PIRATES OF THE CARIBBEAN: THE AFRICAN STAR

By ErinRua

CHAPTER 6

"Ye're not what I'd expect of them."

The sudden lilting voice startled Elizabeth, and she peered through the gloom towards the other occupant of her windowless cell.  Though the other young woman had been already here last night when Elizabeth was unceremoniously shoved through the door, she had never spoken.  For a time Elizabeth had wondered if the ghastly, stomach-wrenching stench of this dark place had rendered the girl senseless, for not even an offal heap left in the tropical sun could smell worse than this ship.

"And how is that?"

"You're a proper lady."  A musical inflection to the voice marked the woman as Irish and in the dim light that seeped into their prison it appeared she had a very fair, pretty face with pale blue eyes beneath a rich tumble of brown curls.  "I saw yer nice dress and all when they brought you in.  Not the sort I've heard of bein' taken."

"What sort is that, then?  And who is doing the taking?"

Cloth whispered as the girl shrugged.  "I know only that they're guttersnipes, the lot of 'em."

"Do you know where we are, what ship?"

"I came blindfolded, same as you, miss."

Fear and frustration began to climb at the girl's dull responses.  "Then do you know what in heaven's name they want with us?  If it's ransom they want, my father will pay, I've no fear of that."  Spitefully Elizabeth added, "Then I'll be certain the Royal Navy will sink whatever's left of these scoundrels."

"Ransom?"  The Irish lass gave a bark of laughter.  "That's jam on yer egg.  Nobody ransoms the likes of me, or any of the others they've took.  As I said, by all accounts I've heard you're not the sort."

"The sort for what?  Why did they take us?"

The girl leaned forward, diffused light painting her soft features in weird shadow.  "To sell."

"Sell!  That's -."  Elizabeth's breath caught on a fresh stab of panic, as she twisted frantically to scan the heavy wooden walls of the small hold that encompassed them.  "That's preposterous.  My father will learn and heads will roll. What sort of fools would even try such a thing?"

"Can't you tell, miss?  This is a slave ship just off-loaded its cargo.  We're to be part of the cargo goin' out."

"Cargo!"  Elizabeth's outrage spiked and she flung herself to her feet.  "I am not cargo!  I know what ship this is, and I know her master.  What is your name?  We must work together and plan a way out of this."

But the other girl simply sat against the opposite wall, a dim, rumpled heap of calico and untidy curls.  "Don't be thick, girl!  And how do ye think to do that?  They'll sell us to the Spaniards or whoever will have us, and nobody ever the wiser."

Aghast, Elizabeth said, "You talk as if you've already given up.  I will not stand by and let these men go about their depraved business.  We must fight, we must think!"

However, the lilt of Ireland took on a hard edge.  "You make yer plans, miss.  You and yer grand dresses and fancy ways - Just don't expect me to get beat or killed or worse, for the likes of you."

"Then give up, if you like," Elizabeth fired back.  "But I will not go so easily.  My father will turn Port Royal inside out, and so will Commodore Norrington!"

"Ah, you've friends, do you?  Maybe those gobshites reached too high, then."

Fists clenched Elizabeth pivoted and glared at the pressing dark walls.  The foul air in this place caught in her lungs like smoke and slithered nauseatingly about in her stomach, but her optimism remained undimmed.

"Just you wait," Elizabeth said.  "We'll hear them coming aboard before you know it, and I can't wait to see the look on Sir John's despicable face."

"Pray they do, lady.  Yer hope is the only hope we got." 

****

"A hundred ships and a thousand eyes, and nobody sees a thing."

The afternoon sun slanted golden beams across the quays as Will sighed in bitter discouragement.  He had just left a tavern bearing a sign denoting it as the Blue Pelican, from which belched raucous laughter and the reek of beer and rum.  But as with every other waterfront establishment and street vendor's booth he had called on, neither answers nor clues were found.  The tavern door behind him bashed open as a sailor staggered out, the bow-legged walk of the sea intensified by a full cargo of liquor.  Will sidestepped as the fellow nearly plowed into him and the man blearily pulled himself to a halt.

"Oop, shorry there, mate.  Lost 'm wind, need t' try another - hic - tack."

He clubbed Will on the arm in lieu of apology and staggered off towards the end of the building - where he collided with the corner, caught himself, and commenced noisily retching his guts empty.  Making a sour face Will walked away.

"There must be something," he murmured.  "Something I'm missing."

But there was not.  Perhaps his guess was dead wrong, and no militant slaves had taken Elizabeth by water.  Or else he was simply unable ask the questions that would gain him the right answers.

"Maybe nobody saw anything," he sighed.  "Or maybe nobody will talk unless you buy their compliance.  Ah, fool, a shilling in the right hands might have solved everything."

His toe struck a loose cobble and in sudden irritation he scooped it up and flung it as hard as he could.  Up and up it arced until at last it dropped to plop far out in the water.  He cocked his head and frowned.  At the end of an empty dock sat an old black man, motionless as the wood pylon beside him, his gnarled hands clasping a cane fishing pole.  There were some people, Will thought, whom Royal Marines and commodores would simply never think to talk to.

Crystal green water surged in gentle swells beneath the weathered beams of the dock, gurgling and slapping in an endless rhythm.  Will found himself inhaling the pungent aroma of the sea as he ambled out to the dock's end, and a salt breeze brushed invisible fingers through his hair.  He halted only when his toes poked out over water that deepened to clear blue.

"How is the fishing?" he asked.

Will looked down as the old colored man looked up, and he beheld a wizened mahogany face made notable by one milky, blind eye.

"Fish ain't bitin'."

"Ah."  Will looked at the line hanging limply into the water some ten feet below.  Certainly he could not see any fish down there.  "Perhaps you need to try another place."

"Nope.  Dis be de spot."

"I see."  He stood a moment more then crouched down on his heels, hands dangling between his knees.  "Are you here often?"

"I be here allll de time."  The old man cackled and gave a sudden broken-toothed grin.  "Except fo' when I'm not."

"Do you catch many fish?"

"When dey bitin'.  Den I catches all sortsa fishes.  My girl, she fry 'em up fo' ol' Jack juss right."

"Your name is Jack?"

"Yassuh.  Dat be me, Ol' Jack."

Will gave a soft snort of amusement.  "I know someone else named Jack."

Again he was treated to a grinning mouthful of teeth and pink gums.  "I bet he a rascal, too."

"Yes, that he is."

Chuckling softly, Will shifted himself to sit beside the old man, his feet dangling over the water.  He was silent a moment, letting the breeze caress his face while he attempted to marshal his thoughts into some order.

Finally he said, "You must see many things from here."

"Yassuh.  Ol' Jack see ever'ting.  Big ting, little ting.  Only ting I don' see yet is angels comin' over Jo'dan.  Dat be what I waits on.  Dat an' de fish come bite."

The old man shifted and tucked his pole under one arm, and reached painfully into his pocket.  A moment of tugging and he pulled out a small cloth sack.  His gnarled brown fingers fumbled with the drawstring and Will reached over reflexively.

"Here, let me."

The old man's grey brows lowered but he held out the sack obediently.  Quickly Will tugged the ties loose and handed it back.  Ol' Jack's face relaxed.

As he reached into the sack Ol' Jack said, "Dis be sweets my girl make.  Soft fo' Jack's ol' teef.  Hab some."

Startled, Will peered at that oddly-pink palm, which held pale slices of what appeared to be some sort of dried candied fruit.  With a mental shrug he plucked one and popped it in his mouth.  The old man watched and then cackled gleefully as Will's face lightened in pleased surprise.

"Sweet fo' de soul," Ol' Jack chuckled.  "Sweet fo' de soul."

Will nodded as he chewed the succulent treat.  But then the old man spoke before he could muster further words.

"Now you tell Ol' Jack.  What you fishin' fo?"

Swallowing, Will assumed his most innocent expression.  "Fishing?"

"Nah, you don' fool me."  A bony dark finger wiggled at him mischievously.  "Nobody come talk ol' Jack.  You be fishin', boy.  What you fishin' fo' wit' out no pole?"

That one blind eye swam in a murky cloud of unseeing, but the other pinned Will with a knowing dark stare.  For a moment he hesitated, anxiety crowding tightly in his throat, for if he said the wrong thing he might not only fail to find answers, but he could conceivably forewarn the kidnappers as well.  The old man carefully chewed one of his candied fruits.

"You want to know what Ol' Jack sees.  You has a burden, yas you do."

"Yes."

"Den you tell me.  Tell me what make yo' face cloud up like rain."

As well be hung for a sheep as a lamb.  Taking a breath, Will said, "I've lost someone.  She was taken."

"Taken how?"

"I don't know.  But she never came home.  Her father has heard no word.  I cannot find her."

The grizzled grey head wagged slowly.  "Not a good ting when de daddy don' know."

"No, it's not.  And I would find her - for her father."

"An' fo' yo' se'f, eh?"  That gleaming dark eye narrowed merrily.  "Do it be love?"

Letting his head drop, Will replied softly, "Yes.  It be love."

"Ohhh, you po' foo'."  Ol' Jack's snaggled grin beamed once more, but there was cunning behind that wizened face.  "Den you tell Ol' Jack why you tink he see some'ting, eh?"

Will's feet dangled over empty space with a deep splash waiting below, and that was just how it felt when he opted to reveal the truth of his search, as he had not to any other man.

"I think she was taken away from here.  And I think if I were the men taking her, I would not risk the road where others might see.  I would go by boat, and disappear into the dark."

He turned his head to meet the old man's one-sided stare, and prayed he had not sunk what little hope he had.  The smile was gone from that wrinkled dark face, and the deep lines of it shifted as Ol' Jack appeared to chew on his thoughts along with his sweets.  A long silence grew and stretched between them.  Finally, however, Ol' Jack spoke.

"I see t'ree mens take a lady in de boat.  Dey come hyah lass night juss when de sun go down and de lass fish is bitin'."

"Could you see what she looked like?  What she was wearing?"

"Look like a lily," the old man replied, bobbing his grey head.  "Shinin' like a lily in de gloomin'.  She pretty lady, I hear it when she talk.  Too fine fo' de likes o' dem."

Will found himself holding his breath.  "What did she say?"

Ol' Jack cackled.  "She say plenty!  Most she tell dem what she tink and she call them anyting but a white man, dat she do.  Sho', boy, she talk words I don' even know!"

"Elizabeth," Will whispered and smiled despite the gigantic fist suddenly wrenching his heart.  "And those who took her?  What manner of men were they?  Could you see faces, color, clothing?"

"Oh, yas.  Dey be sailor mans. An' whiter 'n you, young 'un."

He almost stopped breathing, staring at the old man's bland, wrinkled features.  "Where did they take her?  Where?"

"Oh, you don' want to follow where she go."

"I must!  Please, tell me!"

The old man's brown face seemed to sink into sorrowful folds and he looked down at his knobby hands.  "She go de debbil ship."

"Devil ship?"  Will thought he might leap right off the dock for sheer frustration.  "What devil ship?"

Ol' Jack spoke no word, but raised one crooked hand to point out across the shifting, heaving water.  For a moment Will looked in incomprehension, seeing a wide expanse of numerous small craft, fishing boats, merchant vessels … and one tall, grim square-rigger anchored just off the shipyards.

Against hope, he asked, "Did you see them come back to shore?"

"No, sah.  Dey go out.  Dey don' come back."

"Why didn't you tell someone, Jack?"

"Sho', boy, who gon' listen Ol' Jack?"

In despair Will wondered if the old man was right, that any alarm he might have tried to raise would have gone unheeded.  But he would never know.  And the Royal Venture had to be nearly complete in her repairs.

"They can't be allowed to sail!"  Will scrambled to his feet.

"Nobody come back from de debbil ship, young 'un," croaked Ol' Jack.  "You go dere, you don' ebber come back."

"This time they will."

"Hey, boy!"

The shock of that bark halted Will, and he frowned down at the old man.  However, Ol' Jack held his gaze and that single dark eye blazed with startling intensity.

"De debbil on dat boat, young 'un.  He be takin' body an' soul fo' many long time, an' he don' care you be white o' black."

"He'll care now."  With a last fierce glance towards the Royal Venture, Will wheeled about and ran.  "Thank you, Jack!"

In his wake the old man tilted his head to look at two silver coins left on the dock beside him.  The fish were not biting but perhaps the day was not all lost.

Two minutes later Will was shouldering his way back into the steamy chaos of the Blue Pelican.  There the tavern keeper still bustled among his kegs, and with a hard grab Will seized him by his shirt.  With his other hand he slapped several silver coins - Jack Sparrow's coins - on the counter between them, and the tavern keeper's ruddy face flashed from outrage to interest in one blink.

"This is yours," Will said, and his dark eyes bored into the man's beady stare as he clapped his palm back over the coins.  "When you tell me what you know about the Royal Venture and Sir John Biltmore."

***

TBC …