PIRATES OF THE CARIBBEAN: THE AFRICAN STAR

By ErinRua

CHAPTER 9

"Will, let's be fair about this.  Have I ever forsaken you in harm's way?  Have I?"

As the boy turned to give him a narrow glare, Jack draped his hand on his sword pommel and grinned in self-vindication.  "No, I haven't.  I've dangled you a bit close, perhaps, teased the odds a little, possibly even subjected you to deadly peril and the threat of great bodily injury, but I 'ave never -."  He assumed a pose, be-ringed right hand lifted as if in oath.  "- Ran out on you in a fight."

Seeing the lad's temper begin to deflate, Sparrow instantly pounced on a new topic.  "So, what brings you to the thriving metropolis of New Town?  I can't expect my new sword so soon - is it the undeniable charm of my company?"

Still grinning he turned away, certain Will would follow.  Nor was he wrong.  But he had not anticipated the boy's answer.

"Elizabeth has been kidnapped."

At those disconsolate words Sparrow did a complete about-face, beaded braids swinging. 

"Again?"  Viewing the misery on Will's face, he said, "Mate, you have got to marry that girl."

"Jack, I need your help."

"When she has the whole bloody Royal Navy - or at least the fleet attached to the Caribbean - wrapped around her finger?  You're whistlin' for the wrong wind, boy."

Shaking his shaggy head Jack resumed walking, and Will hastened to catch up, following like a desperate pup.

"Commodore Norrington is already doing what he can - but it's not enough.  Jack, I think she's been kidnapped by Sir John Biltmore, captain of the Royal Venture."

"You think?"  Jack spoke without slowing as he made his way towards the door.  "You need more than suspicions, boy, when dealin' with a man like that."

"You know him, then?"

"Know of him."

They paused at the door to let two drunken men lurch inside then they stepped out into the bright morning sun.  Palm trees swayed above green grasses and white sand, with the brilliant glare of beach and sea perhaps fifty yards beyond.  The rush of soft surf was welcome after the riotous clamor of the tavern.

"Then you know what sort of man he is."  Will's long legs kept him glued firmly at Jack's side, continuing his earnest plea.  "Commodore Norrington already searched his ship and found nothing, but I believe that was mischance. I believe there's a false hold in the Royal Venture and that's where Elizabeth is being kept."

Sparrow stopped and waited for Will to face him again.  "Son, I think we need to 'ave us a little sit-down, and you can tell me just what the name of Neptune you're talking about."

So it was they sat on a log with their legs splayed in the sand, enjoying the morning breezes beneath a palm tree overlooking the beach.  The problematical plumed hat laid aside, Will drew a whetstone along the edge of his sword as he relayed the whole unhappy tale, everything from his initial encounter with First Mate Thomas Fry to the dying slave girl to his and Elizabeth's narrow escape during the breakout.  Meanwhile Jack became engrossed in study of a coconut he picked up, turning it in his hands and then producing a knife.  With that he worried the dimples at the end of the woody fruit in a futile attempt to puncture it for the juice.  But he remained silent as the young man continued his narrative, finally concluding with his hunt for clues to Elizabeth's disappearance, the rumors of Biltmore's involvement in white slavery, and Commodore Norrington's fruitless search of the Royal Venture.

"I overheard someone talking about false holds in smugglers' boats, and it dawned on me, certainly a man like Biltmore would be clever enough to build one, if even half of what they say about him is true."

Frowning at the stubborn coconut, Sparrow said, "And the fact your governor received a ransom note from a band of runaway slaves, directly after a band of slaves ran away, does not seem the least bit suspicious?"

"That group does not exist!" Will exploded.  "That's what I've been telling you!  No one has ever heard of them."

"Probably because they only just escaped slavery."  The tip of Sparrow's knife dug at the fibrous hull more fiercely.

"Jack, those people were fresh off the boat from Africa.  They couldn't speak English, let alone write it."

"Mm."  Sparrow pursed his mouth as he sought a new angle to breach the nut.

With an impatient grimace Will seized the coconut, laid it on the log, and whacked his sword a mighty blow.  Jack found himself accepting the return of his coconut with its top neatly cleaved off and most of the juice still in it.  Perhaps he should keep in mind just how strong this lanky lad really was.

"Biltmore thinks Elizabeth and I were part of the escape," Will insisted, applying whetstone to blade once more.  "I saw his face as we ran, and he even accused Governor Swann of involvement, raving about his financial losses.  The man looks for conspiracies, Jack.  And he practically promised that he holds grudges."

Sparrow tilted the coconut to let the sweet juice dribble into his mouth, leaning back almost to the point of upset to drain the last drop.  When finished he sat up and gave a rich burp, before fixing Will with a pointed stare.

"So your belief is that this perfidious merchant in human misery has absconded with your fair maiden for base purposes of revenge, for which you are sworn to a course of intrigue, rescue and derring-do, even at the cost of your own life and honor?"

Will stared a beat then replied.  "Yes!"

"What's in it for me?"

"What?"

Laying a finger against his chin, Jack widened his eyes expectantly and repeated, "I said, what's in it for me?  Loot, swag, plunder, pecuniary remuneration.  Money, boy."

"Jack, Elizabeth needs our help!"

Sparrow swept both arms - knife, coconut and all - wide to either side.  "And in a perfect world you and me could hop in our little boat and sail to her rescue.  But it doesn't work that way."

"Why not?"

"Because -."  Gold teeth flashed in a crooked grin.  "I'm a pirate."

Will's eyes narrowed, his disappointment keenly visible.  "And you won't do anything that doesn't offer personal gain."

"Think, mate.  A pirate captain has a pirate ship and a pirate crew, and they won't do anything that doesn't offer personal gain, or I'll find meself on the beach again.  Savvy?"

Turning towards the sea, Will did not really see the waves running up the sand and sliding back, or the many small boats lying tilted above the waterline.

Dully he said, "No prey, no pay."

"Now you're understandin'."  Sparrow shifted his grip on his knife and began worrying the white coconut meat out of its shell.

As he popped a sweet bite into his mouth he cast a sideways glance at Will's gloomy face.  The young blacksmith heaved an enormous sigh as he pocketed his whetstone and slid his sword though his belt.  Jack frowned, for he really did not mean to crush the lad so, but there were certain facts of life that the young and idealistic had to learn the hard way - and Will Turner certainly topped the list when it came to youthful idealism.

"Tell you what," Jack said as he chewed.  "Give me a bit of incentive and we'll think about it."

"What incentive?"  Will slumped forward and scowled over his shoulder.  "I don't have any treasure maps or magical compasses."

"No, but you do have your eye on a ship that belongs to a prominent merchantman."

Instantly the young man sprang to his feet.  "I am not advocating piracy!"

"Then what do you bloody call it?"  Sparrow's retort grated harshly as he matched Will's glare.  "Did you think we could just ask this bloke to heave-to while we swing gaily aboard, scoop up your lady love, and leave with a tip o' the hat?"  His tone dropped to near-gentleness as he added, "You didn't plan this all the way through, did you, son?"

Frustration fairly crackled in Will's every move, as he paced a tight path out into sunlight and back again, once even jamming his fingers into his disheveled black hair.  Of course he had not planned, he was desperate to find Elizabeth and had simply flown to the only man he knew with the resources to do what Commodore Norrington had tried - only without the constraints of law or protocol.  Fool he was - but then the real question sprang so clear it was nearly blinding: how much was Elizabeth's life worth?

"The African Star."

"Beg pardon?"  Sparrow looked up, mouth full of coconut.

"Sir John Biltmore is rich.  Filthy rich."  The younger man dropped to one knee beside Sparrow, and his brown eyes burned with fervor.  "On that ship he has over five thousand pounds from the sale of his slaves, as much as the governor makes in a year, plus they say he carries African gold and ivory.  And …" Will paused.  "He is owner of a diamond so grand the King of England tried to buy it from him."

For an instant Jack stopped chewing and his dark stare was sharp as rapiers.  Then he circled his knife hand in a 'keep going' gesture.

"I talked to people on the waterfront," Will continued.  "Men who know the ships and their captains.  They say that Biltmore trusts no one with this diamond and so he keeps it in a locked casket in the cabin of his ship.  When he goes ashore he carries it with him, for he doesn't trust his crew, not even his first mate, and when he is at home he keeps it in a locked vault."

He held Jack's gaze intently.  "It's called The African Star.  They say he betrayed and murdered the chief of an Ashanti tribe to get it, and he hired a diamond cutter to stay on his estate in Cuba for three years to cut it."

Sparrow's look was keenly calculating as he took another bite of coconut from the tip of his knife.  "Three years, ay?"

"Yes.  It's supposed to be one of the most perfect diamonds ever seen."

Cynicism appeared on Jack's tanned face as he tossed his coconut over his shoulder.  "If it's so secret, who's ever seen it to say how perfect it is?"

"He used to wear it as a badge or brooch, when he attended society affairs or wanted to impress people.  He only stopped wearing it after he was attacked one night on Barbados, and barely escaped with it and his life."

"Cuba is his home port, then?"

"Yes.  Word is that he has a villa just outside Baracoa."

"Ah," said Jack.  "Close to his market for his 'special' cargos and out of sight to English authority.  Smart man.  And you heard him say he was bound next for Hispaniola with new cargo?"

"Yes.  He said he had buyers waiting in Port Paix.  I saw his men lightering goods out to his ship.  Rumor was that it included sugar, silks and linen, silver wares, things like that."

Meticulously wiping coconut from his knife blade, Jack said, "For a man who's so adverse to piracy, you're certainly done your research into this fellow."

A faint flush rose under Will's tan.  "I wanted to know what kind of man he was - if he could really be someone who would kidnap Elizabeth for spite."

"Spite.  I think that's too small a word.  Tell me something, Will."  Sparrow leaned towards him with his elbows on his knees, hands dangling loosely, and cool appraisal shadowed those ink-dark eyes.  "If we reach an accord and if my crew is agreeable … are you truly and without a doubt certain that your lass is aboard that ship?  For once the Black Pearl sets sail, there is no turnin' back."

The sudden stillness in Will's young face was answer enough.

"You think on it."  Jack stood and dusted off his hands, watching as Will scooped up his hat and clambered to his feet.  Long bones seemed to untangle with less than the lad's usual coordination and he asked, "When did you last sleep?"

"Yesterday?"

"A toddy and a hammock for you, although it's a pity a lusty wench is so obviously out of the question.  How did you get here?"  Sparrow peered towards the drowsy boats along the shore.

"I hired a horse and rode over the mountains." 

"Explains the hat."  As Jack set off at his swaying sea-legged gait, he cast his young comrade a narrow glance.  "You are aware those mountains are infested with every manner of cutthroat, robber and brigand, are you not?"

"What if they are?"

Their voices drifted under the trees as they walked away, Jack responding, "Boy, you'll never live long enough to make a pirate."

"I am NOT becoming a pirate."

"Of course you're not."

"I'm not."

"Did I say you were?"

"I just want to find Elizabeth."

"Of course you do."

"That does not make me a pirate."

"Of course not."

"Stop agreeing with me, Jack!"

***

The work ethic of a good blacksmith deplored the idea of sleeping while the sun was in the sky, but the exhaustion of the past almost-thirty hours hung leaden weights on Will Turner's limbs.  However, his mind yet gnawed on troubling thoughts and so he sat wakeful in the doorway of a hut that was little more than peeled poles and palm leaves, resisting the warm breeze and the whisper of the sea that called him to rest.

As much as he wanted to strangle Jack Sparrow for being so bloody difficult, he realized the eccentric scoundrel was actually doing him a favor by not leaping at the idea.  For what Will proposed was nothing less than setting a crew of ferocious pirates upon an honest British merchant ship, as a man might set hounds upon a hare.  There was no room to be mistaken, for if he was … Will Turner would be branded a known pirate, possibly with innocent blood on his hands, and he would lose Elizabeth forever.

But what other choice had he?  If he were wrong, Commodore Norrington's search would continue until Elizabeth was found, of that he had no doubt, and Elizabeth herself would be delivered safe into her father's arms.  That was the most important point of all, that her life be saved, not his.  Will simply could not stand by with empty hands, while the girl who had haunted his dreams since he awoke on a fog-damp deck almost a decade ago, was carried off into unknown peril.

He stood up as he heaved a tight breath of frustration, and stared blindly across the sandy lane, watching sunlight and shadow shift among a nearby tangle of mangrove trees.  The hut Jack had directed him to stood at the far end of the little village and there was nothing to see but a few chickens pecking among fallen fronds, a goat nibbling at a sprig of green … and an old colored man walking.  Odd, for Will had not seen him approach, but there he was.  Gnarled as the crude wooden crutch he leaned on and dressed in rags, he hobbled at a hitching gait that nonetheless suggested tireless strength.  His feet were bare and scabbed with sores of hard travel, and yet the eyes he turned to meet Will's scrutiny were bright and keen.

"Hello," Will said, then wondered why he felt compelled to speak at all.

The old man stopped, and merry lines fissured the brown skin of his face.  "Ah, dere you be."  Before Will could fathom that response, crooked fingers fumbled in a dirty tote sack slung about his shoulder.  "Mebbe you help, eh?  Dis go out."

From the sack the old man drew a small pipe, which he gestured towards Will with a hopeful and mostly toothless grin.

"Oh!  Certainly."

Inside the hut simmered the dying coals of what must have been Jack's breakfast fire, but Will was able to catch flame to a twig.  Cupping it carefully he stepped back outside, to find the old man waiting at the door.  Wiry grey curls bent over the tiny flame, and white smoke puffed to life.  The old fellow inhaled so that his weathered cheeks sucked into two great dimples, and then he smiled and breathed a long curl of fragrant tobacco smoke.

"Ahh," he sighed.  Then he cocked his head with a bright, bird-like stare.  "You tink much, young 'un."

"Tink?  Oh, think.  Why, yes, I suppose I do.  I mean, I am."

Struggling to grasp why the two of them were talking, Will watched the colored man nod slowly, again inhaling sweet smoke and breathing it out his nostrils.  The old man's fingernails were pink as he held the pipe's slender stem, pink as the polished insides of sea shells against his wrinkled black skin.

"De wise man and de fool be brothers.  Only it be de wise man dat use what's here."  Pink fingernails tapped the side of the old man's temples, his shrewd black eyes fixed on Will's face.  "You lookin' at two roads, eh?  Two roads an' which way to go?"

"Yes."  The young blacksmith glanced past his strange guest but saw no one, only the goat and chickens who paid no heed.

"Den you listen."  The pipe jabbed at him in an aromatic wisp of smoke.  "You comin' to de crossroads now, one way life, one way deat'.  You ax yo' se'f which de right way, if you hope to reach de right end."

Then the old man leaned towards him, the kinky grey fuzz of his head just on a level with Will's chin, but his black eyes were suddenly fierce as daggers.  "You a man wid two shadows, son.  Love an' war.  Erzulie, she flirt wid de boy an' make de dance, but you listen her an' she bring all yo' hopes.  But Ogun, he take what be his."

"Who are you?"

The hairs on Will's neck prickled, queer names and riddles befuddling his ears.  He flinched when knotty fingers tapped the sword at his side.

"Ogun live in fire an' metal.  He know you.  But you listen Erzulie when Ogun want what his.  Two shadows, two roads."

Black eyes, black so dark Will could not see the pupils in them and he no longer heard the whispered voice of the sea.  Mutely he watched those weathered brown cheeks pucker in as the old man drew deeply on his pipe.

"You already know de road to go."

Smoke burst straight into Will's face, a pungent gust that stung his eyes and seared his lungs.  He coughed explosively while his wits spun a dizzying turn, and he groped for the doorframe.  Gasping he tried to expel the heady fumes and find breath to demand -.

"What - what are you -?"  He coughed again and sucked a deep breath as the ground resettled under his feet.

And the old man was gone.  The goat nibbled, the chickens scratched and pecked, and Will Turner stood utterly alone.  Baffled, he peered all about and saw no sign of where the old fellow had gone, or if indeed he had really been there … but in the air lingered the sugary aroma of pipe tobacco.

"One way life, one way deat' … You already know de road to go …"

The old man's words tumbled in his mind as Will stepped back inside and stretched himself out on Jack's bunk.  Beneath his head the pirate's abandoned coat was heaped as a pillow, carrying its own musk of wool and sweat and mysterious places.  One way life, one way death.  Will could cast aside foolish notions and go home, letting others carry on the dangerous task of Elizabeth's rescue … but that was no road at all.  Regardless of whether the way he chose was life or death to him, Elizabeth was all that mattered.

Conviction began to gather in a cool pool in his belly, whiffing away the clouds of doubt.  Elizabeth almost certainly rested her whole faith in knowing that she was not abandoned, that rescue would come, if not by Will's hands then by the strength and tenacity of the Royal Navy.  Nor did closer scrutiny of his hunches convince him that his suspicion of Sir John Biltmore was ill-founded.  The plain fact was, wealthy scion of a noble family or not, there was a darker underbelly to Biltmore's reputation that even Commodore Norrington was aware of - dark enough to warrant his ship being boarded and searched by the commodore himself on no more than hearsay.

Staring narrow-eyed at the palm leaf roof, Will clenched his jaw.  The very worst that could happen was that the Black Pearl would sink an abominable ship and her ill-bred crew, and Biltmore would be unable to leave shackles to freeze with rust about the legs of any more poor souls.  If that rendered Will an outlaw, so be it.  The chance that Elizabeth was indeed being held captive aboard the Royal Venture was too great and too horrific to be overlooked for lack of fortitude or cunning.  And if anyone in the Caribbean possessed a surfeit of cunning, that man was Captain Jack Sparrow.

Finally Will took a long, cleansing breath and closed his eyes to sleep.

***

TBC …

A/N:  Rather than single out names, I'll just take this time to offer a group THANK YOU!!!! to everyone for such wonderful encouragement, and thank you especially to all who have caught my little type-os, missing words and other bloopers.  Your keen eyes and grammatical acumen are much invaluable!  :-)