Disclaimer: The characters and concepts in this story pertaining to the movie The Pirates of the Caribbean: The Curse of the Black Pearl are the property of the Walt Disney Corporation. This is an amateur writing effort meant for entertainment purposes only.
Warning: This chapter does include some fairly explicit - but brief - scenes of sexuality.
Chapter Ten: The Fine Line
The shadowy figure shouted in surprise as Will's sword embedded itself in his shoulder. His pistol fell to the ground as he fumbled with the slick hilt of the sword, trying to dislodge it from his limb. Jack took advantage of the distraction and kicked his pistol into his hand from the ground, re-aiming towards the man's heart.
But he never got the chance to fire. Throughout the chaotic screams and explosions around them, another pistol fired into the night. Jack could see the flame just over the shadow's shoulder. The figure went rigid, absorbing the bullet in his back, before falling face first onto the ground.
Sir Andrew advanced on the two. Jack Sparrow groaned, rolling his eyes. The nobleman would most certainly have him arrested for piracy. "This is the end, is it? Gonna have me hung?"
Instead, the young nobleman slapped him coldly across the cheek before delivering a quick punch to Jack's nose, knocking him out cold.
To say that Morgan was tiny was the understatement of the year. She had to take three steps for every one of Jack's just to keep up, and was left jogging through the bustling streets of Tortuga. Jack kept a tight grip on her hand for fear he might lose her in the crowds, and after having dragged her the entire way, the last thing he wanted was to lose her in the seething masses of whores and pirates after getting this far.
Their destination was the harbour, but all of Tortuga looked the same to the young boy. Having lived in the countryside all his life, he could not comprehend the amount of people surrounding both he and his sister. They seethed like an overflowing bucket, spilling out over the sides of alleyways and buildings without any regard for their fellow man. Large breasted women swayed gently on all sides, their corsets too tight around their waists, causing a large amount of their bosom to be exposed. He pulled his eyes away, and made sure Morgan kept her eyes on the ground as if the very sight of them would spread whatever ailment had caused them to dress so foolishly.
"Care for a suck darling?" one of them addressed him, prying open the thick, mud crusted petticoat to reveal a naked breast underneath. Jack shook his head sheepishly and turned sharply, deciding to detour as much as possible in order to avoid these savage women and their less than appropriate garb. His mother would not have been caught dead in something as impractical as that, and Lord knows she had taught her children the same.
"Spell God for me, Jack," she had once said.
"G-O-D," he replied.
"Now spell it backwards."
Jack couldn't.
Morgan, the incessant know-it-all, answered for him. "D-O-G."
He scowled at her.
"D-O-G," his mother said, as if she hadn't heard Morgan's answer. "What's that spell?"
His brain fumbled with the syllables and sounds clumsily. 'D' had a hard sound – duh, day, dee – while 'O' was a vowel, much softer than any of the consonants. G could be hard or soft. D-OH-J? D-AU-GUH?
"Dog," Morgan blurted out, and walked out of the room, impatient with the game. Jack scowled again.
His mother ignored her, and lowered before him. "D-O-G spells dog, Jack. You know what a dog is. don't you?"
That he did know, and he nodded quickly.
"And you know what God is, right?"
Another nod. His mother smiled sweetly at him.
"There's a lesson here, Jack, one I don't want you to forget. God is great, and God is good, but in that same word lies the exact opposite: Dog. And a dog is less than human, less than dirt, right?"
He nodded again, not quite understanding, but knowing that someday he would.
That day in Tortuga he understood perfectly the difference between dogs and Gods. He watched as partly inebriated gentlemen slid coins down women's corsets, their eyes shifting over the swaying bodies like a starving man eyeing fresh meat. And then he saw the women beckon them into alleyways in order to perform unspeakable acts.
"Where's mummy?" Morgan asked.
"Shut up," Jack snapped. He looked around desperately for a familiar face, finally finding one closest to the dock's edge. He stepped forward only to find Morgan was dead weight on the end of his arm, rooted to the spot. Turning, he found her staring wide eyed at a couple making love against the wall of a building.
He too was stunned by what he saw. The last beams of sunset danced across the water and were reflected against the woman's rich chocolate covered skin, down the length of her matted hair and sweat covered breasts. Her partner was a gruff looking man around fifty, pounding into her feverishly. Yet somehow, the crudeness of it all was washed away with that mystifying sunset.
"Come on," he said, yanking his sister out of her reverie.
The man he recognized went by the name of Barnacles, and was a close friend of Jack's father's. Though it had been a while since they had last met, Jack's memory was quite good for that of a child, and he confidently tapped the man on his thigh.
"WHAT THE…!" the robust man leapt round violently. Jack backed away, dragging Morgan with him. The entire dock shook from Barnacles' weight connecting with it once more, and several people seemed to think that the whole port would collapse from the action. They ducked for cover.
"Oh, blimey, Jack? Jack Sparrow is that you?"
"Aye," he replied, as was traditional of the men to greet one another in Tortuga. He'd heard his father use the word a million times at home when addressing his ship mates.
"And little Morgan, how are you two? I would have thought you two to be snug in bed at home at this home?"
Barnacles was sweating, Jack noticed. Profusely too, like the cat that swallowed the canary. He was hiding something and Jack knew it, but he pretended not to notice. Another thing he had learned from his father was that asking questions around these men was a bad thing.
"I'm looking for my father." It wasn't a question or a request. It was a command. And though Jack was small of stature, he knew that Barnacles would obey. His father was well known throughout these parts.
"Right, right, he's uh…well, he should be round here somewhere. I'll see if I can scrounge up the old bast…" Barnacles stopped himself from swearing, "Right. Wait here you two and I'll be back in two shakes."
He left them quickly, confused easily around them. Jack watched him disappear into the crowds.
"Why can't we go with him?"
"Shhh!" he hushed her again. "Just don't talk until I tell you, okay? He's gone to find dad."
"But why can't we…"
"Morgan!" she bit her tongue, on the verge of crying again. For such a smart girl she cried an awful lot. But Jack just supposed that it was part of being a girl. Girls always cried. Men never did. "He told us to stay here. So we're going to stay here until…"
"JACK! MORGAN!" a loud voice boomed out over the chaotic voices around them. Jack grinned. His father, Jack Senior, was very tall and fairly lean. His shoulders were boxy and muscular, framed by wild black hair that streamed out from under his tricorn. Jack had inherited both his mane and his eyes, and his father's stared out from under a prominent brow both deep brown like the whore's skin had been. "I'm so happy to see you!" he lifted them into the air in a bear hug and set them down on the ground. "Now…where's your mother?"
"She's dead," Jack said. His words were cold and without remorse.
His father stared at him in shock. "She's what?"
"She's dead. They hung her in the morning out on Dead Man's Ridge."
There were no words to describe the moment. His father's hand slid from his arms, dropping down to the ground where they hung just hairs away from the gritty surface of the cobblestone. Even the port seemed to fall silent around them, as father and son stared one another in the eye, one begging the other not to be true and the other looking as stone-faced as an undertaker. Jack had found his mother that morning, nothing more than a silhouette in front of the rising son, her body as limp as a rag doll, head hanging limply towards her chest. She had died with her eyes open, the muscles of her face only stiffening as she drifted in rigor mortis, and the brilliant sea blue eyes she possessed had met his just as his father's had met him now.
He had vomited. And then he had collected Morgan from their home and headed towards the harbour, eager to find his father and report the bad news.
"Well…I suppose you two are my responsibility now," Jack Sr. tried to smile and run a hand over Jack's face, but his son shied away from the touch. His father nodded, unsure of how to act. He rose again. "I've plans to make for the two of you. Just…um…Barnacles!"
"Aye sir," the large man said, appearing out of nowhere to loom over Jack Sr.'s shoulder.
"Take these children to my room at the Inn. Wait there till I return."
"What of the crew, sir?"
"No change of our plans, Barnacles. We'll be aboard in due time."
He bestowed a kiss on both his children's cheeks before walking away. It would be an hour before he returned and revealed that Jack was to be his new cabin boy, and that Morgan was to be left behind.
"I'll come back for you," he assured her before being dragged away by his impatient father. Her hand slid from his, and Jack was certain that in those last moments they were together Morgan was starting her never ending count to one hundred again.
"One…two…three…"
I AM SO SORRY ABOUT THE DELAY! I just got back into school and my semester was already turning hellish. My roommate moved out that weekend and I failed an exam, making my already abysmal mark even more so. Still, I could not abandon this story, not when I had not yet started the actual treasure hunt. And I can assure you that the next few chapters will be much more action that this one was.
I swore that this would not be a Mary-Sue, but that seems hard to believe with my constant reiteration that Morgan is very smart. However, I did work to make Jack the center of attention in the flashbacks. And he is not without his own intelligences. Jack is much better at reading people than Morgan, and he is more adept at social situations than she.
Also, I noticed in the film that while Jack Sparrow is a scallywag with women, he does not outright abuse his privileges as a man. I wanted to give a reason for this as well, and borrowed Stephen King's idea of 'God' and 'Dog' from his fantasy masterpiece The Eye of the Dragon.
I promise the next chapter will not be so long in coming. Thank you for reading!
Reviews
Alexwacrap: I agree, heartburn does hurt. Sorry about the cliffie. I've kind of suspended it for a while, lol. But the next chapter will come quickly. Hope things are good with you!
JackFan2: Wow. Thank you very much for your kind review. Personally, I like Will hurt/comfort just because he's such an insecure character. He's the type of person who apologizes for his existence and being in pain just exacerbates those feelings. Jack Sparrow would also be endearing to read about when he's sick or hurt. I totally agree with you! He would totally hide the way he's feeling. If you're writing or written something like that, I would love to read it! There's one on this site that's really amazing about Jack getting a fever and revealing his relationship with Bootstrap to Will. I'll get the title for you.
THANK YOU SO MUCH!