PIRATES OF THE CARIBBEAN: THE AFRICAN STAR
By ErinRua
CHAPTER 30
Will Turner would have appreciated the craftsmanship of those hinges, as they made not a whisper of sound. The enormous room beyond appeared fine enough for a king, as candlelight shone softly on ornate furnishings, gilt-framed paintings, exotic statuary and heavy claret curtains tied back with gold cords.
Sparrow stood in the sudden spill of light and the first real noise was a sharp clack as he tapped the blade of his cutlass against the open door. The room's occupant spun towards him - and Sparrow stepped slowly forward, sword idly coming to rest on his shoulder.
"Ahh, Sir John," he drawled. "We meet again. And where might a gentleman such as yourself be bound on a night like this?"
For it was clear, as the big man's face flushed with rage, that he was indeed preparing for flight. He was dressed in a tricorn hat and rich green justacorps coat, while cabinets hung half open about the room and on the bed a large satchel lay open, hastily stuffed with clothes.
"How dare you?" Biltmore snarled, seeming to swell and tower over Sparrow's lean form like a bear rising to full height. "Get out of my house!"
Sparrow's eyes gleamed wickedly above his grin as he sidestepped along the foot of the broad bed. "I'm thinkin' you're not to be the one givin' orders 'ere, mate."
"Damn you - take what you want and get out! Here!"
Biltmore ignored the silent warning of Jack's free hand on the pistol in his sash, the larger man fumbling inside his waistcoat to draw forth a large silk purse. He flung it to hit the floor with a heavy clank and slide skittering towards Sparrow's feet. The pirate planted the toe of one boot on the purse, but did not otherwise move.
"And this!"
The big man surged towards the bed and snatched a small wooden casket from beside his bag and flung that, too. It burst upon the floor in a scattering spill of gold and jewels.
"Take it all!" raged Biltmore. "Take the whole damned house! You've won, Sparrow! Take your victory, damn you sir, and may you live to choke on it! Heaven save us from the day when the likes of you can rise up and prevail against their natural betters!"
"Natural betters?" Sparrow's eyebrows rose. "Oh, thank you for puttin' me in me place."
Biltmore fairly seethed in impotent fury, his heavy face sagging as his eyes grew ugly and small. "You know nothing. You ARE nothing! If you kill me here and now, you'll still be the same crawling, conniving, petty little thief you've always been."
Abruptly he seized the front of his waistcoat and ripped it open, exposing the ruffled silk shirt beneath. "Shoot me now, Jack Sparrow! I'm not afraid of death or any of your kind!"
Eyes wide, Sparrow twisted his wrist to swing his sword in a slow arc. "Have you ever considered the stage? You 'ave a flair for drama. Just the same …" He stirred the spill of jewelry with his toe and his gold teeth glinted in response. "I'd rather leave you alive."
His dark glance cooled as he haughtily lifted his chin, raised his sword and posed to stare down its steely length directly into Biltmore's eyes. "I want you to know what you've lost. The diamond, if you please."
The stillness nearly crackled as Sparrow stood straight as a bayonet with leveled steel shimmering between them. Somewhere downstairs a muted voice shouted and was answered, and a sound of breaking echoed up along the corridor.
Jack's eyes gleamed with a mocking light. "Oops. Looks like the lads are 'ere," he said.
Biltmore stared back, his cheeks mottled in stifled rage. "Damn you …."
"Oh, Sir John?" The sword waggled in an imperious gesture as Sparrow's tone took on a taunting note. "I'm 'olding the sword, remember?"
The big man was trembling as if taken with some strange ague and his breath whistled through his nostrils as he reached into the breast of his waistcoat. Sparrow's eyes were very bright as he watched - and Biltmore lunged sprawling across the great bed.
As Sparrow spun to face him Biltmore rolled like a breaching whale to come up on the other side. From somewhere he swung a glittering length of silver and pearl and with a roar he flung the scabbard aside. Light flamed on the metal of his dress sword. Sparrow back-pedaled fast into the greater part of the room and Biltmore followed like a juggernaut with a blade. Steel struck steel with a ringing screech as Sparrow parried and disengaged and leaped away, putting a corner of the great bed between them.
"Really, mate, is this completely necessary - YOW!"
He bounded across the mattress an inch ahead of Biltmore's slashing lunge, his boots stomping pillows in his flight. A fox and a bull they might have been, one roaring and savage as he scattered rugs and statuary in the torrent of his wrath, the other nimble and quick as a wink. Blades met and clashed and flashed steely lightning as their contest tumbled around the room. Across the floor and over a divan they fought and behind a tall wardrobe that Jack kicked to fall with a splintering crash.
"Whoops!" he yelped, and gleefully vaulted over an upholstered chair just as Biltmore sliced the cushions so they bled white batting.
Back across the room the contest raged, until Jack's leaping spin around a bedpost warded a blow from Biltmore that nearly hacked the carved wood in two. A booted kick flung Biltmore's satchel full in his face and when he had batted it aside Jack was on the other side of the room, grinning fiercely with blade in hand. The pirate dodged behind another chair and kicked it into Biltmore's path, but the big man jumped with surprising agility and drove forward in a hacking fury.
Through it all Jack leapt and fought with savage delight. A vase of peacock feathers exploded in a flurry of blue and green. A mirror fell with a silvery smash. Jack hopped three desperate jumps with one foot stuck through an oversized African basket, but upon his recovery a curtain drifted to the floor in two severed pieces. Ere long the bull found himself sorely pressed and at last gave ground to the slashing steel fang of the fox. Seconds later the open door stood at hand - and Biltmore wheeled to bolt for escape.
CLANG!
The big man went rigid as a lamppost and his sword clattered from his hand. Eyes blank he slowly pivoted around, to topple face-down with a shattering thud.
In the subsequent stillness Jack looked to see Will Turner standing framed in the doorway. The lad cocked his head in an expression of question, still holding a large brass cuspidor in one hand and his sword in the other.
"A spittoon, Will?"
Will shrugged and dropped it into a nearby chair. "It seemed a good idea at the time."
A growling groan captured their attention as Biltmore rolled heavily onto his side. Sparrow's gaze was bleak as he stepped over the fallen man and placed one foot against his shoulder. With a shove he flopped Biltmore onto his back. Biltmore blinked, and then expression returned to darken his features. Straightening up, Sparrow lowered his sword to hover the shining tip over the froth of lace at Biltmore's throat.
"Damn you, Sparrow," Biltmore rasped.
Looking down the shining blade, Sparrow simply beamed a gold-touched smile. His tone nearly purred as he said, "The African Star … if you please."
Biltmore's lace shirtfront quivered with each breath and his face flushed to a most unhealthy hue, cheeks shuddering. But the black eyes staring down into his were unfathomable as ink. Slowly, jerkily, as if moved by a power other than his own, his hand moved to the brocade breast of his coat and drew forth a small rosewood casket.
A cold smile spread across Sparrow's face. He ever so neatly adjusted his stance, the tip of his blade rising slightly to touch the doughy folds of Biltmore's chin.
"Mister Turner. Would you be so kind?"
Will cautiously knelt, and as he snatched the box away Biltmore spat, "Blacksmith," as if the very name of Will's profession were an abomination. However, when Sparrow took the little casket, the young smith rose and stepped into position. His eyes narrowed and his lip curled as he brought his own blade to caress the prone man's fleshy neck.
"At least I don't pretend to be a gentleman," Will said. "Sir John."
Sparrow meanwhile seemed to forget anyone else was in the room as his gaze fixed on the polished wood he held. He set his sword on a small table beside him and with slow, almost ritualistic care he cradled the little box in both hands. A moment, a breath, and then he flicked the tiny brass latch open and tilted back the lid.
The African Star. There should have been a sound for that silent burst of radiance. There should have been a ring of high silvery bells to mark the shards of ancient light that danced across Jack Sparrow's face and glittered in his dark eyes. The magnificent gem both reflected light and seemed to glow with a soft incandescence of its own. With the daintiest touch he plucked the precious thing out, and his hand trembled ever so slightly as new light shattered in brilliant fragments before his gaze.
He was wholly unaware of Will Turner watching him, quirking an eyebrow in curiosity, or of Biltmore's wheezing bulk sprawled before him. Here in his grasp was perfection. Here was beauty beyond measure; here was something so indescribably flawless that he nearly forgot to breathe as it filled his sight and his soul.
"Jack …"
He felt the gem warming to his touch, melding to the palm of his hand more dearly than ever a woman had touched. If ever there was love for a cold hard thing, it burst now in a pirate's heart, capturing him in the bottomless shimmer of one perfect diamond.
"Jack!"
Sparrow started and looked up as if jolted from a deep dream. Will inclined his head towards the door.
"We should go. The commodore will want to see this filth."
"Ah … yes, of course."
Blinking back to awareness, Sparrow hastily stuffed the gem into an inside pocket of his waistcoat. Then in his other hand he dangled the empty casket.
Leaning with a chilly smile, he said, "Let's just say you sank a very … expensive sloop."
Sparrow let the box fall to strike Biltmore's silk-sheathed chest and tumble to the carpet. A strangled growl seemed the only sound the big man could make. Will stepped back and Jack reclaimed his sword as their captive rolled heavily to hands and knees. Spittle gleamed on the man's lips as he lurched to one knee and his eyes were glassy with hatred. Jaw set, Will stepped back, keeping sharp steel between him and what might now be a madman. Biltmore's gaze lifted - then abruptly sharpened.
"LOOK OUT!"
Jack's shout and a gunshot shattered Will's hearing at the same instant a body slammed into him full force. Staggering, Will wind-milled backwards to trip over the carpet-edge, whereupon he fell flat on his back. Yet even as he heaved himself to sitting, in the doorway stood the hulking figure of First Mate Thomas Fry, a smoking pistol in hand.
Biltmore crouched, staring in grim fixation. Jack still stood, but he was rotating drunkenly towards Will now, his dark eyes blank and unfocused. He took just one step - and all the hinges of his joints seemed to come undone. Without a word he collapsed.
"NO!" Will cried, a wild slash of his sword halting Biltmore in mid-lunge.
Instantly the big man charged for the door, he and Fry vanishing in the dark corridor beyond. Panic-stricken, Will scrambled to the fallen pirate's side, yet found himself afraid to disturb that awkward tangle of legs, sash and bead-bangled hair. Any moment now Sparrow would sit up with that crazed, bright grin. Any moment …
"Jack?" The sulfuric reek of gun-smoke burned Will's nostrils. "Oh, God …."
Scattered coins and jewelry glinted on the floor all around Jack's motionless form. Gripping the pirate's shoulder, Will felt muscle and bone under thin cotton, but no strength, no life. Carefully he pushed Sparrow onto his side. Jack's head rolled so that his face was bathed in candlelight, but the hawkish features remained utterly still.
With an inarticulate sound Will seized his sword, lunged to his feet and pelted out into the dark corridor. Downstairs he could hear raucous voices and harsh laughter and something fell with a clattering crash. Light shone ahead from the great hall on the floor below, where pirates careened about with arms full of loot. But as he skidded around a corner on slick shoes, Will held only one thought. He struck a new burst of speed as he spied the great staircase ahead, and in its shadows skulked two dark figures.
"Stop them!" he shouted, seizing the balcony railing to alert those beneath.
Fry and Biltmore bolted. Down the last step the big men leapt and bowled straight through three of Jack's crew, scattering pirates and plunder across the marble floor in a jangling, cursing tangle. Will leapt to the head of the stairs where he swung onto the polished banister, slung his feet up and slid down to the ground floor in an instant.
There he scrambled for new footing, even as two more pirates stepped into the two fugitives' hurtling path and were knocked tumbling.
"MOVE!" he bellowed and plunged through the astonished crew with his sword brandished high.
Then a flash of red appeared where moonlight spilled through the wide front doors, silvery light broken suddenly by many shadows. Red coats - Royal Marines!
Trying to double his frantic race Will gave one last shout. "STOP THEM!"
A shriek went up and shouts of dismay and command, as a thrashing tangle of bodies in the foyer suddenly surged around a prodigious amount of splintering and breaking. Then a familiar voice rose in fine, high anger: "How DARE you!" and a resounding clang was followed by sudden silence.
Will slid to a halt before the astonished faces of several marines, Commodore Norrington and Elizabeth, although her expression was plainly furious. Beside them gaped a hole that used to be a tall, arched window. At their feet a heavy lump was trying to crawl to its feet and as it raised its head, blood ran down the man's brow.
"That," spat Elizabeth, "is First Mate Thomas Fry. You may arrest him, Commodore!"
Norrington looked at Fry then looked at Elizabeth, standing in her gypsy-dress with fire in her eyes and a large, suddenly formidable-looking silver tray in her hands. A jostling among the redcoats revealed tall, dark Bess and the plump girl, Sarah, nudging their way into the room, each bearing a fearsome scowl of her own.
Being a man of good sense the commodore responded crisply. "Certainly, Miss Swann. Marines!"
Yet before the redcoats could respond two massive fists seized Fry's lapels and Original John jerked the heavy man to his feet. Fry's legs seemed rubberized as he sagged in the huge pirate's grip.
"You stole them poor girls," Original John rumbled.
Beside him a pirate with a bandaged head leaned in and the burr of Ireland bore a brittle edge: "We ought ta break yer bleedin' neck."
And just like that the Irishman's fist shot out and cracked Fry square on the jaw. The first mate of the Royal Venture went limp, whereupon the two pirates let him flop to the floor.
"Where's Biltmore?" Will's hot stare was inches from Norrington's face as he turned.
"Is that who that lunatic was?" Norrington frowned as much from Will's untoward physical proximity as from the bluntness of the question. Rather unfortunate aspects of Jack Sparrow seemed to have rubbed off on the young blacksmith. "I've marines after him as we speak, Mister Turner. He'll not escape this time."
When Will neither replied nor changed expression, Norrington eased a step back. "Turner, I assure you -."
"Do you have a surgeon in your crew?"
"Do - why, yes, of course. But he's still aboard ship."
Immediately Will stepped back, his eyes ink-black and his chiseled young face suddenly far too stiff. "We may need him. If Jack is still alive."
Elizabeth gasped and flung one hand to her mouth. "What happened?"
Will's mouth contorted as his gaze dropped to Fry, now hanging groggily between two marines. "He happened."
"Where?"
He looked to Elizabeth once more, and suddenly his eyes were a-swim with anguish. "Upstairs."
Then he turned away, shouldering through the gathering throng into the fire-lit darkness outside. Serving tray sagging in her hands, Elizabeth watched him go, before she spun the opposite direction.
With a feline squeal of rage she swung the tray high and brought it down with a ringing bang on Thomas Fry's already-battered head. In the next breath she was running towards the great staircase, her bright skirts gathered up in one hand. A silent shadow was Anamaria slipping from the mob to follow.
Behind them, Norrington gestured irritably for his men to drag Fry out for safekeeping. Then it occurred to him that he was facing numerous pirates bearing armloads of plunder.
"Now, see here," he said sternly. "You men can't simply march about pilfering whatever you please, as if -."
"Ah, Commodore, sir?"
Norrington found himself facing a stocky, grizzled pirate with graying sideburn whiskers and an annoying grin. Oddly, the man seemed familiar.
"And who are you?"
"Gibbs, sir." The old seaman touched a knuckle to his forehead. "First mate aboard the Black Pearl. And you'd not want to be tellin' these lads that, just now." His grin widened, squinting his eyes nearly shut. "They might not take it very kindly."
Kindly did not describe the glares Norrington was getting, and for that matter the two remaining women were giving him rather annoyed looks. "Do I know you?"
"Once, per'aps. But that was another time." With a hard, bright grin Gibbs turned away and raised his voice in a rough shout. "Here, mates, let's get on with it! If the cap'n has took his last voyage, let's make it a rich haul! Take what you can!"
"GIVE NOTHIN' BACK!" roared the response.
***
TBC …
A/N: Next chapter will be up tomorrow! Only two more chapters to go …
Lilianna, you are quite correct that Elizabeth's use of an ax to smash open kegs of gunpowder was risky. If steel strikes metal or stone it can indeed create a spark. A flintlock pistol or musket works on that very principle: pulling the trigger drops the lock, which snaps the flint to strike the steel frizzen, creating a spark that ignites the powder in the gun. In Elizabeth's situation, it was not so much the spilled black powder that she had to worry about, as that would just burn with a big smoky *whump* and probably give some ugly burns. However, the stuff confined in kegs and grenades … Well, we saw what happened. So your memory of chemistry was correct, and Elizabeth got very lucky. :-)