Pirates of the Caribbean: The African Star

by ErinRua

An unscrupulous slave ship captain, a royal gem, and a perilous hunt that will span sea and storm Jack and Will embark on adventure once more. COMPLETE!

10. Chapter 10 Night and Waiting

PIRATES OF THE CARIBBEAN: THE AFRICAN STAR

By ErinRua

CHAPTER 10

Will Turner could only hope that the lure of a fat prize ship would be enough to pry Jack's pirate crew out of their holiday of debauched leisure.  The booty won in their forays was more easily spent than gained, and his prayer was that the promise of a richer prize would fire them to action.  Granted, the reactions of Jack's first mate and bo'sun later that day were a little less than inspiring.

"Tell me again why we want this ship, Royal Venture?" Gibbs asked.  He squinted against the afternoon sun as he scratched his grey mutton-chop whiskers.

"Because she's rich!"  Jack's expansive swing of hands matched the brilliance of his grin.  "Fabulously rich in coin and cargo, a veritable prince's ransom beggin' to be taken, just as Will told you.  And …" His smile weakened as he added with a shrug.  "Because his lovely Elizabeth is kidnapped and on board."

Both First Mate Gibbs and Bo'sun Anamaria turned twin looks of surprise.  Their baritone and soprano chorused as one; "Again?"

"Long story," Will sighed.

Anamaria took a swift step to stare into his face, a sharp finger fiercely pointed.  "This better be good!"

"Oh, it is!"  He glanced to Jack, who quickly nodded his own affirmation.

Pretty brown eyes narrowed.  "You two are nothin' but mischief togethah!"

Instantly Jack looked wounded but Will merely donned his best smile.  "Anamaria … trust me.  Please.  Elizabeth is in grave danger and I need your help, but I'm not coming to you empty-handed.  I'll explain when Jack gets the crew together."

The mulatta woman paused and some of the fire eased from her eyes as she studied him.  "There's no lyin' in you, Will Turner," she said finally.  "I'll trust you."

With that she strode away, Gibbs turning with a grin to more slowly follow.  As they watched the two leave, Jack's shoulders slumped.

"How come she never says that to me?"

***

The pretty Irish girl was Róisín, an unmarried seamstress whose quick pride fiercely refused to allow a British tongue to twist "ro-sheen" into "Rose," and that set the uneasy tone for the two women's captivity.

"Know this, yer ladyship," Róisín hissed.  "I'll not die for you.  So you best mind yourself while we're here."

"But we can't give up!" Elizabeth protested.  "Róisín, we must watch for our chance!"

"Chance?  I'll tell you what chances they give.  When they took me, they slit my friend's throat and left her lyin' in the laundry.  Do you know why?"  In the dimness Róisín's mouth twisted.  "Because she was not pretty enough."

Elizabeth gasped and pressed her knuckles to her mouth lest she cry out - or perhaps become ill.  Yet she read only truth in the unshed tears that glittered in the Irish girl's eyes.

Their sea-borne prison was no larger than a store room and utterly without windows, the only light sifting through chinks in the rough board bulkheads.  Air drifted in but it was anything but fresh, tainted as it was with the fetid stink that seemed sunk into the ship's very bones.  More than once Elizabeth wondered if her total immersion in such stench would kill her ability to smell anything else.  That there was a passageway outside they knew, but their door had no latch on the inside.  She further suspected the door was concealed by an outer panel, since Norrington's men had utterly missed it and she heard a scraping sound each time the door was opened.  Their dungeon was, to all practical purposes, invisible.

Twenty four hours after Elizabeth's abduction the heave of the sea settled once again to the sleepy roll of being in harbor.  They waited as somewhere above the clangor of the anchor and voices and footsteps resounded.  It was hard to say which fear was greater; that someone would come, or no one would come at all.  But they remained undisturbed and the ship rocked and creaked.  The only human they saw was a silent black man who came twice a day, bringing their meals and taking out their bucket of night soil.

"Please," Elizabeth begged.  "Can you tell me where we are?  Where are we going?  Can you tell us anything?"

But the black man moved as if he was not aware of their existence, and left as noiselessly as he came.  All they could do was endure the gloom and stench in brittle misery.  Time turned back on itself in that rank, twilight world, until at last heavy feet thudded and beyond their prison a shrill voice screeched a despairing cry.

Wood grated heavily then the door burst in, and one after the other two forms tumbled inside, sprawling in tangles of petticoats and white-eyed fear.  The same square-jawed man as before grinned in the doorway, and a lantern illuminated the leering faces of four other men in the narrow passage just beyond.

"There you are, ladies.  We brought you a couple playmates."

One of the other men grinned with broken teeth.  "Cor, Mister Fry, it's a pity we can't play wif' 'em now!"

"You don't have the price," Mister Fry replied sternly.  "You know the rules.  And the ladies will learn 'em."

He gave a cackling laugh that seemed to stick wetly in his throat.  Then he slammed the door, sealing them into the stinking gloom once more.

The mulatto girl, Bess, spoke her name but no other word, her handsome features as expressionless as polished mahogany, her thoughts far away.  She reminded Elizabeth unhappily of the slave girl she had been unable to save.  The second new lass, however …. Ah, Sarah's chubby, pretty face was fixed in a pall of terror that at times made her seem almost blind.

As darkness fell she sat rocking back and forth with her hands clutching her skirts.  From time to time she roused to babble in a high, thin voice.

"They'll come in here - they'll come in that door - I know what they do to young ladies - They'll be back - I never should have taken that walk - they'll come in here -."

"Jaysuz wept!" Róisín cried at last.  "Will ye shut yer blessed gob!"

"Hush, Róisín," said Elizabeth, her eyes on the dim shape of Sarah's pasty features.  "She's afraid, as we all are.  Here, Sarah, you must eat."

Sarah took the horn spoon and the now-cold bowl of boiled yams and rice that Elizabeth pressed into her hands, but she made no move to eat.  Perhaps the foul miasma of this place turned her stomach even more than her fear.  Elizabeth sighed and sat back on her heels, brushing idly at the undoubtedly filthy tangle of her skirts.

"We must think of a plan.  We don't know where we are or how soon we sail again, but we're only a day away from Port Royal.  We haven't much time.  Being in harbor is our only chance."

"Chance for what?"  Róisín's suspicion was audible in the gloom.  "To throw ourselves right into those blackguards' arms on our way out?  Or do ye fancy drownin' while they hang on the rail and laugh?"

"I have no intentions of doing either."  Coolly Elizabeth met the other's gaze.  There was anger there, but it was based in the same clawing fear they all shared.  "But if we are clever and careful, we can escape.  We must!"

"How?"

From her corner Bess watched them both.  She remained blank-faced as a statue but sudden tension seemed to coil in her still form.

"We can overpower the colored man who brings our meals.  It's an ugly thought, but I fear it's needed.  If we all strike at once - and if we use … that …" Elizabeth grimaced and gestured towards their necessary bucket.  "I'm certain we can stun him long enough to get out."

"Ah-hah."  Róisín cocked her head in clear mistrust.  "And don't ye think those goms on deck would notice us?  We do stand out aboard ship just a little."

"Not if we use our heads.  We don't have to burst out willy-nilly."  She smiled grimly, remembering a phrase Will had quoted from a clever friend.  "We must wait for the opportune moment."

***

As the sun sank in flames behind the spine of the Blue Mountains a bonfire blazed on the beach, reflecting itself in fragments in the deep glossy flow of the restless surf.  Around the fire rough faces shone in merriment as laughter and voices rang out and the dark gleam of a rum jug was passed hand to hand.  Nearby slower coals simmered in a pit dug in the sand, from which succulent smells of cooking drifted.  "Jerk" pork sizzled in its coating of peppery high seasonings, while in iron pots bubbled red bean stew, and rice and peas in coconut juice.  At the edge of the coals gently steamed a pan tumbled full of little cassava cakes, along with a heap of fried plantain fruit and another of "blue draw," a local treat made of green bananas, coconut and sweet potato grated together with flour, seasonings and coconut milk and boiled in banana leaves.

In the growing shadows several yards back from the festivities, however, Will sat alone.  "Again?" had been the startled reaction of more than one of Jack's old crewmembers, upon hearing of Elizabeth's kidnapping by a dastardly foe.  "Again?"  Granted, Cotton the mute's parrot had responded with, "Shiver me timbers!" which everyone figured amounted to the same thing.  Again … but it had almost been easier when they simply faced a crew of accursed, undead pirates and their black-hearted undead pirate captain, instead of a respected merchant captain with ties to the House of Lords, a rich family and the protection of British law.

Will counted over thirty men present, a proper pirate crew for the Black Pearl.  Among the revelers were men from Jack's earlier crew whom he knew and who would have welcomed him; grizzled first mate Joshamee Gibbs, Cotton the weathered old mute, burly shave-headed Tearlach, maybe even Anamaria, whose bright eyes and white teeth flashed laughter at something Gibbs had said.  Yet he found he simply did not have the heart for jolliness.  He glanced up as someone blocked the firelight to see one of the local women.

"You too skinny, boy.  Eat somet'ing."

He murmured his thanks as a still-warm blue draw was pressed into his hand and the woman walked away, bare feet silent in the pale sand.  Even as he peeled the moist leaf covering away, he sighed with deep unhappiness.  The night could not have been lovelier.  The sea beyond their cove heaved in deepening hues of indigo and gold beneath distant towers of fiery clouds, while gentle waves spilled themselves in white frothing collars that rushed whispering up the shore and slid back again.  Overhead the sea breeze sighed in the palm trees and while darkness fell swiftly the sand was warm beneath him.  A fiddle began to scrape a tune, and although everyone kept talking, someone among the men began to sing.  In a clear, true baritone he swung into an easy three-four time.

My boat's by the tower, and my bark's on the bay,
and both must be gone at the dawn of the day.
The moon's in her shroud, and to light thee afar
On the deck of the daring's a love-lighted star.

Elizabeth should have been here.  She would have loved this.  Though the very model of what a proper young British lady should be when in the public eye, Will knew the heart of her.  His lady was not made to be a creature of corsets and crinolines, of cool British poise and calling cards and tea served precisely at two, oh no.  His Elizabeth could hike up her skirts and touch off a cannon while chain shot howled through the rigging.  His Elizabeth could shoulder a musket and face a ravening foe, and stand boldly on the deck of a pirate ship to stare Death and shipwreck straight in the eye.

So wake, lady wake, I am waiting for thee,
Oh, this night or never my bride thou shalt be,
So wake, lady wake, I am waiting for thee,
Oh, this night or never my bride thou shalt be.

But she was not here.  He could not smell the fragrance of lavender as she sat at his side, watching the moon rise to paint its path over the never-sleeping sea, and she could not hear a rough-handed pirate with a voice of gold sing of love in the only way he knew how.

So forgive me my rough mood unaccustomed to sue;
I woo not, perhaps, as your landlubbers do.
My voice is attuned to the sound of the gun
That startles the deep when the combat's begun.

Tall boots scuffed sand beside him and a long-fingered hand dangled a bottle before his eyes.  He blinked at it, saw firelight shifting on the amber liquid within.

"This is supposed to be fun, mate," drawled a familiar voice.  "Last night ashore, ay?  Eat, drink and be merry."

Will attempted a smile as he looked up to see Jack Sparrow sitting down.  Lanky bones simply unhinged and dropped the pirate beside him with a thud.

"Sorry, Jack."

"Thinkin' about your bonny lass, are you?"

So wake, lady wake, I am waiting for thee,
Oh, this night or never my bride thou shalt be.
So wake, lady wake, I am waiting for thee,
Oh, this night or never my bride thou shalt be.

"Yes."  Will shook his head to the bottle that Jack bumped invitingly against his knee.  No matter how much of Jamaica he had absorbed over the years, he had never acquired a taste for the national drink.  Besides, Elizabeth frowned on it.  "I wish she was here."

He felt Jack's gaze on him and was glad the deepening twilight hid the heat flooding his face.  Bloody foolish thing to say and he busied himself with a bite of plantain fruit.

Thankfully Sparrow made no comment, instead sitting with the bottle swinging loosely between his knees and his narrow dark face limned in firelight.  There was comfort to be had in companionship that demanded nothing and Will felt grateful for it.  Shadowy figures moved about the cook fire as now other voices sang in cheerful disharmony.

The Frenchman and Don will flee from our path,
And the Englishmen cower below at our wrath,
And our sails shall be gilt in the gold of the day,
And the sea robins sing as we roll on our way.

"Good men, this lot," said Sparrow.  "We picked up some new crew since you were with us.  Our nightingale there, that's Irish John.  Big fella behind him, that's Original John.  Best topman I know, not afraid to run the riggin' in the face of a hurricane."

Will squinted into the shadows and was somewhat alarmed to see none other than the brute of a pirate he had crossed swords with upon arrival in New Town.  "He probably doesn't have the sense to stay out of hurricanes."

"He was bo'sun's mate on a navy ship.  One night in port, 'e saw a man beatin' a whore on the street.  So John hit 'im just once - but broke 'is neck."  Sparrow slanted him a look.  "Man he killed was an admiral's nephew.  He was for the gibbet until he found 'is way out here."

Now the mob at the fire joyously bellowed their tune.

A hundred shall serve - the best of the brave,
And the chief of a thousand shall kneel as thy slave,
And thou shalt reign queen, and thy empire shall last
Till the black flag by inches, is torn from the mast.

Beyond the fire Cotton's wizened face split in a silent grin, as Anamaria reached past Gibbs to belt another pirate with a stick. Laughter rang above the fiddle's merry voice.

With a faint smile, Will said, "I didn't think to see her still with the crew."

Sparrow shrugged.  "She comes and goes as pleases her."

Aye, she would, for the pretty but fierce mulatta pirate was no more to be bound than the tempests that rode the clouds across the sea.  At another thought Will glanced at Jack.

"How much did you tell them?"

"No more than what you heard," was the reply.  "They know we seek a rich prize, and you seek a lady fair."

That meant Jack may or may not have revealed the full tale of the African Star, since possession of such a gem might hold even greater allure than the wealth to be had from a rich prize.  However, that was of no matter to Will.  Now the fiddle gamboled along carrying the tune in solo, and from the sides of his eyes Will studied the hawkish profile beside him.  He did not think he would ever truly understand the devious mind behind that face, and was not at all sure he wanted to.  But he hoped it was enough that he was laying his trust - and Elizabeth's hope - in Jack Sparrow's hands.

"We'll find her, boy."  Sparrow turned his head with the rum jug poised in hand.  "Worry you not.  Tomorrow the Black Pearl goes hunting."

His teeth gleamed in a fox's hard, bright grin, before he tipped the bottle to his lips.  Now the fiddle wept to a slower tempo as Irish John sang alone, and his sweet Gaelic baritone repeated the chorus with a wistfulness that hushed every voice around him.

So wake, lady wake, I am waiting for thee,
Oh, this night or never my bride thou shalt be.
So wake, lady wake, I am waiting for thee,
Oh, this night or never my bride thou shalt be.*

Somewhere out on the darkening sea where billows of clouds burned away to ghosts, the Royal Venture sailed.  Elizabeth waited … and Will would find her.  By all that was holy in heaven and earth, he would find her, though it cost him life and honor.

"Jack, I want your word on something."

Caught in mid-swig, Sparrow swallowed and wordlessly tilted his head in question.

"No matter what happens to me … I want you to promise to see Elizabeth safely home."

Instantly a scowl darkened Sparrow's face.  "You have plans I don't know about?"

"No, but … I want to know she'll be safe."

For a beat they studied each other, the blacksmith and the pirate.  There between the bonfire and the night he was indeed Mad Jack Sparrow.  Firelight hewed his dark face sharply in angles and shadow, flame flickered in his black eyes and glinted mockingly on his rum bottle, and it winked on the little baubles tied in his thick hair and the twin strands of his goatee.  But Will waited on the man behind the illusion. Then Jack shifted the bottle from one hand to the other and held out his free hand.

Lifting his chin he said, "Done."

Will returned the clasp strongly and nodded once.

"Well, now that we've eased your conscience, soothed your worries and settled all matters secular and spiritual -."  Jack grinned.  "What say we eat?"

***

TBC …

A/N: Once again my thanks for everyone's encouragement and also for all your helpful little words of correction, information and advice. I remain sincerely grateful for all of you, and count this personal reader-author interaction as the true blessing of fan fiction writing.As an added note, someone asked if I'm going to introduce any OC's. If by that you meant any original female characters, the only OFC's in this story will be involved with Elizabeth's situation, and no romance other than Elizabeth and Will. To be perfectly honest, I am pretty much just an action/adventure/fantasy writer and I find little or no urge to write romance. As for original male characters, however - you betcha. You're going to meet some of Jack's crew and you'll see more of the established Bad Guys as well. I hope those answers do not disappoint anyone and that you'll continue to enjoy my tale. Thanks for coming along for the ride! :-)

* "The Pirate Song": Traditional sea-faring song, origins unknown. Midi file: http:/ / www . contemplator . com / folk4 / pirate . html (Just remove spaces. FF.net eats links, apparently.)