A/N: Thanks again to everyone for reviewing. Sorry these updates have been taking me so long! Anyway, read on…and please review.
Chapter Eight
If there was going to be a battle everyday, Jack decided that he didn't want to be a pirate.
They'd been out on the open sea for less than a week, perusing the shipping lanes for a merchant ship or two. The first hadn't been a problem- it was poorly defended and surrendered the goods it was in the process of shipping to Port Royal. This ship was going to give them a harder time, as it was *not* poorly defended- ships belonging to the British Navy rarely were, after all. They hadn't waited for the pirates to attack- the moment the Pearl was in range, it had a brand new hole blown in its port side.
That, as well as the sword that had sliced through Jack's already fraying shirt and almost into his skin, was making it very easy for him to rethink this brilliant idea of piracy.
He was losing his fight; the naval officer he was dueling with backing him into a corner. That wouldn't do- he had to be alive to quit being a pirate. Jack swung his sword, parrying a blow that would have ran him through, then pushed the man backward with a kick, a feeble attempt to get out of the corner he was trapped in. It wasn't quite enough, however, and a moment later, Jack found himself disarmed and at the mercy of the naval officer.
Before the officer could run him through, a shot rang out and a red stain blossomed at the man's heart. He blinked, then collapsed, leaving in his place a scowling Barbossa holding the smoking pistol. He drew his sword and shook his head. "You, boy, need to learn how to fight instead of being thrown out of windows by barkeeps."
Jack snatched up his sword and followed the older boy into the fray. "Thrown out windows? What are you talking about?"
Barbossa groaned as he ducked a blow. "Tortuga. Old Mister Barlow catching you with Kittie… Did the fall damage your brain?"
"What in the world gave you that idea?" Jack paused in confusion for a moment, then moved to the side in time to dodge a falling pirate, and stabbed the navy man who had killed him before chasing after Barbossa.
Only to see that he was boarding the Navy ship, swinging onboard and running into the battle on the smaller ship's deck.
His eye was distracted then as he noticed the commander on board the Navy ship, standing at the head of the quarter deck, shouting orders, his own sword drawn, and looking nothing less than dignified in his white powdered wig and fine clothes.
Lieutenant Marshall.
Jack froze. The former crew of the Pearl must have been picked up by another ship and gone after them. And now they were here, Jack's new crewmates and old fighting against each other. It was enough to make his head spin. He forced his eyes away from the commander, then looked to the deck. Slowly he cocked his head and narrowed his eyes.
In the middle of the deck, Barbossa was surrounded, five men making a half circle around him, trapping him against the mast. The pirate- from what Jack had seen- was a good fighter, but the alarm at being out numbered five to one was showing on his face.
Jack groped for the rope above him, then stood shakily on the rail. Squeezing his eyes shut, he swung.
There was nothing beneath him but water. The ground had disappeared for a moment, leaving nothing but the blue-green depths that would swallow him whole if he slipped. He forced himself to open his eyes, forced himself to stretch out and let go, slamming his legs into two of Barbossa's attackers. They fell and so did Jack, crumpling on the deck.
He got to his feet rather quickly, he thought, and drew his cutlass, attacking the man to his left. He was obviously unprepared and young to boot; Jack was able to disarm him, then disable him with a blow to the head. He then turned to see that Barbossa had finished his remaining two opponents. He gave him a shaky smile and Barbossa shook his head.
"Perhaps you will be of use."
"You saved my life, I saved yours."
"We're square- for now."
Jack nodded and the two turned to face the battle, only to realize that most of it was over- the pirates seemed to have emerged victorious. Barbossa strode forward to the quarter deck and neatly took the lieutenant's sword, and gave him a push down the stairs.
In the middle of the ship, Marshall met the captain.
Jack couldn't say where Sparrow had come from, whether he had been part of the battle, or if he'd crossed the narrow channel between the ships after the worst of it was over. Jack assumed it was the former- he couldn't see Nicholas Sparrow waiting idly by for the battle to end.
"Lieutenant Marshall." Sparrow grinned pleasantly, hands resting on his hips lightly. "I assume you've come for my Pearl."
"That ship is property of proper English merchants, Sparrow, and I will have it back if it's the last thing I do," Marshall said curtly, face flushing with anger. Before Jack knew what was happening, Marshall drew his pistol. As quickly as it was aimed at Sparrow, it was thrown to the side, the force of Sparrow's blade- drawn much quicker than the gun- coming to bear on Marshall's wrist. It was the dull side, luckily enough for the man, and he kept his hand, if not his gun.
"You had better pray that there be no more pirates in these waters, Lieutenant," Sparrow said, then ordered over his shoulder, "Load the powder onto our ship; we can always do with some extra supplies. Disable the rudder and burn the sails." Barbossa nodded and moved to carry out his orders.
Marshall was fuming under his wig. "You should pray as well- that you die in battle before you are hung for the murderous blackheart that you are."
Sparrow pressed his hand to his heart, as though he'd been wounded. "A murderous blackheart? You overestimate me. My heart isn't black; its just a very dark shade of gray."
The crew laughed- the menacing, hearty laugh of the pirate, the laugh Jack had already identified as false- and continued loading the goods from the ship onto the Pearl, while Jack stood at the edge of the deck and watched.
It was a picture out of a storybook- Captain Sparrow's red hair glinting in the sunlight, cutlass throwing beams of light into Marshall's squinting black eyes. The dashing pirate defeats the virtuous seaman. Jack would have allowed himself a laugh if his heart hadn't been pounding in his throat.
This was his chance. He could stay onboard, return to England, still a gentleman, a little wiser and reputation none the worse for wear. He could give up the last few days, with its rum and whores and work.
The moment lasted forever, the commotion on deck stilling as too many thoughts flew through Jack's mind. He looked around the deck at Sparrow's men- Killigan, Grant, Barbossa- men he'd met over the past few days and almost wholly disliked. And then, he looked at Sparrow, arrogant and smiling, and staring directly at him over Marshall's shoulder. And then he knew what he had to do.
Jack nodded, almost imperceptibly, and it seemed that the captain's smile widened, just a bit. Sparrow broke eye contact and looked back to Marshall. "You, my friend, will always remember this as the day I took your ship a second time. Don't try for a third, savvy?"
Marshall didn't seem intimidated. "I will have my ship back, Sparrow. *Savvy*?"
The captain laughed heartily at the mockery. "Back on the Pearl, boys!" Sparrow ordered as the last barrel was rolled across to the Pearl and the sails were torched.
Jack laughed along with his captain, then grabbed the rope and swung back to the Pearl. He let go of the rope early, and landed hard and off balance on deck, almost falling. A moment later, Captain Sparrow landed beside him. "Weigh anchor and hoist the sails!"
A chorus of "Aye, sir's!" came from around the deck and Jack joined them tentatively. Sparrow's hand landed on his shoulder for a brief moment and the two shared a smile. Then the hand was gone and so was the captain, leaving Jack to ponder his decision- and how he was ever going to survive it.
Chapter Eight
If there was going to be a battle everyday, Jack decided that he didn't want to be a pirate.
They'd been out on the open sea for less than a week, perusing the shipping lanes for a merchant ship or two. The first hadn't been a problem- it was poorly defended and surrendered the goods it was in the process of shipping to Port Royal. This ship was going to give them a harder time, as it was *not* poorly defended- ships belonging to the British Navy rarely were, after all. They hadn't waited for the pirates to attack- the moment the Pearl was in range, it had a brand new hole blown in its port side.
That, as well as the sword that had sliced through Jack's already fraying shirt and almost into his skin, was making it very easy for him to rethink this brilliant idea of piracy.
He was losing his fight; the naval officer he was dueling with backing him into a corner. That wouldn't do- he had to be alive to quit being a pirate. Jack swung his sword, parrying a blow that would have ran him through, then pushed the man backward with a kick, a feeble attempt to get out of the corner he was trapped in. It wasn't quite enough, however, and a moment later, Jack found himself disarmed and at the mercy of the naval officer.
Before the officer could run him through, a shot rang out and a red stain blossomed at the man's heart. He blinked, then collapsed, leaving in his place a scowling Barbossa holding the smoking pistol. He drew his sword and shook his head. "You, boy, need to learn how to fight instead of being thrown out of windows by barkeeps."
Jack snatched up his sword and followed the older boy into the fray. "Thrown out windows? What are you talking about?"
Barbossa groaned as he ducked a blow. "Tortuga. Old Mister Barlow catching you with Kittie… Did the fall damage your brain?"
"What in the world gave you that idea?" Jack paused in confusion for a moment, then moved to the side in time to dodge a falling pirate, and stabbed the navy man who had killed him before chasing after Barbossa.
Only to see that he was boarding the Navy ship, swinging onboard and running into the battle on the smaller ship's deck.
His eye was distracted then as he noticed the commander on board the Navy ship, standing at the head of the quarter deck, shouting orders, his own sword drawn, and looking nothing less than dignified in his white powdered wig and fine clothes.
Lieutenant Marshall.
Jack froze. The former crew of the Pearl must have been picked up by another ship and gone after them. And now they were here, Jack's new crewmates and old fighting against each other. It was enough to make his head spin. He forced his eyes away from the commander, then looked to the deck. Slowly he cocked his head and narrowed his eyes.
In the middle of the deck, Barbossa was surrounded, five men making a half circle around him, trapping him against the mast. The pirate- from what Jack had seen- was a good fighter, but the alarm at being out numbered five to one was showing on his face.
Jack groped for the rope above him, then stood shakily on the rail. Squeezing his eyes shut, he swung.
There was nothing beneath him but water. The ground had disappeared for a moment, leaving nothing but the blue-green depths that would swallow him whole if he slipped. He forced himself to open his eyes, forced himself to stretch out and let go, slamming his legs into two of Barbossa's attackers. They fell and so did Jack, crumpling on the deck.
He got to his feet rather quickly, he thought, and drew his cutlass, attacking the man to his left. He was obviously unprepared and young to boot; Jack was able to disarm him, then disable him with a blow to the head. He then turned to see that Barbossa had finished his remaining two opponents. He gave him a shaky smile and Barbossa shook his head.
"Perhaps you will be of use."
"You saved my life, I saved yours."
"We're square- for now."
Jack nodded and the two turned to face the battle, only to realize that most of it was over- the pirates seemed to have emerged victorious. Barbossa strode forward to the quarter deck and neatly took the lieutenant's sword, and gave him a push down the stairs.
In the middle of the ship, Marshall met the captain.
Jack couldn't say where Sparrow had come from, whether he had been part of the battle, or if he'd crossed the narrow channel between the ships after the worst of it was over. Jack assumed it was the former- he couldn't see Nicholas Sparrow waiting idly by for the battle to end.
"Lieutenant Marshall." Sparrow grinned pleasantly, hands resting on his hips lightly. "I assume you've come for my Pearl."
"That ship is property of proper English merchants, Sparrow, and I will have it back if it's the last thing I do," Marshall said curtly, face flushing with anger. Before Jack knew what was happening, Marshall drew his pistol. As quickly as it was aimed at Sparrow, it was thrown to the side, the force of Sparrow's blade- drawn much quicker than the gun- coming to bear on Marshall's wrist. It was the dull side, luckily enough for the man, and he kept his hand, if not his gun.
"You had better pray that there be no more pirates in these waters, Lieutenant," Sparrow said, then ordered over his shoulder, "Load the powder onto our ship; we can always do with some extra supplies. Disable the rudder and burn the sails." Barbossa nodded and moved to carry out his orders.
Marshall was fuming under his wig. "You should pray as well- that you die in battle before you are hung for the murderous blackheart that you are."
Sparrow pressed his hand to his heart, as though he'd been wounded. "A murderous blackheart? You overestimate me. My heart isn't black; its just a very dark shade of gray."
The crew laughed- the menacing, hearty laugh of the pirate, the laugh Jack had already identified as false- and continued loading the goods from the ship onto the Pearl, while Jack stood at the edge of the deck and watched.
It was a picture out of a storybook- Captain Sparrow's red hair glinting in the sunlight, cutlass throwing beams of light into Marshall's squinting black eyes. The dashing pirate defeats the virtuous seaman. Jack would have allowed himself a laugh if his heart hadn't been pounding in his throat.
This was his chance. He could stay onboard, return to England, still a gentleman, a little wiser and reputation none the worse for wear. He could give up the last few days, with its rum and whores and work.
The moment lasted forever, the commotion on deck stilling as too many thoughts flew through Jack's mind. He looked around the deck at Sparrow's men- Killigan, Grant, Barbossa- men he'd met over the past few days and almost wholly disliked. And then, he looked at Sparrow, arrogant and smiling, and staring directly at him over Marshall's shoulder. And then he knew what he had to do.
Jack nodded, almost imperceptibly, and it seemed that the captain's smile widened, just a bit. Sparrow broke eye contact and looked back to Marshall. "You, my friend, will always remember this as the day I took your ship a second time. Don't try for a third, savvy?"
Marshall didn't seem intimidated. "I will have my ship back, Sparrow. *Savvy*?"
The captain laughed heartily at the mockery. "Back on the Pearl, boys!" Sparrow ordered as the last barrel was rolled across to the Pearl and the sails were torched.
Jack laughed along with his captain, then grabbed the rope and swung back to the Pearl. He let go of the rope early, and landed hard and off balance on deck, almost falling. A moment later, Captain Sparrow landed beside him. "Weigh anchor and hoist the sails!"
A chorus of "Aye, sir's!" came from around the deck and Jack joined them tentatively. Sparrow's hand landed on his shoulder for a brief moment and the two shared a smile. Then the hand was gone and so was the captain, leaving Jack to ponder his decision- and how he was ever going to survive it.