A/N: Again, thank you to everyone who's reviewed! Ah, I love you guys! You all rock a lot. I am so dead tired right now; I just saw the Matches and Reel Big Fish and other bands in SF, and it was so much fun. Its not as if anyone really cares, but the lead singer of the Matches thinks that Jack Sparrow is cool and now wants to be him. He had a pirate-y earring and everything. So, "Shpickow!" (like NO ONE will get that) and read on and review.
Chapter Three
"See, the Black Pearl has a narrower hull and a shallower draft. It allows for far more speed and much greater maneuverability. But the design is like a galleon's- heavy artillery with a large hold. It wasn't designed as a Navy ship, but it could hold its own against any HMS I've ever come across."
Sparrow blinked, thrown for a moment by the boy's explanation- and starting to believe his tale of building the magnificent ship. "It's a smart design… Your father's idea, boy?"
Jack hesitated, then nodded. "Yes, sir."
He caught the hesitation, but didn't mention it. "You think ye can help out here on the Pearl?"
"I know I can," was the cocky reply, followed by a smirk, and Sparrow felt the urge to laugh. Jack was cheeky, the exact kind of thing he shouldn't tolerate in a mere boy. But he was charming, he had to give him that.
The tour had gone well. The ship was marvelously built, as he'd seen from the moment he spied it on the edge of the horizon. And the boy knew what he was talking about- and he was insanely dedicated to the ship, as shown by his wincing every time he found another crack in his precious Pearl.
"Alright then. I'll give you a chance. But remember, we're naught but pirates- no fancy title or quarters will be given to ye. You'll work as hard as everyone else, and if I see one bit of slack, I'll toss ye onto the nearest spit of land."
"You have a deal, Captain Sparrow."
The two shook hands, and Sparrow gestured at one of the older pirates on deck. "That man over there is Simon Killigan. He'll teach ye what you need to know for now."
"Aye, sir," Jack said, barely stopping himself from saluting like he would for an officer of his Majesty's navy. Then he looked at the captain, and immediately lost all of the brashness in his fine boned face. "Thank you, Captain."
Sparrow laughed, the levity in his voice belying the sincerity in his eyes. "Don't thank me yet, Jack. You may yet dream for that spit of land." The boy nodded and moved to join Killigan, as Grant stepped to the captain's side. Sparrow looked over his shoulder at his first mate. "The boy's decided to go on account. Be sure he knows what he's gettin' into," he added with a wink.
He and Grant shared a smile. "Aye, sir."
*
He hated it. Swabbing decks, tying knots, climbing the Godforsaken mast only to swing down and hit the deck like a stack of bricks. For an instant, Jack pondered whether he would have been better off with the original crew of the Pearl floating in the Caribbean Sea.
That idea left a moment later. He would rather be marooned on any island than spend five minutes in a long boat with Lieutenant Marshall and his ego the size of the British Empire.
Jack stepped into his cabin and stared around at his things, strewn across the floor. His possessions had obviously been searched, though he didn't know why they bothered- he had nothing of value. His clothes weren't suitable for piracy- the starched shirts and pointed shoes of a gentleman would be little use on a pirate ship- and his other things were mere knickknacks that held no value to anyone but him.
His father's trunk was shoved up against the wall. It almost looked as though they'd missed it, except that the top was slightly ajar. Jack started towards it, then almost tripped over one of his blasted shoes. He picked up said shoe, and its partner- equally as evil- and threw them out of the hole in the hull. Perhaps the damage to the Pearl came in handy for something.
He reached the trunk with no further mishap, and opened the top fully. He stared at the contents- old maps, old plans, a rusted pocket watch and a compass that hadn't worked in years. Jack fingered the pocket watch, then lifted the compass out with a wistful smile. A relic of his crippled father's sailing days. He flipped open the compass lid and stared at the needle, pointing southwest instead of north. What an inheritance. A compass that didn't work and a ship that wasn't his.
Jack closed the compass lid with a sharp click, then smiled suddenly, wondering if the pirates had found their treasure yet.
*
"We've been through the captain's possessions and the items that were guarded the heaviest. There's no sign of it."
"Everything has been searched?"
"Everything. The men searched all night."
Captain Sparrow shut his eyes and let out a loud, frustrated breath. All night they'd searched, and nothing. "It was on this ship when it left London, Grant."
Grant bit his lip- a nervous gesture Sparrow supposed the man had picked up from him, after nearly ten years on the sea together- and shook his head. "Regardless, Captain, its not here."
"Bloody hell!" It took him a moment to compose himself before speaking, and when he did, it was to change the topic. "So how is our young friend Mr. Reade doing?"
Grant shook his head and smiled, and Sparrow raised a brow. It seemed the boy had charmed his first mate as well. "He'll need more than one day out with Killigan to learn the ropes."
"Is anything sticking?"
"I don't know how well… "
Sparrow stood and walked to the door of his cabin. Jack was on deck, and he took the opportunity to actually *look* at the boy for the first time. His black hair fell a tad past his ears, slightly curling at the nape of his neck. His skin, pale and not used to the heavy winds of the Caribbean at this time of the year, was blotched with red, and the fine clothes he wore were streaked with dirt. He held himself awkwardly, listening to Killigan's instruction with a furrowed brow. The boy wasn't a natural sailor, that was for sure. But moment by moment, he was getting looser, body relaxing, keen black eyes catching everything the older pirate did.
Grant's voice broke him out of his thoughts. "Should we take it easy on him, ya think, Captain?"
With a chuckle, Sparrow shoved open the door and stepped onto the deck. "Not on your life, Mr. Grant. Not on your life."
Chapter Three
"See, the Black Pearl has a narrower hull and a shallower draft. It allows for far more speed and much greater maneuverability. But the design is like a galleon's- heavy artillery with a large hold. It wasn't designed as a Navy ship, but it could hold its own against any HMS I've ever come across."
Sparrow blinked, thrown for a moment by the boy's explanation- and starting to believe his tale of building the magnificent ship. "It's a smart design… Your father's idea, boy?"
Jack hesitated, then nodded. "Yes, sir."
He caught the hesitation, but didn't mention it. "You think ye can help out here on the Pearl?"
"I know I can," was the cocky reply, followed by a smirk, and Sparrow felt the urge to laugh. Jack was cheeky, the exact kind of thing he shouldn't tolerate in a mere boy. But he was charming, he had to give him that.
The tour had gone well. The ship was marvelously built, as he'd seen from the moment he spied it on the edge of the horizon. And the boy knew what he was talking about- and he was insanely dedicated to the ship, as shown by his wincing every time he found another crack in his precious Pearl.
"Alright then. I'll give you a chance. But remember, we're naught but pirates- no fancy title or quarters will be given to ye. You'll work as hard as everyone else, and if I see one bit of slack, I'll toss ye onto the nearest spit of land."
"You have a deal, Captain Sparrow."
The two shook hands, and Sparrow gestured at one of the older pirates on deck. "That man over there is Simon Killigan. He'll teach ye what you need to know for now."
"Aye, sir," Jack said, barely stopping himself from saluting like he would for an officer of his Majesty's navy. Then he looked at the captain, and immediately lost all of the brashness in his fine boned face. "Thank you, Captain."
Sparrow laughed, the levity in his voice belying the sincerity in his eyes. "Don't thank me yet, Jack. You may yet dream for that spit of land." The boy nodded and moved to join Killigan, as Grant stepped to the captain's side. Sparrow looked over his shoulder at his first mate. "The boy's decided to go on account. Be sure he knows what he's gettin' into," he added with a wink.
He and Grant shared a smile. "Aye, sir."
*
He hated it. Swabbing decks, tying knots, climbing the Godforsaken mast only to swing down and hit the deck like a stack of bricks. For an instant, Jack pondered whether he would have been better off with the original crew of the Pearl floating in the Caribbean Sea.
That idea left a moment later. He would rather be marooned on any island than spend five minutes in a long boat with Lieutenant Marshall and his ego the size of the British Empire.
Jack stepped into his cabin and stared around at his things, strewn across the floor. His possessions had obviously been searched, though he didn't know why they bothered- he had nothing of value. His clothes weren't suitable for piracy- the starched shirts and pointed shoes of a gentleman would be little use on a pirate ship- and his other things were mere knickknacks that held no value to anyone but him.
His father's trunk was shoved up against the wall. It almost looked as though they'd missed it, except that the top was slightly ajar. Jack started towards it, then almost tripped over one of his blasted shoes. He picked up said shoe, and its partner- equally as evil- and threw them out of the hole in the hull. Perhaps the damage to the Pearl came in handy for something.
He reached the trunk with no further mishap, and opened the top fully. He stared at the contents- old maps, old plans, a rusted pocket watch and a compass that hadn't worked in years. Jack fingered the pocket watch, then lifted the compass out with a wistful smile. A relic of his crippled father's sailing days. He flipped open the compass lid and stared at the needle, pointing southwest instead of north. What an inheritance. A compass that didn't work and a ship that wasn't his.
Jack closed the compass lid with a sharp click, then smiled suddenly, wondering if the pirates had found their treasure yet.
*
"We've been through the captain's possessions and the items that were guarded the heaviest. There's no sign of it."
"Everything has been searched?"
"Everything. The men searched all night."
Captain Sparrow shut his eyes and let out a loud, frustrated breath. All night they'd searched, and nothing. "It was on this ship when it left London, Grant."
Grant bit his lip- a nervous gesture Sparrow supposed the man had picked up from him, after nearly ten years on the sea together- and shook his head. "Regardless, Captain, its not here."
"Bloody hell!" It took him a moment to compose himself before speaking, and when he did, it was to change the topic. "So how is our young friend Mr. Reade doing?"
Grant shook his head and smiled, and Sparrow raised a brow. It seemed the boy had charmed his first mate as well. "He'll need more than one day out with Killigan to learn the ropes."
"Is anything sticking?"
"I don't know how well… "
Sparrow stood and walked to the door of his cabin. Jack was on deck, and he took the opportunity to actually *look* at the boy for the first time. His black hair fell a tad past his ears, slightly curling at the nape of his neck. His skin, pale and not used to the heavy winds of the Caribbean at this time of the year, was blotched with red, and the fine clothes he wore were streaked with dirt. He held himself awkwardly, listening to Killigan's instruction with a furrowed brow. The boy wasn't a natural sailor, that was for sure. But moment by moment, he was getting looser, body relaxing, keen black eyes catching everything the older pirate did.
Grant's voice broke him out of his thoughts. "Should we take it easy on him, ya think, Captain?"
With a chuckle, Sparrow shoved open the door and stepped onto the deck. "Not on your life, Mr. Grant. Not on your life."