CHAPTER FOUR
Once a Pirate, Always a Pirate

It was much later in the evening. Jack was now leaning against the wall rather than sitting down as he had been ordered. And Jeanette, whilst she remained where she had been, had a rather different expression. Before it had been a mixture of anger, confusion, and desperation. Now it was only shock, her eyes wide as she spoke.

"Are you saying, saying..."

"Saying?" Jack was unaffected by her disbelief. Hell, he was used to that - especially where women where concerned. He remembered that one night in Tortuga, when those two blondes had...

"Saying that..." Jeanette interrupted his reminiscing, to his disappointment, but the words wouldn't come out.

"Spit it out."

"You found..." she gulped slightly, raising her hand to massage her temple. "You found Amphitrite's Cave?"

"Well, practically. A map to said cave," he drummed his fingers together in an almost bored manner." But that's the problem isn't it?"

"Amphitrite's Cave..." her voice faltered, and trailed off into silence.

"Heard of it, then?" he was being patient, but if she didn't say something halfway coherent soon...

Jeanette glared furiously at him, "Of course! Amphitrite's Cave, it's...it's like the Holy Grail in my circle!"

"And your circle would be?"

"...Those with an interest in ancient deities of the sea."

"Ah. Quite a popular circle, then," Jack's sarcasm was so lucid it almost sounded as though he was entirely serious.

"You're the one who wants my help." But she didn't sound angry, she sounded... excited. But annoyed at the same time, the reason for which became obvious a moment later. "So you lost the map, then?"

"Lost wouldn't be the right word, exactly. Someone nicked it," he was defensive, as though his pride had been wounded by her accusatory tone.

"Because you were drunk," she voiced the statement matter-of-factly, as though it was really nothing out of the ordinary.

"True. Well, you know Tortuga as well as the next man... lass. You go under in an alley and when you wake up -"

"But it's gone."

"Only temporarily, as it were," he hastened to defend himself against her blunt words, "I can get it back. Know where the bastard that took it is goin' to be. It'll be in my cabin before the month is out."

"So why do you need me, then?"

"On account, Etty," he returned to his seat, leaning back casually, placing his feet on the table, ignoring the wrinkling of her nose in disapproval, "On account of the fact that the things your circle - as you called it - know, are the things that I need to know. All I know about Amphitrite's Cave is treasure. Lots of treasure."

"For the last time, it's Jeanette. And lots of treasure... well, that's really all you need to know anyway."

"But the map, darling, the map. I had a look at it before -"

"Before you got drunk and lost it?" she gave a matter-of-fact statement yet again, with more than a slight note of reproach.

"Again; stolen not lost," he didn't miss a beat. "Thing being though, I had a look, and it doesn't make sense. Isn't any group of isles I remember seeing before, and it's meant to be in the Caribbean. More to the point, I don't know the Amphitrite legends well myself. And I thought that you, with your... superior knowledge, might be able to..." he trailed off, gesturing at her to finish the sentence.

"To fill in the blanks? Help you out? Tell you where it is? Get you yet more treasure so you can get drunk again?" she did not even try to hide her disgust this time.

"Exactly," he seemed unperturbed by her words. "Glad you're so understanding."

"And why would I do something like that?" she was incredulous. "Knowing you, you'll probably get me killed within a week. Give me one good reason why."

"Play nice. And as for a reason, it'll be fun!" he was full of enthusiasm, which, judging by the look still plastered on her face, she did not share in the least.

"Fun? Sparrow, sailing around with you for an indefinite period of time is hardly fun." No. Not in the least.

"Because of my good looks and charm?" he continued, simply unflappable.

She snorted in amusement, "That's your second chance gone."

"For...for the old days?" he was hesitant now.

At this the girl snorted again, "The old days? You know I gave that up years ago. I had my fun."

"Once a pirate, always a pirate, love."

Jeanette shook her head seriously. "No, Jack. I wasn't even... Not now."

There was a silence as Jack's dark eyes bored into her own, and she struggled not to break his gaze.

"So there's no way I could convince you?" his tone was more severe now.

"It's not for me."

"But this is Amphitrite's Cave! How can you pass it up? It's a once in a lifetime opportunity!"

Jeanette clenched her fist, digging her nails into her palm, trying to distract herself from the truth in Jack's words.

"Sorry, Jack. Not even for Amphitrite's Cave. I can't... not..."

She broke off, and again there was a silence. This time Jeanette did break the connection between their eyes, looking at the stone floor as though ashamed.

"Your choice," Jack got up from his chair, and looked down on Jeanette, a curious expression on his face. "Sorry, Etty."

Jeanette glanced upwards, hoping to discern what he was apologising for. But as was often the case, it was impossible to read the emotions on his face. Was he angry with her? Why was he sorry? Did he think that... did he know... but no, there was no way he could. "Sorry? It's hardly your fault. It's -"

"No, no, Etty, you misunderstand me. Not sorry for that."

Her eyes narrowed. He was being deliberately furtive now, and it was times like these when he could be the most... eccentric? Mad? Dangerous? "Then, what?"

"Sorry for this."

With a movement as quick as the crack of a whip, his hand pulled a pistol from his belt and cocked it, aiming with a steady hand at Jeanette's forehead. "Like I said, sorry. But you're coming with me, and reading that map, like it or not."

All trace of sadness or awkwardness disappeared from her face in that moment, and one could see the anger at her initial sighting of Jack boiling up again in her eyes. "You bastard. You lying, cheating, two-faced -"

"Only words, Etty. Doesn't alter the position that you seem to be in. Now," he paused and beckoned her to her feet with his pistol, which she did with a certain amount of bad grace, "if you're done insulting me, we can be on our way."

"I'm not going anywhere, Sparrow, don't you dare act like you're going to -"

"What? Kidnap you?" he chuckled sardonically at his own words. "That's exactly what I'm doing, Etty, in case you were unfamiliar with the term."

"You said... said you'd 'sail off this bloody island straight away' if I didn't agree... you said..."

"I lied," he shrugged coolly.

"You swore on the code."

"Code only applies to pirates, love. And as you've made it clear that you are most certainly not a pirate, it sadly in no way applies to you."

"You can't make me -"

"Oh, but I can, Miss Harris. Or did you forget that I'm aiming my pistol straight at your pretty little head? Perhaps you need a little reminder?" he stepped forward and tapped the barrel of his pistol lightly against her forehead, the deadly metal cool against her skin, before pulling back. "You see? Pistol. Head. Not a difficult concept to grasp, I'd wager."

"You wouldn't dare," she was shaking, but it was more likely to be from anger than fear.

"But now is hardly the time for bets. So if you'd kindly move along."

There was no way out of this, or none that she could see anyway. She doubted he'd actually shoot her, but Jeanette wouldn't put it past Sparrow to knock her out and then carry her off the god-knows-where. He'd done worse things before, and considering she had something he wanted, or rather, considering the fact that she was the something he wanted...

Well, if she was to be kidnapped, then she'd be kidnapped fully consciously at the very least. And the only way to attempt to secure consciousness would be to... fall in line, as it were, with Sparrow's demands.

"I need my books," she bit her lip as soon as she had spoken, "to translate the map for you." The words seemed traitorous as they spilled from her mouth.

He tilted his head to one side and grinned at her compliance, "We've got time for that. Go on." The pistol was aimed ever true at her head.

A deep frown on her face, Jeanette turned and stormed into her bedroom, knowing by the heavy footsteps that Jack was following her every step of the way. Books upon books were stacked up in piles in the corner of the small room, volumes spreading across the floor, some strewn across her small bed. Several were closed, but the majority were open, the contents of their pages laid bare.

And all were different, it was plain to see. Obviously, the colours varied. Some were a deep dark blue, several a red that would have been the colour of her old armchair, were it not so worn. Greens, yellows, even the odd purple. But it was not just the colours of the things that varied. The pages... some were old and yellowing, some new and the crisp white of a dove feather. Some had been meticulously handwritten in slender script, others were printed. A few were illustrated, like the Holy Books of old, the calligraphy of monks and nuns in silver and gold. Some were thick, and some were thin - but all gave off the musky odour of knowledge, of secrets hidden well however open the pages were, of ancient worlds and modern ideas, a familiar smell that seemed to be a mixture of dust and pipe smoke and something more.

Jeanette marched to the largest pile and began rifling through the various manuscripts. Lancastrian Kings, hardly relevant, and no more were her three volumes on The Rise and Fall of the First Anglo-Saxon Empire. The histories within these pages were modern compared to what she was looking for.

But there - yes, there - Legends of Ancient Greece, Vol VI. The five previous books in the series were nearby. And then she'd dig out her volumes on the Greek and Latin languages, her book of Grecian maps...

Within five minutes they had all been found and lay before her. The room was a mess, but it was her mess, and as is often the case with messes belonging to specific people, she knew her way around.

"A bit of light reading for the journey?" Jack quipped from behind her. She stopped herself from swearing at him again, instead keeping her tone icy.

"If you want me to solve your map, I need my books."

He didn't reply. Irked by the lack of a response, Jeanette gathered her collection into her arms, careful despite her anger, one hand laid across the top of the pile protectively, shooting an angry look at him over the topmost book.

"You haven't changed, Jack."

"Once a pirate -"

"- always a pirate. I know."

"You may as well get your sword," he commented as she walked towards the door.

"I thought," she stopped in her tracks, "I thought you just wanted me to translate the map."

"True, but swords are marvellous things. A multitude of uses. You never know when you're going to need one. I'm not going to let you carry it of course," he smirked, "but just as well to have it around."

Jeanette didn't turn, and prayed that the infuriating man didn't see the deep red blush of shame creep onto her cheeks. "I... I sold it."

He blinked. "You what?"

"I sold it. Sold. It. Not a difficult concept to grasp, I'd wager."

"Didn't go with the décor in the new place, then?"

"I needed the money." Her voice was quiet. A breath of wind passed by and the shells sang in the other room, eerie rather than comforting. She walked towards the noise, not noticing whilst lost in her thoughts that Jack paused for a moment before following.

Jeanette walked to the table and, placing her anthology down, began to empty the books from her lessons earlier out of her basket slowly. It was as though she was making every moment last as long as it could, without being so slow that it could be called a deliberate delay. When she came to the last book, she stopped, before speaking contemplatively. "I should leave a note."

"Saying? 'I've been kidnapped by a rogue pirate, might be late for work'?"

"No. Don't be a -" she stopped herself before continuing her insult, mindful of the pistol still pointing at her. "Some excuse as to my leaving. Else Mr Bryant... the militia might -"

"Fine, fine," he grumbled. "But do try and be quick about it."

Ink was expensive, good paper even more so. The books had all been handed down to her, and she would not even dream of tearing a page from one of them. So, she had to make do with a lump of chalkstone that she kept near the fireplace, and her table, defiling its clean surface with a crude message.

Mr Bryant -

My cousin is ill and I must go and care for her at once. Forgive me for not sending word, but I must leave without delay.

She wrote quickly, and soon the wood was marked with white scratches that managed to look neat despite the materials provided. She wondered why she'd bothered. Leaving suddenly without a word for an indefinate period of time, leaving no forwarding address... even Mr Bryant, liberal by the opinion of most,had some standards. She'd be dismissed for certain. Jack turned his head to read the makeshift letter, and raised an eyebrow.

"Why Bryant?"

"No one else would look for me." Before any comment could be made on this admission, Jeanette grabbed her basket, "Well then, let's go."

"By all means," he signalled to the doorway. "Ladies first."

Before she knew what was happening, the cottage was locked, and Jack was escorting her down the pathway, an arm around her shoulder in an imitation of a protective lover. This illusion was shattered for Jeanette by the sight of his pistol in the corner of her eye, the dark black hole of its barrel ever present. His tight hold governed her steps, directing her firmly along the twists and turns. They were heading away from the town, towards the shore in the distance. She guessed the Black Pearl was hidden in a cove somewhere. But she couldn't ask. He had already warned her against speaking. "Wouldn't want someone to hear the birds flying the coup, would we?"

Barely an hour earlier her biggest concern had been cleaning her apron, preparing supper, not dying from the heat of the Caribbean evening. Now, with only the clothes she was standing in and a creel of books, she was being lead away by a notorious pirate - at gunpoint, no less - hidden under the darkness of night. Lead away from her island, her home, from the life she had made for herself.

She had the most ominous feeling that she would not see it again for a long time.