PIRATES OF THE CARIBBEAN: THE AFRICAN STAR
By ErinRua
CHAPTER 24
On the north side of the bay fronting Sir John Biltmore's domain stood a high headland, a bony crown of rock thickly clad in jungle growth. Few men ever went there, for it was a miserable climb in jungle heat, and fewer yet dreamed of any reason to go where only birds and lizards roosted. Thus it was that no human eyes noted a rustling among the trees or the two dark heads that peered from beneath the greenery at the crest of the ridge.
"What do you see?"
"Steady, Will, let a man get 'is bearin's."
From a higher vantage one might have seen over the ridge to what lay behind the two spies. A long, sweaty climb, a tiny boat on a beach far below and, nearly lost in the haze up the coastline, was the dim silhouette of a ship riding at anchor.
Belly-down on a steeply dropping overgrown ledge, Jack Sparrow and Will Turner currently enjoyed a commanding view of Biltmore's Cuban estate across the harbor. The blue-green waters of the bay were so clear they could see nature's sculpting of the sea bottom and the beach curving in a long pale crescent. At the head of the bay stood Sir John's holdings, a stone quay jutting out from the shore, low buildings at the waterfront, and overlooking it all loomed a walled hacienda built in the Spanish style. Its pale walls and red tile roof appeared sleepy beneath the midday sun, as did the lush grove of oranges and lemons growing greenly alongside.
Nonetheless, there was activity below, as ant-like figures of men freighted goods down the quay from the single ship moored there.
"Ah, she's unloadin'," murmured Jack. The end of his looking glass shifted slowly, tracking the movement of bales, boxes and bundles from ship to shore.
"Do you see any -?"
Will bit off his sentence as he realized how foolish it was, but Jack merely answered, glass still to his eye, "Most likely your lass was first off the ship, along with any others he 'as. Mustn't leave 'em in the hands of the unwashed, of course."
With a smothered sigh Will settled onto his elbows and tried to school himself to patience as he watched that distant scene of industry. Elizabeth was there, just there, so close he could nearly shout and be heard … but she was completely out of his reach. He found himself foolishly wishing he could beam his thought through walls and tile roofs to reach her heart, and let her know that he was here and would not fail her.
"Hello." Jack lowered the glass to scowl towards the harbor then ducked his head to peer through the glass again. "Appears they've had a fire in the riggin'."
"A fire?"
"See for yourself. Mains'l."
Will took the glass and fumbled a moment as the narrow telescopic view swept dizzily across blank water, before orienting himself on the Royal Venture. Sure enough, men were hanging in the lower yards and apparently cutting down the ragged remnants of a badly-singed sail.
"Strange." Frowning as he scanned the glass further into Biltmore's holdings, Will asked, "How could that happen, without them being in a battle?"
"Given Elizabeth's penchant for burnin' rum to get attention, maybe she tried this time for a whole ship!"
Will shoved the glass back into Sparrow's hands rather more forcefully than was needed. "Not funny, Jack."
With a shrug Sparrow replied, "Wasn't funny when she burned the rum, either. Now, let's see what else there is to see."
Pointing, Will noted, "They seem to be taking things up into the estate proper, rather than using the warehouse down there on the water."
"Aye." Sparrow's tone was distracted as he focused the glass on movements far below. "None like a thief to fear other thieves."
"Then to get at …" There was no polite word for plundering, so Will simply said, "What we want, we'll have to attack in force, right?"
Sparrow let his hands drop and bowed his shaggy head with a forbearing sigh. "No, boy. We do not." Casting a sideways look at his young comrade, he said, "We sneak up, we infiltrate Sir John's boudoir and scare the bejeezus out of anyone who gets in our way. Then after 'e wets himself and pleads for 'is miserable life - which it's entirely up to you whether we grant it - we sneak away again, with my diamond and your bonny lass. Savvy?"
Lowering his head with a soft, chagrined chuckle Will replied, "Aye."
"Now …" Jack narrowed his eyes and lightly tapped the eyepiece of his glass against his chin. "A bit of conniving …"
Lifting one eyebrow, Will said, "We could always storm the gate, blow it to bits and march right in."
"Will …"
"Well, you said you wanted to scare them. If it was done at night, I think that would be positively petrifying."
Sparrow dipped his chin towards his shoulder to peer at Will once more. "It 'as to be your Protestant upbringin'."
"What?"
"We do not storm anything, mate. That's for Royal Marines and storybook heroes, not pirates."
Will's dark brows lowered into a straight line. "Are you looking at that place, Jack? The walls must be twenty feet high and six feet thick. The only weakness is that main gate, which is wood. Look."
The young blacksmith leaned closer to Jack's shoulder and stretched a long arm out into the sunlight. "The gate is two doors of some heavy wood, possibly pine or less likely oak, strapped in beaten iron and each hung on four heavy hinges. Undoubtedly there is a bar within which helps support the gate when closed." His fingers continued to sketch shapes in the air. "I believe that explosives placed beneath the hinges to either side of the frame should create enough stress that the hardware of the gate simply gives way. It's meant to hold a static, steady bearing weight, not a sudden force from below."
Jack was still staring at him with blank black eyes, and Will's tone became defensive. "It's not as if we can go up and ring the bell!"
A slow smile began to creep across Sparrow's dark face until gold teeth glinted in the sun, and he collapsed his glass with a snap. "Actually, I think ringin' the bell is precisely what we should do. A very … big … ring."
***
"I can't beLIEVE I'm doing this," Elizabeth hissed, grimacing as she swiped what felt like some crawling thing from her ear.
Beside her Bess made no sound, her dark face expressionless while she peered through the leaves between them and sunlight. The sun was many hours older than when they had made their escape, its fiery orb now teetering perhaps two fingers above the mountainous western skyline. Now the two fugitives crept amongst thickets and vines within the very shadow of Sir John Biltmore's estate.
What they had found was a collection of shanties and shacks that crouched in a clearing not far behind the walled hacienda. They breathed the rich fragrance of nearby citrus groves as they studied structures that were built of little more than scrap lumber and palm leaves. In the dirt yards and lane chickens pecked while goats and pigs snuffled about. What inhabitants the fugitives had seen thus far were brown, dowdy-looking women and a few naked children, and one fat man sprawled in the sun sound asleep. Elizabeth could only guess that the rest of the men must have been away at their employments elsewhere on Biltmore's holdings. They had circled the hamlet carefully under cover of the jungle until no one was in sight. The ramshackle building closest was clearly a laundry, with cut wood stacked along one side and great copper wash tubs standing in the yard. At the edge of the trees were strung long lines gently waving many hues of clothing, and there Elizabeth and Bess fixed their attention.
Sighing, Elizabeth batted a dangling leaf aside and propped her chin in her hand. "Perhaps the red skirt," she whispered. "I've already done nearly every unladylike thing imaginable. I don't see why I shouldn't wear red."
Bess glanced at her, eyes twinkling. "I tink dat one for you," she whispered, and pointed to a rippling swath of material that blazed in fiery hues of orange, yellow, black and brown, all splashed in curious patterns as if applied by wooden blocks. Elizabeth looked and pressed a hand to her mouth to stifle a giggle. Truly it was a mad world, when two women could discuss dresses to wear, while at the same time planning to steal them from a clothes line.
"Today I become a thief," Elizabeth ruefully whispered. "If Jack Sparrow could only see me, now."
There was no time to waste, however, and after a final glance to assure no witnesses, they rose from hiding and slipped forward. An instant later Elizabeth hissed and hopped on one foot, clutching Bess' shoulder for support. Giving an apologetic glance she let go and hobbled gingerly onto the hard earth of the clearing. It had been relatively easier going on the softer loam of the jungle, but the simple fact was that Elizabeth's unshod feet were nearly afire with raw pain. She swallowed hard and tried not to think about that, about being recaptured and sent back to slavery simply because she was too genteel and well-bred to have gone barefoot past the age of four.
The clean scent of sun-dried laundry surrounded them in a moment and Elizabeth hastily seized warm cloth in both hands as her heart hammered in her teeth. With a yank she freed the fire-and-coals colored peasant skirt to fall over her arm and with another yank freed a chemise surely designed for a woman half again her girth. However, beggars - or thieves - could not be choosers and she wished only that a pair of shoes was also available for stealing. Bess likewise seized an armful of brown and blue - and then she froze, her black eyes staring through and past Elizabeth.
Elizabeth's tongue suddenly cleaved to the roof of her mouth as she slowly turned. There, at the back corner of the laundry hut, stood a round brown woman with a face expressionless as dough and blank brown eyes, staring at them.
Somewhere beyond the shack a rooster crowed a foolish pealing cry, and further away a child wailed briefly and was still. The brown woman said nothing, did nothing, but simply looked at the two intruders, sunlight gleaming on jet black hair cut knife-straight above her brows. Not daring to speak, Elizabeth stepped carefully, painfully backwards to stand beside Bess, her stolen garments clutched to her chest. And then … the woman simply bowed her head, turned and walked into the laundry hut and out of sight.
"Hurry!"
Elizabeth reached back to make sure Bess was also moving, the two of them crouching and stumbling as they tried to look all directions at once, backing towards the shelter of the jungle. She glanced at the trees, then towards the laundry, and the brown woman had reappeared.
This time she carried something gathered at her breast, and to their shock she began padding towards them with her dark head bowed. The escapees stopped, panicked breath rasping like overheated cotton in their lungs.
Without a sound the woman shuffled to them, and only when right before them did she lift her head. Sloe-brown eyes blank as buttons regarded them, but she held out her burden as if in offering. From her pudgy fingers dangled a drinking gourd on a cord, two pairs of palm-leaf sandals, and a rather grey and greasy looking wad of bundled cloth.
In befuddlement Elizabeth stared, then opened her arms ever so wary of betrayal to accept the woman's odd gifts. Bess' black fingers appeared to take one pair of sandals; the rest Elizabeth clutched together with her bundle of stolen clothing.
"Thank you," she whispered, and wished she knew how to see the heart behind that plain, round face.
Whether the brown woman understood the words or not, she nodded then simply trundled away, back to her laundry or whatever other drudgery composed her life. Behind her, the two escapees fled.
Several minutes later Elizabeth and Bess crouched deep amidst thick greenery as they hastily donned the sandals and peered into the grey bundle of rags. In Bess' black hands the cloth opened to reveal a partially-eaten chunk of pale cheese, two fat oranges, three wizened little peppers and three flat, rounded pieces of some unleavened bread. The two runaways shared wry glances: obviously the remains of the brown woman's lunch. However, it was the only food they had.
"We should save this," Elizabeth whispered, and Bess nodded, folding the cloth once more. Pondering a moment, finger tapping her lip, Elizabeth said, "We saw them put Sarah and the others in that stable. I think it would be safe to presume that is where he keeps his captives, the way it was boarded up, so there may well be others in there, also."
Bess' silent glance was her only reply, and the governor's daughter continued, "What is needed is a chance to get to that stable undetected. In the small hours of the morning, perhaps. With any luck the guards will be few and sleepy." Then with a weary sigh she added, "And we will need ever so much luck. Bess, I don't know how we'll do this."
"Wait an' watch, eh?" came Bess' alto whisper.
"Yes." In their stained and tattered state, Elizabeth's elegant face was the only thing remaining about her that could still speak of noble breeding, but greenish sunlight glinted in her eyes. "We certainly are not through here."
Bess' teeth showed astonishingly white as she wagged a black-and-pink finger playfully. "Dat opportune moment."
Astonished, Elizabeth almost laughed aloud. It seemed years ago she had spoken those words and somehow it pleased her that Bess had heard and remembered.
Lifting her chin to a proud angle, her eyes twinkled as she replied, "Absolutely."
Within seconds Elizabeth slung the gourd over her shoulder and she and Bess vanished. Together they slipped like deer into the green silent hills of Cuba's eastern shores.
***
The moon had yet to rise above the headland when a small, solitary boat appeared on the bay under a single sail. Had any been near to scrutinize they might have recognized her for a ship's boat, but she did not belong to the malodorous vessel that stood moored in dark silence at the quay. Nor did any voice speak to challenge her.
In moments the little boat grounded on the beach and two figures sprang ashore.
"Wait!" hissed one, and the first turned impatiently. A grin glinted by starlight as the voice continued, "Remember, love, I'm the master 'ere."
"In your dreams!" spat a feminine reply.
However, the owner of the second voice allowed her companion to take her by the arm and steer her away from the water. They were scarce above the high tide mark when a dark figure stepped from the shadows.
"Alto! ¿Adónde usted va?"
"Wot's that?" Sparrow halted as ordered and pivoted to peer at the man, but instead of identifying himself, he swayed forward with his arms opening in a wide, cheerful gesture of welcome. "Oh, 'ello, mate! Say, is this Havana? I've been lookin' everywhere tryin' to find Havana. Dreadful thing, really, I seem to have lost my -."
By then he was in arm's reach and a meaty thud dropped the sentry to an insensible heap. Bending quickly Jack poked his fingers in the man's pockets - found nothing - and then he tugged the rough wool from about the downed man's shoulders. A swish of fabric and Sparrow wore a peasant's ragged serape draped over his waistcoat, neatly concealing his pistol and cutlass.
"What do you think, love?" Under Anamaria's eye he struck a foppish pose. "Is it me?"
She snorted in lieu of answer and turned away. In moments the feet of two intruders crunched gravel up the curving lane towards the gate. One of them sauntered nearly as if drunk, swinging one arm to the mumbled tune that he attempted to carry.
"We pillage, we plunder, we rifle, and loot: Drink up, me 'earties, yo ho! … Dum dah dah dum …. And really bad eggs … I say, 'ello up there! Knock-knock, comp'ny's 'ere!"
Sure enough, a sentry had heard their approach. Torchlight came into view as the man peered from the wall towards the dark figures on the road below.
"Hola! ¿Quién es?"
"Speak English, man - I can't get my tongue around that heathen gibberish!"
The query was repeated with clarity, but considerably less tact. "Who are you and wot the devil do ye want?"
"Much better." Sparrow rocked back on his heels to beam a smile up towards the sentry's silhouette. "I 'ave …." His hands described an abstract in the air. "What you might call a business proposition for your master."
"Get off with you, ye sot! We don't 'ave time for the likes o' you."
"Not for me, per'aps …" Still grinning, Jack reached for his companion - and seized the arm she attempted to jerk from his grasp. "'Ere, none of that, missy." With a flourish he swept the dilapidated hat from her head, and as her dark hair fell free the man above made a startled sound. "But maybe for a pretty poppet such as this, ay?"
Jack's grin tightened as Anamaria yanked in his hand again and shot him a look that could have melted lead. Forcing his smile back in place, he added, "She's just a bit of a hellion. But as a man who 'ears things …." Sparrow pressed Anamaria's hat to his breast. "I've 'eard it said that your master 'as a special market for such as her."
"Don't know what you're talkin' about," growled the voice from above.
"Of course you don't. A man as magnificently obtuse as your self 'as other applications in life. But -." Jack cheerfully flung Anamaria's hat into the darkness and clamped his hand under her chin, physically directing her venomous glare upwards, side-by-side with his oily smile. "In these lovely veins flows the blood of African chiefs, delectably mingled with the bluer strains French nobility." His eyes widened enticingly. "They say she's even related to some Louis or other."
The man lifted his torch as he peered down at the oddity of a pretty albeit scowling woman dressed in a man's trousers and shirt. "Why you want to get rid of her?"
Immediately Sparrow recoiled with a look of horror. "Great Scott, man, I'm afraid to fall asleep around this woman!" Leaning forward again, he drew his fingers daintily to his chest to add in boozy confidence, "And she 'as this fixation with feathers and blue paint! Very disturbin'. Took me forever to wean her off the red paint."
Somewhere beyond sight a voice cried out in query, and the sentry turned to rattle a reply in Spanish. There was a long silence as the torchlight wavered atop the wall. Moments later another man appeared, and looked over the wall.
"You woman, eh?" he asked in accented English.
"Paid for with my gold, I reckon that makes 'er mine."
"Why she have clothes like un muchacho?"
"Use your 'ead, mate. A man comes 'ere on secret business, the whole idea is to keep it secret. It would hardly be secret if I sailed around with 'er in skirts and petticoats, now would it?"
A pause, then: "Un momento."
The torch and both men vanished. Instantly Anamaria seized the front of Jack's serape and jerked him towards her.
"This better work!" she hissed. "Because if we live through this, I swear I'm gonna kill you!"
"Relax, love." Maintaining his smile with some difficulty, Jack pried her fingers loose. "I've got it all worked out."
Before she could answer beyond a dangerous narrowing of her eyes, the gate facing them thunked heavily and began to sway inwards. Torches blazed within and a shadowy figure spoke.
"Come on. El Patrón say he see you."
***
TBC …
AN: Yes, I survived the holiday! I hope everyone was blessed with a joyous and bountiful season, whatever faith or celebrations you may embrace.
Not a lot else to add, other than more profuse thanks for the kindness of my readers!! If I can paint images with words that play clearly in your imagination, then I have done precisely what I set out to do. Joy! Lilitaliandragon, you are correct that Elizabeth was barefoot on the island with Jack. Hmm, well, then maybe we can just say that Elizabeth had not gone running about in the hills and woods barefoot since she was a little girl. Yeah, maybe that's it. I hope. *G* And to my new-come readers, if you have gotten this far I hope the story continues to please you. Many thanks to everyone!