PIRATES OF THE CARIBBEAN: THE AFRICAN STAR
By ErinRua
CHAPTER 16
The half moon slid down the western sky and dawn was but a hint of grey to the east, as the Lady Elizabeth glided into the waters of St. Marc. Only a few pinpoints of light marked the sleeping village, and in the harbor various small vessels and fishing boats swayed drowsily at their moorings. Apart from them stood a dark, brooding ship whose odor drifted on the breeze like the green breath of a sewer.
The sloop began to lose speed as she ghosted towards the dark shoreline, and at her tiller Will Turner's eyes narrowed. As they drew nearer he noticed that on board the Royal Venture there were several dim lanterns glowing but no sign of movement.
"Matty, is this not a strange hour to have more than a watch light burning?"
The redheaded pirate came to stand beside Will and peered into the night. "Reckon it is, unless they're fixin' to get under way."
"But there's no one on deck, no one in the rigging."
"Aye, so it is."
Will kept the tiller steady as Matty moved to the rail and leaned to stare across the silver-dark water more keenly. A long moment passed and Will adjusted minutely to a shift of wind, pleased that it allowed them to alter their tack to an angle more convergent on the Royal Venture. They were approaching from her stern, but at a shallow angle that gave them a view of the whole starboard side.
"Not too close," Anamaria warned.
"Don't worry," Will replied, and a boyish smile played about his lips. "We're just harmless smugglers returning after a long voyage."
"You hope."
"Looky there," Matty said, and pointed a bony arm towards their quarry. "Wot's that on 'er foredeck?"
Peering with nothing but starlight and a fading half moon for illumination, Will and his first mate nonetheless made out a pale irregular shape that filled the slave ship's fore. On examination it appeared to be some sort of canvas pavilion or shelter.
"I have no idea," Will replied, as the Lady Elizabeth continued to gently breast the waves.
Anamaria squinted and said, "Maybe it's covering some sort of cargo they just took on?"
"Maybe," said Matty. "But it's not layin' over things; it's hangin' around somethin', same as curtains, like."
Abruptly Will leaned into the tiller. "We're going closer."
Anamaria spun with a look of alarm. "Will, we don't -."
"Trust me, Anamaria. I'm just thinking like a pirate."
"Thinkin' like a fool," she grumbled, but then barked the orders that adjusted the sails.
Closer they drifted, the shallow chop of the harbor lifting and dropping the sloop in shorter rolls than out in the main channel. There! - movement stirred on the deck of the Royal Venture, a man walking slowly amidships. Yet he seemed to have no particular purpose, and it dawned on Will that the man's behavior seemed less that of a seaman, and more that of a sentry.
"Anamaria!" he hissed. "Get the men below-decks! Nobody on deck but you, me and Matty."
She gave him a startled glance, but to her credit she sprang instantly to comply. In moments they might have been nothing but a sleepy boat wandering in from a village up the coast, with no more crew than was absolutely required. The question would be if those aboard the Royal Venture bought the ruse.
"They're gonna see us," Anamaria said, her gaze fixed on the slave ship's black silhouette, drawing ever nearer.
"Let them. In fact -." Will plucked the floppy hat from her head and mashed it atop his own. Grinning he said, "Now I'm disguised."
"Now you're mad," she said with a scowl.
"I've had a good teacher."
She rolled her eyes, visible even in the dark, but said nothing. Silent but for the gurgling rush of water and random rattles of rigging they ghosted on. Closer the Royal Venture grew, her blunt stern looming, her masts towering in a forest of spars and her sails furled.
"Jesus, Mary and Joseph," breathed Matty. "She 'as a stink that would choke a maggot."
Dark water gurgled as their pace slowed. The guard or sentry on the slave ship's deck was nowhere to be seen. They saw no movement forward in the Royal Venture's bows where the odd canvas structure stood. And then -.
Water slurped from her scuppers right where the queer pavilion stood.
"Bloody Nora!" Matty hissed. "There's somebody in there!"
Without a lantern in the fore there was no seeing beyond or through the heavy sailcloth, but it seemed certain there was someone or something within it, which had for whatever reason sluiced that water over the side. Beneath the brim of Anamaria's hat Will's eyes never left the Royal Venture as they slid past its malodorous decks. His heart wrenched to think of his Elizabeth somewhere on board that stinking ship.
"AHOY! You on the sloop!"
The yell shocked across the quiet water and the sloop's three visible crewmen looked up. There above the sentry had reappeared, now hunched over the rail in belligerent posture.
"Stand away from us or we will fire on you!"
Three more figures appeared beside the sentry, the black fingers of loaded muskets jutting against the stars. The musket barrels dipped downward to take aim on the Lady Elizabeth's slowly-passing deck below.
"We're dead," Matty mumbled.
This close to the greater ship's hull there was no maneuvering, and any turn for escape would simply expose Will at the helm to their musket fire. He had never felt so naked in his life.
"Hey!" Anamaria's sharp cry cracked back at them. "You on the stinky boat! You wanna buy poissons? You wanna buy fish?"
"Fish!" The sentry's befuddlement was audible.
"We got fish," Anamaria shouted back. "Fresh off the banks. You wanna buy poissons? We sell cheap!"
"Of all bleedin' - NO, we don't want your ruddy fish! Get away from us, you damn fool idiotic islanders!"
"Allez à l'enfer!" the lady pirate retorted.
Will stared at her in surprise. "You speak French?"
The dark look she gave him answered before she spoke. "Not any polite French."
The muskets of the ship's guards continued to follow the sloop's passage, but evidently that exchange had convinced them that the much-smaller boat was no threat. Will eased the tiller so that the Lady Elizabeth began to bear away - but on an angled course that would still pass them within hailing distance of the slave ship's strangely-shrouded foredeck. Not that he had any intentions of tempting fate more than they had already, but if in parting they could discern some useful intelligence, he would not pass up the chance.
The sloop caught more wind as she angled away from the Royal Venture's looming sides, sliding past with increasing speed. Now the slave ship's bowsprit jutted like an angry finger, pointing away from her moorage in a hard, uncompromising line.
And Will saw her. A flicker of movement just outside the canvas enclosure now coming abeam resolved itself into a slender figure. Her hair tumbled loose to her shoulders and she wore a strangely simple skirt that could not be her own. But he had held the vision of her face and the sweet column of her neck, even the set of her elegant shoulders foremost in his heart and mind every day since they first met.
"Elizabeth …" he breathed, and the boat trembled under his suddenly shaky hand.
"Steady on, Will," Anamaria said.
Now Elizabeth saw the sloop; she was looking towards the boat and a woman even darker than Anamaria appeared beside her. Will could not breathe and his heart was thundering in his ears. Elizabeth could see them, but she did not know them! There were only seconds left, precious seconds that were evaporating like smoke, as slave ship and smuggler's boat slid apart and dark water widened between them.
"Au revoir!" Will suddenly shouted and doffed his borrowed hat with a very Jack-like flourish. "The Lady Elizabeth will take her business elsewhere!"
He was aware that Anamaria and Matty were both staring at him as if he had just sprouted a second head. But Elizabeth knew him, she knew his voice. Now he prayed with all his strength that hearing her own name applied to a boat had won her attention, and that despite the pre-dawn gloom she would realize she was no longer alone.
When he looked again, Elizabeth and her companion had disappeared. Resolutely Will turned his attention back to the business of sailing to safer waters.
"It must be somethin' in the air," Anamaria finally said. "Or maybe too much sun."
"Beg pardon?"
"That makes you and Jack crazy."
"Say, who's mad here?" Will lowered his head to peer at her. "'You want to buy poisson?'"
Giving an unladylike snort in lieu of a reply, Anamaria turned and strode forward, leaving Will alone at the tiller as the Royal Venture shrank astern.
***
On board the slave ship the eight women captives silently filed back to their cell, beneath the unfeeling gaze of First Mate Fry and his men. None spoke or met their captors' eyes, yet for Elizabeth it was not in submission, but for fear they would see the great joy leaping within her heart. Will was here! And that had been Jack's female pirate friend, Anamaria, on the boat with him! How he came to be here or who owned that boat - for that matter how he had found Anamaria - were questions she could not begin to answer.
But as the door of their cell slammed them into fetid darkness once more, for the first time in three days Elizabeth knew real hope. Bess settled beside her and Elizabeth paused, debating how much to say.
Then she leaned close and whispered, "That fishing boat - those were friends of mine."
Bess made no reply but her surprise was evident in the sudden stiffening of her posture. Elizabeth squeezed her arm in reassurance.
"I don't know what will happen," she whispered, "or when. But we must be ready."
"These friends …" Bess' low-toned whisper tickled her ear. "Will they fight?"
"Oh, yes." A smile blossomed on Elizabeth's face and despite the foul-smelling gloom she reveled in the glorious feeling a smile brought. "They're pirates."
***
The morning sun rose in flames to wreath itself in sooty haze, and beyond the horizon grey towers of clouds began to gather and grow. The Black Pearl left her anchorage and took up station in open water off the Isle of Gonave, and the wind drove sharp-edged and fitful when at last Jack Sparrow spied the sails of the Lady Elizabeth. Or more rightly his lookout did, the hail from aloft bringing Jack to the rail with his spy glass in hand.
Sure enough, there she was, flying before a wind that scuffed white tops on steel-blue waves. Moments later Gibbs appeared at Jack's side, squinting into the wind as the distant boat came at an angle to intercept.
"About time," the older man said.
"Aye," Jack replied, spyglass to his eye. "But I'd wager William makes a good report."
For some time they simply watched as the sail grew to a boat and the boat became recognizably a sloop. After a while, however, it became apparent the sloop's skipper had a bit more in mind than simply rejoining his captain.
"What's he doing?" asked Gibbs.
A pause, while Jack lowered the glass and studied their approach. "I'd say he's sailing."
Now the sloop had changed tack, bearing away from the Pearl in a long reach across the wind. Perhaps ten minutes later she turned back, mainsail, topsail and jib gleaming taut and white as she took the wind on her other quarter. The Pearl forged on as her smaller companion raced to catch up, and ere long a race it seemed. Again the Lady Elizabeth altered her angle of approach, heeling to the lee side so that blue water rushed beneath her rail.
Soon they could see the people aboard, like toy figures leaning from the windward rail as the sloop bounded across the waves, white froth bursting and spilling past her bow. A few moments more and they could spy individuals, Original John's muscular form dwarfing Matty Whitlock and Irish John, their hair whipping in the wind of their passage, and white grins beaming on the sunburned faces of the others. Will was invisible behind the mainsail, but Jack realized it was his hand at the tiller.
"He's comin' right at us!" Gibbs exclaimed.
"Aye," Jack said, a slow grin spreading across his dark face. "That he is."
Like a sleek white falcon stooping to the hunt, the Lady Elizabeth swept towards them. Then a thin shout was heard and men scrambled across the sloop's decks, as her boom swung the great mainsail over. For an instant it seemed she could not recover her footing fast enough and would splinter her bowsprit against the Black Pearl's foredeck. But the sloop was after all a lady in form as well as name, and she came about as prettily as a sailor could ever wish. As her bow swung away and her stern came into view, there Will Turner's lanky form stood. His legs were braced wide and one hand was on the tiller while the other he raised in a jaunty salute, and Anamaria stood grinning beside him.
"Glory be," breathed Gibbs, and only then realized he was gripping the rail with white knuckles.
And of all absurd things, they heard singing, Irish John's soaring baritone leading the rollicking chorus.
When up the shrouds the sailor goes
And ventures on the yard,
The landsman who no better knows
Believes his lot is hard.
Bold Jack with smiles each danger meets,
Weighs anchor, heaves the log,
Trims all the sails, belays his sheets
And drinks his can of grog! *
Beside Gibbs, Jack Sparrow smiled in absolute contentment.
***
The weather was turning fast by the time Will had completed his report to Jack Sparrow. Grey billows rose to swallow the late morning sun and the sea darkened as Hispaniola's horizon was sheered off by a layer of brooding clouds. In the opulent captain's cabin of the Black Pearl, pirate chief and blacksmith sat amidst the creaks of a contented ship.
"So it's your sense that Biltmore will continue to Port Paix as he said in Port Royal?" Sparrow steepled his fingers before his face, elbows on the arms of his chair as he studied the young man seated across from him.
"Aye," Will replied. "They were just preparing to get underway when we left. Whatever they took on at St. Marc's was small stuff and they let nothing off. I think you were right, they are bound for the market with the most silver to spend."
"Then they must not make Port Paix." Sparrow brought his joined fingers closer and thoughtfully tapped his lips. "The weather is going to get a bit rough, no gettin' around that. But these summer storms usually pass within hours. Our job then will be to get the Royal Venture in sight and keep her there -."
"Until the opportune moment," Will said and his dark gaze shone with fierce eagerness.
"Precisely. We want plenty of open water, and …." Beneath Jack's moustache his teeth glinted in a predatory smile. "No witnesses."
Will gave a thin smile in return, but in the next breath shadow settled upon his face. Softly he said, "I saw her, Jack."
"Did you, now?"
The young man watched his fist close into a hard knot on the table. "Elizabeth was on deck. She saw us." He raised his eyes to Jack's and in them flickered a hard edge of defiance. "I made sure she saw us."
Sparrow stroked one side of his moustache as he studied Will's stiff features. "Rest assured, boy, the Royal Venture will be ours and everything she carries."
Will rose from his seat and looked down at the pirate captain. "I'm holding you to that."
Then he left, the door thumping gently closed in his wake. Behind him Sparrow relaxed in his chair, his gaze going unfocused, turning inward.
"The African Star …." he murmured.
His eyes gleamed in thought, as if already reflecting the ambient light of a jewel such as no pirate had ever beheld, a gem that was the envy of kings. A gem that would soon rest in Jack Sparrow's own very clever hand.
***
They found the Royal Venture at nearly the same time as the weather found them. White sails bloomed against the shadow of Hispaniola's shore, but the lookout who shouted the sighting clung tightly to the Pearl's bucking mainmast. At the helm Jack Sparrow looked and gave a wintry smile.
"Is that him, cap'n?" Gibbs asked, his eyes narrowed into graying distance.
"Aye," Sparrow growled, and spun the wheel.
"Even once we catch up to him, we can't risk boardin' him if this storm comes on like it's promisin'."
"No, but we can make 'im nervous until the weather clears."
Grey water ran before them in deepening swells, pushed by the great dark breast of the storm that followed. They had little time, and Sparrow shouted the orders that set their course on a long angle to intercept. They would not have the luxury of standing back across a smooth and sunny sea, which meant they would have to get closer than they had planned before the storm shut visibility down even further.
Sparrow looked for and spotted their sister vessel, the sloop out on a wider tack than the big square-rigger, but always staying within view. He watched as the Lady Elizabeth altered course, and knew Matty Whitlock up on her topmast had made the sighting as well.
"We'll 'ave 'er by nightfall," Sparrow said. "Weather and luck willin'."
The hunters called their topmen down from the masts and forged onward, shouldering into the growing storm as with each mile they closed upon the Royal Venture. Closed upon their fortune and the rescue of Elizabeth Swann
***
TBC …
* "Can of Grog": Traditional seafaring song actually dated late 1700's, but I 'm borrowing it for the earlier heyday of pirates. I'm sure they had songs like it. "Jack" refers to Jack Tar, the common slang term for sailors.
Midi file: http : // www . contemplator . com / sea / cangrog . html -(Close spaces: FF.net eats URL coding.)
A/N: Once again a hearty Thank You! and a sweeping bow with the Big Plumed Hat ™ to everyone for your gracious encouragement. To "wellduh" I must confess that I do not actually speak French, so I am counting on an English friend of mine who does, to check my translations. It is entirely possible I may have neglected to run it all by her for perusal, so blame inconsistencies on me! :-) Seaspray, thanks for the review, and don't worry, I don't always know what I'm saying, myself, LOL! Jackfan2, I'm ever so glad you like the name of my sloop. I didn't plan it that way, but then … there it was! Scissorfied, thank you for leaving a note and I hope you will enjoy the tale. Thanks again to EVERYone! Now hang on, More Stuff will happen. :-)