PIRATES OF THE CARIBBEAN: THE AFRICAN STAR
By ErinRua
CHAPTER 25
Illuminated only by the dull silver of starlight and a scattering of torches and lanterns, the manor house of Sir John Biltmore was impressive even in the dark. A sprawling Spanish courtyard paved in smooth stone was centered by a musical fountain, and everywhere windows gleamed and arched doorways opened darkly to mysterious corridors. The far side of the yard was faced by a long low building, obviously a stable, which was large enough to befit a prince's stud. As they walked Jack saw other buildings as well, but what they were could not be made out. The house itself rambled along two sides of the spacious courtyard, the center portion rising three stories tall with high-arched cathedral windows. From somewhere wafted a sweet perfume of jasmine, mingled with the bracing fragrance of citrus.
What Sparrow observed, while pretending not to observe, was the outer walls themselves. They were every bit as formidable as his and Will's long-distance scout had suggested that day. However, he hid a faint smile while noting that the guards were few and the black cannons on top were tied down and unmanned, with no sign that crews were ever appointed to them. Little more than glorified garden ornaments, as it were. In all, it appeared most of Biltmore's men and crew were already gone to their night's rest.
Keeping his face forward, Jack simply said, "Lovely place you 'ave 'ere. I think the Moors' influence on architecture should be expanded to more of the civilized world, don't you? The British are so unimaginative in matters of line and form."
Their escorts made no reply, white trousers whispering as they paced across the courtyard. Lanterns glowed to either side of a carved door and there they stopped. One of the men rapped sharply.
A moment, then a voice spoke strongly from within. "Come."
It seemed uncertain whether they were guests or prisoners, as the two guards urged Sparrow and Anamaria inside. They found themselves facing a spacious, warmly-lit room with stuccoed walls and heavy beams across the ceiling, centered by a long, polished table framed in empty chairs. At the far end a small fire danced cheerfully in a hearth adorned by glowing candlesticks that reflected in various pieces of silver plate.
The welcome of that room, however, was jolted sharply by the myriad grotesque faces adorning the walls. Primitive masks they seemed, carved of strange dark woods and adorned with brilliant paints or pieces of fiber and hair. Some stared blankly with black holes for eyes, some leered in contorted expressions that defied name, and some seemed frozen in silent, endless screams.
Beneath those macabre gazes a tall, strong-looking man stood before the hearth in a long, green silk smoking jacket.
"These were the two at the gate, sir," one guard said.
The big man took a step to face them and the impact of that predatory gaze stiffened Sparrow's spine instantly. Under Jack's hand Anamaria froze and her eyes were black pools. This could only be Sir John himself.
"Ah, your lordship!" Sparrow pasted on his most obsequious smile and swept into the room - or as sweeping as he could move, whilst dragging a rigid Anamaria by one arm. "Just the man I want to see! I 'ave a business proposition, just a little one - well, actually middlin' sized, as you can see, but -."
"Who in the devil's name are you?"
That frigid tone could have cut glass and Jack jerked to a halt, eyes wide and astonished. "Oh, beggin' your pardon. I do 'ope this isn't a bad time." Gold teeth and dangling beads winked by lantern light. "I'm nobody, really, but if you must 'ave a name, Jack Turner will do. Forgive the late hour, but prudence and discretion are words to live by, if a man wishes to keep his business as his business, ay?"
Biltmore paced one, then two slow strides forward, his cold gaze taking in Jack item for item, from the beads in his tangled hair to the tattered sash at his waist, to the cavalier's boots on his feet and back to his face again.
"What sort of business do you purport yourself to be in?"
"I am what you might call a discerning gentleman." With a wise grin, Jack pressed a hand to his chest and enunciated, "I deal in the most profitable venture of the moment."
"I see. A smuggler. Or perhaps a mad gypsy." Biltmore lifted his gaze and flicked a brief gesture that dismissed the guards from the room. His attention again on Sparrow and Anamaria, he said, "You have exactly one minute to convince me why I should not have you shot."
"For wot?"
A smile devoid of humor curved Biltmore's lips. "Because I want to. Or trespassing, if you prefer."
"Ah." Jack tapped a finger to his chin. "Right. A man who likes to come straight to the point. I can respect that. Commendable, really. Well, then." He seized Anamaria by both shoulders and bodily shoved her to stand before him. Grinning beside her ear he said, "I 'ave this pretty strumpet 'ere and I'm 'opin' we could come to an accord whereby you would profitably and for a pretty sum take 'er off me 'ands."
"I see. You propose a sale." The slave ship captain stepped easily to a sideboard, where a bottle and several silver cups stood glittering between two ornate wall lamps.
~~ Beyond the lighted room a rising half-moon dimmed the stars as it poured shimmering silver upon the ocean's breast. Warm and still was the night outside, until movement stirred beyond the headlands of the bay. Then upon the ever-shifting waters a tall silhouette appeared, silent as fate and black as fear. ~~
Picking up the bottle Biltmore said, "In what way is she any different from any other darky wench I might pick up anywhere in these islands? At least they would be properly attired."
"Oh, but that's just it! She's not from these islands." Grinning foolishly Sparrow minced about Anamaria touching her hair, her sleeves, the curve of her shoulder while she stood stiff and sullen. "She's the daughter of an Aztec princess and an African prince. Her father was Cortez's personal manservant and her mother was a prisoner taken 'ostage along with chests of gold from the Aztec king. Cortez's servant saved 'is life during an uprisin', y' see, and for 'is loyalty 'e was awarded their royal lady prisoner. And thus was born …" Jack played his fingers through her hair and let it fall to one shoulder. "This lovely creature."
~~ Neither sound nor light marked the black ship, as inbound she turned, riding her own shadow like an inky carpet upon the sea. Ever closer she came, dark sails seeming to widen into dreadful wings. ~~
"Mm." Biltmore bent his attention to carefully pouring wine into one of the cups, lamplight shimmering in the crimson fluid. He did not offer any to his guests. "And I suppose this outrageous tale translates into an exorbitant asking price for the wench?"
Jack scrunched his face into a wounded look. "Of course not! A discerning gentleman such as yourself knows quality when 'e sees it. I ask no more than any right-thinkin' man would wish to gain in an equitable transaction of this sort."
~~ Atop stone walls feet pattered in desperate haste, the jingle of muskets and rasp of harsh breathing marking the awareness of those on shore. Voices hissed frantic queries, for it seemed all were afraid to break the fey silence, but fear crackled like the electricity before a storm. ~~
"There is one factor I can't help but consider … Mister Turner." Biltmore turned with the wine cup in his hand and looked at Jack. "I have a small army at my command, and you have … a serape. What is to stop me from simply shooting you and taking the woman?"
Sparrow's black eyes grew large and his mouth pursed thoughtfully. "Well, if you put it that way, nothing, really."
The door burst in with a bang. "Sir!" cried a sentry. "That ship is back! It's here!"
"Except that," Jack added, and grinned like an impudent boy.
In the next instant Anamaria bashed the henchman with a chair, Jack's hands vanished beneath his serape, Biltmore's right hand dove to the breast of his waistcoat and the henchman hit the floor out cold.
"I wouldn't do that, mate," Jack said gently, and his eyes were bright as he regarded Biltmore over the barrel of his boarding pistol. "You'd just get an ugly 'ole in that lovely coat."
The big man froze with his right hand half-drawn from his waistcoat, the bulge of his fist and pistol distorting the silk of his smoking jacket. His gaze burned as it flicked from Sparrow to Anamaria - who hastily jerked a second handgun from beneath Jack's serape and cocked and aimed it.
In clipped tones Biltmore said, "What do you possibly think to accomplish? Your friends are out there, Jack Sparrow - oh yes, a little bird told me of you - and you are in here. You'll never get out alive."
"Ah, well." Jack shrugged merrily. "Call me a gamblin' man. And it's Captain Jack Sparrow, if you please. Now let's do be sensible, ay?" The barrel of the pistol steadied. "We'll just take a little walk, you'll tell your men to lay down their arms, and all will be right in the world."
~~ Out on the walls heavy wheels grumbled as cannons were drawn back and men scrabbled to ready the guns for firing. Years it had been since any need had arisen for defense and frightened hands fumbled with cartridges and rammers. ~~
Hatred was an acid that corroded any comeliness from Biltmore's features and raised an unhealthy flush in his cheeks. Nonetheless he carefully withdrew the smaller pistol from his breast, lowered it to the sideboard and turned with both hands held empty.
"You'll be shot the moment you step out the door."
"Mate, you really do 'ave a morbid fascination with shootin' people." Jack cocked his head and added cheekily, "Now me, I'd much rather 'ave you alive to enjoy me little bit of revenge."
"Revenge for what?"
Like a curtain dropping, Sparrow's eyes went dark. "For a bonny little sloop and good men murdered."
Biltmore snorted and lifted his square chin in disdain. "Very well. If it's my purse you want, you shall have it, along with whatever coin and small jewelry I keep in my quarters. I'm afraid most of my worth is tied up in property, however, so unless you find a way to remove citrus groves or herds of cattle, you will -."
"Oh, I'll take your purse right enough, mate," purred Jack, and followed his outstretched pistol along the table towards Biltmore in slow, smooth steps, the stalking pace of a swordsman. "But it's your life we'll be tradin' … for the African Star."
~~ On the dark water the black ship slowed and began to turn … turning the full length of her side towards the walls …~~
Biltmore's eyes literally bulged as his face flushed crimson, and his response rasped as if towed from his lips. "Damn your soul …"
"Some say that's already done, mate." Jack daintily flicked his free hands towards the door. "Now, how about we go convince your lads to surrender like good boys, ay?"
~~ And gouts of flames burst sputtering down the side of that black hull. ~~
An eye-blink later thunder split the night and masonry exploded in a shattering drumbeat along the outer walls.
"JACK, LOOK OUT!"
Light and shadow swung crazily as Biltmore wrenched the nearest lantern from the wall and hurled it to a fiery detonation against the table between them. With a lunge he reached the sideboard while Anamaria shot and missed, and there seized his own pistol. Biltmore returned fire just as both pirates dropped. Splinters burst from a chair back then the second lantern exploded and plunged the room into darkness. Only a thin line of blue-gold flame remained, running along the polished tabletop like water. Cannons boomed outside as Jack scuttled forwards beside a forest of chair legs. He popped up behind the table with his cocked pistol - but Biltmore was gone.
"That way!" Anamaria shouted amidst the smoky shadows.
She waved her own now-empty pistol towards an open side door and Jack swept off the serape to let it fall. Then together they sprang in pursuit.
Down a dark hall they ran, hearing the footfalls of the man who fled before them. A door slammed and they skidded on Spanish tile in a flurry of scrambling feet as they rounded a corner. Several closed doors stood gleaming in the dim light, any one of which could conceal their quarry. Sparrow, however, gestured sharply ahead and on they flew. A hallway opened to one side and Jack slid to a halt, flinging his back to the wall, Anamaria beside him. Breathing tightly through his nose he crouched and peered cautiously - there!
Up they leapt, feet pounding fast as a long shadow spilled and bounded and vanished down a windowed corridor. Squares of moonlight flickered past, glimpses of polished furniture and heavy framed paintings all wrapped in gloom. Yet although they raced in a perfect tumult of flying knees and elbows they were, nonetheless, just a moment too late.
The door at the end of the hall slammed with a pane-rattling crash and when Jack yanked it open, there was only an empty courtyard beyond. Out in the moonlight Sir John Biltmore galloped across the paving stones with great, loping strides, making towards the walls and safety amongst his own men. Behind in the doorway Sparrow's mouth twisted in a silent but heartfelt curse.
***
Moonlight ignited white sails to incandescence as the Dauntless forged northwest with the inky silhouette of Cuba's coastline crouched low off her larboard beam. Silently she sailed, a ship mostly asleep while those on watch went about their duties in the hush that nighttime seemed to demand. Empty silver waters and starry skies embraced the great ship, and to the officer of the deck it seemed a lovely, uneventful Caribbean night.
Uneventful, that is, until a ruddy light flashed against the dark shoreline and became a queer, stuttering flare like heat lightning. It blinked out - and was echoed an instant later by a staccato thudding across the water.
"Good heavens …" breathed Lieutenant Groves, hands gripping the larboard rail.
A clapping of hard shoes on deck brought a midshipman skidding wide-eyed to his side. "Sir! Did you see that? Is that what I think it is?"
"I believe so." Groves' chiseled face tightened in concentration, and then he snapped his attention towards the lad. "Rouse the commodore. Tell him we have cannon fire ashore. And beat 'to quarters'."
"Aye, sir!" The midshipman whirled and was gone.
Moments later the frantic rattling of a drum hammered out its stern summons and the HMS Dauntless boiled to life.
"So …" murmured Commodore Norrington, narrow-eyed in his scrutiny of the black shoreline as he buttoned the last buttons of his coat. "That is where you have gotten yourself to, Captain Sparrow."
"Sir?" Gillette appeared beside him, face round and white as the moon itself. "Are we going in there? That Capitan Herrera back there was very emphatic in his demands that we stay off and not touch Cuban soil."
"Mister Gillette." Norrington tugged his coat straight and offered the younger man a frosty smile. "Since when do we take orders from the Spanish navy?" Turning his attention outboard once more, he added, "Besides, someone owes us for the indignity of that encounter."
He strode away towards the helm and the Dauntless began to turn west-southwest towards Cuba's dark shore.
***
Smoke and flame, shouts and cannon fire rocked the harbor, hazing the silvery water in a bitter fog. "La nave del Diablo!" rang the panicked cry as men reeled half-dressed from their beds to join their comrades in returning fire.
Meanwhile beneath the smoke and thunder longboats glided like sharks across the water to grind their hulls upon the sandy shore. From them spilled a savage cargo, moonlight glinting on swords and pistols. Among the invaders leapt Will Turner with a naked blade and eager eyes, Joshamee Gibbs at one hand and Original John at the other. The pirates of the Black Pearl had come for all they could claim and behind them the Pearl's guns boomed once more.
Up a turning path they ran, silent but for the jagged rasp of breathing and the muffled thudding of swift feet. The stone walls loomed pale in the moonlight while overhead cannon thundered and belched smoky fire. In seconds the tall front gate stood before them. A slashing gesture halted them all in silence, and then Will and Irish John loped forward and bent at the gate's foot.
On the ramparts above, Sir John Biltmore strode from the smoke and chaos in a very fury and his voice lashed at his men like a scourge.
"STAND FAST, DAMN YOUR SOULS! STAND FAST! If a ship can be sailed a ship can be sunk! STAND, I tell you!"
Towering and wrathful he sprang upon the wall, incongruously dressed in a silk smoking jacket while a pistol swung in one hand. Chunks of stone lay still smoking as testament to the black ship's gunners, two men also lying broken amongst the rubble, and two of his cannon were cocked aslant, completely off their carriages. However, Biltmore stalked to the first gun still on its wheels and jabbed his pistol at it.
"Is this gun loaded?" he demanded of the men cringing behind the walls.
"Aye, sir," quavered the gun crew's captain.
"THEN WHY ARE YOU NOT FIRING, DAMN YOU, SIR!"
The men leapt to their feet as Biltmore wheeled and bellowed, "Mister Fry!"
The first mate of the Royal Venture appeared almost instantaneously, a long bloody gash down his temple. "Sir?"
The cannon behind them boomed as Biltmore slammed a fist into Fry's shirt front and jerked him almost up on his toes. "Jack Sparrow was in my house. You will go roust the rest of the men and when you find Sparrow, you will kill him dead, dead, dead!"
"Aye sir!"
Then a deafening flash burst the night and the main gate asunder.
Through smoke and smoldering wreckage the Black Pearl's pirate crew charged howling. More explosions rocked the compound, shattering masonry and roofing tiles in a merry din. Will skidded to a halt as Tearlach held a slow-match to yet another peculiar, pomegranate-shaped object and then hurled the sizzling granadoe * with all his strength. Fire burst into a cloud of splinters as an awning buckled and roofing tiles avalanched to shatter on paving stones like a small mountain of crockery.
Yet Will took no joy in the breaking of glass or splintering of doors. He understood that Sparrow's intent was to make the sound and fury seem worse than it was, hopefully demoralizing Biltmore's men into surrender. Nevertheless, the young blacksmith had his own goal and it burned as a white flame in his heart.
"Have ye seen Jack?" Gibbs appeared at Will's side, his broad grizzled features crimped in worry. "He should have Biltmore by now."
"Not yet - There he is! JACK!"
Halfway across the courtyard a lithe dark figure sprang onto the fountain's curb, his cutlass flashing shards of ruddy moonlight as he parried the attack of not one but three enemies. With a leap Sparrow gained the rim of the fountain itself, steel slashing tumbling water before striking aside an opponent's blade. In the next blink Jack's booted foot shot out to whack the man's chin and topple him unconscious at Will Turner's feet. Will's blow to the head felled the second man and Gibbs put the third out like a light.
"Come on, Jack!" Will shouted. "We can take them!"
Sparrow leaped down from the fountain and spun to scan the surrounding walls. His eyes narrowed as they fixed on a heavy figure striding up there amidst the smoke.
Following his gaze, Will said, "I thought you were going to capture him."
"He was disinclined to accept me 'ospitality. Come, lads! Let's make an end to this as quickly as possible."
***
* As early as 1691 there was a crude sort of hand-made grenade, which were called at the time "granadoes." Reference from The Maritime History Virtual Archives, quoting John Seller: "The Sea-Gunner: Shewing the Practical Part of Gunnery, as it is used at Sea." 1691. From this came the famed French and British Grenadiers of the 1700's. We saw granadoes in use in the original movie, when Barbossa's men sacked Port Royal.
TBC …
A/N: Nothing much to add here this time, other than to wish everyone a happy, healthy and prosperous 2004, the Year of the Monkey! Many blessings to you all.
I'll also apologize for the cliff-hanger!! I'll get the next chapter out as quick as I can, but things are just going to be happening fast and furious, now, so please don't lynch me! I'll be as prompt and steady in posting as I can. :-)