more. And the interpreter had disappeared with his doxy.
Jack's flapping of arms to indicate the hawk he wanted on his forearm, had led to a series of false starts until eventually he came up with the one French word that he knew meant bird. Moineau.
The tattooist nodded his understanding, and finally got the idea that Jack wanted a sparrow flying across water. Not what he would have chosen, but the young man was paying.
Jack took a hefty swig of rum as the man began. God, it hurt! He took a second, and then a third drink until the room began to spin around his head and the pain became just an annoyance in the background of his mind.
Bleary eyed and a little the worse for wear, Jack presented himself to the Cutlass the next morning. Since he'd woken in the street outside the tattoo parlour he'd been eyeing his acquisition with disfavour. No way that was a hawk, etched forever onto his arm. Looked more like a bloody sparrow, skinny little thing. Didn't the man understand French!
"Jack," The captain called, and he stepped forward. "You've more than proved yourself over the last few years, I'm putting you in charge of ship's rigging. Articles as before, do you agree?"
His new position would mean a slightly larger share of any haul; there was no way Jack would forego that. He grinned.
Up until now he'd always signed as just Jack, which was more than the majority of the crew could do, most of them being illiterate. As Jack leaned forward to pick up the quill his sleeve rode up revealing the new tattoo, and the beads Genny had put in his hair swung forward, obscuring his view. He smiled to himself and signed with a flourish – Jack Sparrow.
It might not instil fear in the hearts of seafaring folk currently sailing the seven seas, but it was unusual and would not be forgotten. And neither would Genny for giving him the idea – bless her.
A shadow crossed over him and Jack looked up at a tall pirate leaning against the port rail nearby. Jack hadn't seen him before; he must be new to the Cutlass then. The man held himself with assurance and his eyes told of experiences going back many years.
Jack nodded to him and raised a brow. "Jack Sparrow, in charge of rigging."
The stranger nodded back, "Barbossa. Bosun this trip."
A strange sensation settled in Jack's stomach, almost as though he was finally going to succumb to seasickness, something he'd never done before.
He shook his head and headed off to find a sip or two of rum – just to settle his stomach of course.
Jack sighed and kicked at the Revenge's bilge water. Of course, if he had known then what he knew now, he'd have simply run Barbossa through and saved them both a lot of trouble. Not that he could have run him through then; after all, it was Barbossa who had taught him how to use a sword. And he'd been glad enough of that tuition on many an encounter.
He settled himself against the packing case once more, trying to find a drier spot to sit. The storm outside seemed to be having a detrimental effect on Harry's ship as water seeped in with a little more force than Jack was happy with. Yes - the bilge water was definitely rising and if Harry didn't send someone down to sort out the situation soon, Jack wouldn't need to worry about being hanged in the morning – he'd be drowning instead.