Usual disclaimers (wails pitifully)
Many thanks for your reviews. Richgal, I suppose different people are affected in different ways by drink, and he's likely to been drunk for a lot of the time, so yes, I think he would have recognised her. Sauruna, I would never kill Jack! I might hurt him a little from time to time… ;)
…
Chapter sixteen
"So," Celia smiled innocently as she settled in the chair at the side of the bunk. "If you're from a seaport, does that mean you've always been a sailor?"
"Bloody hell," Jack groaned. "It's not fair interrogatin' a man when he's too weak ter fight back."
"I'm not interrogating you," she replied, a sweet smile still on her lips. "Just merely making conversation…"
"Like hell you are. Yes," Jack sighed with exasperation. "I've been sailin' practically since before I could walk. There, happy?"
"Do you come from a long line of seamen?"
"Celia…" he growled, shooting a warning look at her. "My past life ain't anythin' ter get excited about."
"So why is it such a big secret?" Celia protested, throwing her hands up.
"I like ter have secrets – ter keep an air of mystery about myself, savvy?"
"Why? Anybody would think you were a gentleman, or something," she teased, not noticing him start a little where he lay.
"Celia, luv, I've always been Captain Jack Sparrow," he grinned, his hands doing a dance in front of him.
"Not always," she reminded him, picking up her holy book.
"Oh gawd! Yer not goin' ter read me th'bible again, are you?" Jack sighed.
"I've only read you a couple of passages," Celia defended. "But I shall read to myself if you really object."
"Can you read me some more Beowulf?" he pleaded, looking at her beneath his lashes, something he had learned during the past couple of days of being looked after by the young woman, was almost guaranteed to win her over, which was also something he intended using to best effect once he was up on his feet.
"All right," Celia sighed, knowing her efforts to convert him were hopeless but she wanted to try as much as she could whilst she still had a captive audience. Jack, as usual, had other ideas. She put her bible down on the chair and went to retrieve the book by Sir Thomas Malory from where she had left it in the main cabin. Celia moved her bible, starting as a piece of paper fell from inside the spine and floated to the cabin deck.
"What's up?" Jack enquired, trying to peer over the side of the bunk at what she seemed to be staring at. "Not a rat, is it?"
"No," Celia murmured, bending to pick the paper up. "It's this… it fell out of the spine."
"So, open it up then," Jack urged, intrigued as to what it could be.
"It's just numbers," Celia mused, turning the paper over and finding nothing else written on it. "Just a set of numbers." She handed the paper the Jack as he beckoned for it.
"Eh?" he puzzled. "Give me yer bible." He leafed through a few pages before turning to the front of the holy book and frowning as he noticed writing on the inner page, smudged so it was almost unreadable. "What does this say?" Jack wondered out loud.
"I don't know… I haven't even noticed it, to be honest." Celia moved to the head of the bunk and peered over Jack's shoulder, looking for the first time at the writing. "It looks like a name…"
"Aye, but whose?" he murmured, concentrating hard on the illegible writing. ""Goo.. Good… damn! I can't make out th'rest. It's Good – somethin'."
"Goodluck?" Celia pondered. "It looks like Goodluck to me."
"Bloody hell!" Jack swore, almost dropping the bible in his lap. "There was a privateer years ago by th'name of Geoffrey Goodluck. Rumour had it that he was th'wealthiest man on the'Spanish Main but when he died, no-one ever found his riches."
"What are you thinking?" she asked, not quite liking the glint in Jack's eyes. "It's a piece of paper with some numbers on it, and a name which may or may not be Goodluck on the inner page, so?"
"So, young Miss Hammond, these numbers could be bearings…" he grinned, throwing the covers back and easing himself from the bunk.
"Where are you going?" Celia cried, stopping him by placing her hands on his chest and instantly regretting it as he looked at her and arched an eyebrow, sending a jolt of yearning through her, and she snatched her hands away again. "You're in no fit state to be getting up," she chided but her words held no conviction as she battled to keep her voice and nerves steady.
"You'd be surprised what I'm in a fit state ter do," Jack chuckled salaciously as he passed her and walked to the main cabin, albeit gingerly. "Can you give me a hand with this trunk?"
"What? Oh, yes," she replied, shaking herself from her reverie and hurrying over to where the pirate captain was standing. She took the proffered key and opened the lock then hauled the lid up and peeled back the waterproof covering, revealing rolls and rolls of charts.
"Let's see…" Jack mused as he squatted down, glancing at the paper from time to time as he tried to work out what the bearings could be, if indeed that was what they were. "This one," he finally declared, pulling out one of the charts and handing it to Celia and then eased himself back to his feet one handed, his wounded shoulder still strapped heavily. "Could yer spread it on th'table and anchor it down?"
Celia did as he bade and used an empty rum bottle, an unlit lantern and the bowl of apples which seemed to always be in the middle of the table to weigh down the chart. "How on earth do you know how to read this?"
"I told you, I was a cartographer," Jack reminded her as he studied the chart, checking the numbers now and then.
"So did you draw this?" she enquired, amazed at the detail on it.
"Aye," he smiled proudly. "It always does ter have copies an' keep th'originals somewhere safe."
"Where is somewhere safe?"
"Isla de Muerta. Saint Georges…"
"Why do you keep them in two places?" Celia puzzled, looking at him with a frown.
"No… these bearings… they could be Saint Georges… I wish I knew where be sailed from." Jack straightened up, self-indulgent smile on his lips and a glint in his eyes. "I feel a trip south comin' on."
"Jack! It's just a scrap of paper and a name!" Celia protested. "It doesn't mean a thing."
"It might. I have ter find out if it does."
"You're worse than a cat," she sighed, rolling her eyes as she stood, reaching out to steady him. "And you know what happens to them."
"Young lady, I am, as you can see, most definitely not a cat. I'm Captain Jack Sparrow, savvy?"
"You're not invincible," she remarked, looking pointedly at his wounded shoulder.
"Aye, well…" Jack evaded, frowning at her. "I haven't even thanked you fer savin' my life."
"What else was I going to do?" Celia enquired. "Certainly not leave you to be killed by whoever that man was. You could…" she hesitated, looking at him beneath lowered lashes. "You could always halve my debt as a show of gratitude…"
"Halve it?" Jack echoed, looking aghast. "I don't know about that..."
"Surely it's the least you could do," Celia urged, pouting slightly as she had seen Giselle and Aggie do when they wanted their own way with a man.
Jack frowned, aware that he was being outmanoeuvred but unable to find a way out of the corner he had found himself backed into. "All right," he sighed eventually. "I'll halve yer debt."
"Thank you," Celia beamed, just catching herself before she leaped forward and kissed him on the cheek.
"Now go an' fetch Gibbs for me," Jack muttered, still a bit miffed at being outsmarted by a young woman. "He might know something more about Goodluck."
"This is ridiculous," Celia sighed with exasperation, but still feeling elated at now only having six months or so to work. She walked across the main cabin to the doors. "It's nothing…"
"I've got my finest riches from what seemed like nothin'," Jack called after her. "You ask Gibbs or any of th'crew about my intuition."
"What's he on about?" Oliver Fernan enquired as Celia stepped out on to the main deck.
"You have sharp ears!" she chuckled. "I have no idea. I found a scrap of paper in my bible with some numbers on it and a barely readable name on the first page and suddenly Jac… the Captain is all for sailing south, to… Saint Georges, I think he said."
So, is there anythin' else on this bit of paper of yers? An' what is th'name in th'front?"
"No, nothing else is written on the paper and the name might be Goodluck, which apparently was the name of some privateer or other. Which is why all this fuss that the Captain is making seems a bit silly."
"Nothin' Jack Sparrow does is silly," he chuckled. "Although yer may question his sanity from time ter time."
"Only from time to time?" Celia remarked, arching her eyebrow in jest. "Mister Gibbs," she called as she spotted the quartermaster. "The Captain would like to see you in his cabin."
"What for?" Joshamee asked as he made his way over to the young girl and her companion.
"You'll see…" she sighed, rolling her eyes. "You'll see."
"I'm not sure I like the sound of that," the older man frowned. "It sounds like trouble."
"Mister Gibbs, have yer learned nothin'?" Elliot called from the rigging. "This is th'Black Pearl, captained by none other than Cap'n Jack Sparrow!"
"Aye," Joshamee sighed. "That's what worries me!"
"There you are," Jack exclaimed as Celia returned to the cabin with Joshamee following behind. "I thought yer'd got lost."
"No, I was talking to Oliver."
"Oh. You seem ter talk to him a lot…"
"He's nice, so why shouldn't I?"
Jack frowned as he was stumped for an answer and instead turned his attention to his quartermaster. "Gibbs. We're makin' sail fer Grenada, Saint Georges, ter be precise."
"What? Why?"
"What do yer know about Geoffrey Goodluck?"
"Goodluck?" Joshamee echoed, looking in bewilderment at Celia, hoping for an answer. "Why Goodluck? Why Saint Georges?"
"Grab a bottle of rum, sit yourself down, an' me an' Celia'll tell yer all about it…"
…
"Jack!" Celia admonished as she saw him swinging his sword about with his left hand. "It's only been a couple of weeks. You'll rip the skin open again if you're not careful."
"Good job I am careful then, eh?" he winked as he swapped the sword to his right hand and swished it through the air, showing off.
"I give up," she sighed, flopping down onto the stern seat and closing her eyes with exhaustion. She had been up since dawn, scrubbing, sewing and polishing, and now the sun was sinking towards the horizon.
"They workin' yer too hard?" Jack frowned as he noticed her pale face and dark rings beneath her eyes.
"It's what I'm here for, isn't it?" she snapped, opening her eyes and glaring at the pirate. "And I have another six months or so of it."
"Yer don't have to," Jack stated, approaching her. "You know how ter halve yer debt, if yer wanted…"
"Oh, I'm sure I could!" Celia retorted. "Open my legs to you then get dropped off heaven only knows where."
"You know I wouldn't do that," he reasoned. "I'd see yer safely back in Tortuga."
"That's all I am to you, isn't it?" she cried, jumping to her feet and pushing past him so he could not see the tears that welled in her eyes.
"No!" Jack protested, staring after with with his mouth gaping open. "You wouldn't want ter stay on board, would you?"
"Damn right, I wouldn't!" came her muffled voice from inside the private head where she stood leaning against the bulkhead, fists clenched and eyes screwed shut in an attempt to stop the tears from spilling down her cheeks. 'I do not feel anything for him,' she told herself crossly. 'He means nothing, nothing!' But Celia knew that she was lying to herself, having seen another side to the pirate captain during the past couple of weeks that he had been convalescing. A gentler, more refined side that was totally at odds with the life he led, and she found herself becoming more and more drawn to him.
"Celia…" came Jack's voice from just outside the drapes to the small side cabin. "I'm sorry, luv. I didn't mean ter upset you, eh?"
"It's all right," she lied. "I'm just tired, that's all."
"I'll have a word with Gibbs," he stated, his voice sounding cross. "He's workin' yer too hard."
"No!" Celia cried, alarmed that he would find out that she had been volunteering for extra duties for the past couple of days, just to avoid being alone with him for too long a time. "Really, I'm fine."
"Come here an' look me in th'eyes an' say that…"
"I-I… I'm washing myself."
"There's no water in th'pitcher…"
"Oh. So there isn't," she replied lightly, forcing a laugh. "That'll teach me to look before I undress."
"What's up, Celia? You haven't seemed yer usual self th'last few days."
"N-nothing," she assured him, wincing as her voice sounded brittle and shrill. She cleared her throat before speaking again, in what she hoped was a more normal tone. "Maybe I have been working too hard. I just want to be accepted by the crew, that's all."
"You already are accepted by th'crew," he told her. "They'd do anythin' fer you. Now, fer the next couple of days yer takin' it easy, savvy? You can work in th'cabin, an' if Gibbs has a problem with that, he can come an' see me himself."
Celia groaned to herself, covering her face with her hands. 'You've done it now,' she admonished. 'You have no choice but to be with him.'
"Celia?"
"Hmm? Oh, yes – that's fine," she replied, the shrillness returning to her voice. 'Damn, damn, damn! Stop swearing! Oh, curse you, Jack Sparrow!'
"So are you comin' out fer supper?"
"Yes, I'll just get dressed again."
"All right," Jack smiled, enjoying the mental image of Celia naked mere inches from him, not realising that she was still fully clothed. "We'll soon have you right again, eh?"
'I doubt that,' she thought ruefully. "When will we arrive in Saint Georges?"
"A couple of days I reckon. Depends on th'winds an' currents."
"What are currents?" Celia asked, wanting to steer him onto a subject she knew he would sprout on about for hours, given the chance.
"It's where deep water moves in a different direction ter that on th'surface," Jack informed her, stroking his chin at her change of tack. 'Now what's botherin' her, I wonder…?'
"So, how do you manage to sail if the sea is going different ways?"
"I'm feelin' a little tired," he apologised. "I'll tell you all about it another time. Come on, I can smell supper."
"I'm ready," Celia announced as she stepped from behind the drape covering the doorway of the head.
"I think we'll take it in here tonight. Go an'tell Toby, there's a good girl." Jack suppressed a smirk at the look of alarm on her face then oggled her behind as she walked across the cabin. "Are those breeches shrinkin'?" he asked as she pulled open the door. "They seem tighter than usual…"
"What! Oh, n-no… I don't think so…" Celia fled out on to the main deck, her face burning with mortification, leaving Jack chuckling quietly to himself.
"Well, Miss Hammond," he mused out loud. "Have you decided I'm not an ugly, heartless bastard after all?" He sat down in his chair at the table, his eyes on the cabin doors. "It's lucky fer you that my shoulder's still giving me trouble, or you'd be payin' off yer debt sooner than you anticipated…" Jack smiled to himself and tipped his hat over his eyes, keeping a sharp listen out for when the young girl returned. He was going to have some fun with her – he was determined of that.
"Celia!" Oliver Fernan hurried along the dark corridor, soon catching her up as she made her way to the galley.
"Oh! I'm sorry, Oliver, I was in a world of my own then," she apologised, grateful that he could not see her still burning cheeks.
"That's all right," he grinned. "I guess I ought ter make a little more noise, so I don't scare yer half ter death."
"And I ought to stop going off in a trance," she smiled ruefully. "Then I wouldn't be scared half to death."
"Where're yer goin'?" the Irishman enquired. "It's not quite supper time yet."
"I know," she sighed. "Tha captain wants his food in the cabin, I'm just going to inform Toby."
"Ah, an' yer goin' ter eat with us, eh?" he asked hopefully.
"No, I will be dining in the cabin as well," she shrugged. "I'd better go and see Toby, or he'll be setting the places in the mess soon."
"Perhaps th'cap'n'd like a nice wine with supper? You an' me could go down th'hold and fetch one, eh?"
"Oh… umm… I'm n-not sure…"
"Ah, what harm would it do? Yer look like yer could do with a little relaxation."
"It is a sin to get drunk," Celia reminded him. "Especially for pleasure."
"An' what other reason is there fer gettin' drunk?" he teased. "B'sides, th'priests back in Ireland were always gettin' drunk at th'drop of a hat. It never seemed ter bother them whether it was sinful or not. Ah, Toby!" Oliver called as he spotted the burly cook coming from a side cabin near the galley, a basket of eggs in his hand. "Th'cap'n an' Celia will be takin' supper in th'main cabin. We're just goin' down ter th'hold ter find a bottle of wine."
"He could have told me earlier," Tobias Pellew grumbled but without malice. "I'll send Elliot with it when it's ready, all right?"
"F-fine," Celia smiled nervously. "The captain will wonder where I am," she said to her companion as they went on their way along the corridor to a flight of steps. "He might be angry…"
"Th'cap'n? Angry? It's a rare thing ter see him angry with anyone, especially over somethin' so trivial. B'sides, this won't take long."
The travelled down the ship to the hold in companionable silence until Oliver stopped by a door and took a key from his belt, holding it up in the lamplight. "This is where th'special goods are kept. Only me , th'cap'n, Mister Gibbs and Gabriel hold a key ter this door."
"I-I s-see," Celia stammered, her heart pounding wildly at being this far in the bowels of the large ship. "C-can we h-hurry, please?"
"Ah, there's nothin' ter be scared of," he laughed. "I'll save yer from th'rats, never fear!"
"R-rats… oh, my goodness…"
"There'd better not be any rats in here or th'cap'n'll string me up by th'yardarm," Oliver joked as he turned the key in the lock, handing the lantern to Celia as he shoved open the thick, oak door and beckoned her inside, closing it again once she was inside.
Celia's eyes grew wide as she looked around the store cabin, filled with chests, trunks and crates containing bottles of all shapes and sizes. "What is in all these?" she enquired in awe. "And what will you do with them all?"
"A bit of everythin'. Clothes, jewels, wines an' port, silks – anythin' that is too fine ter be stored with th'rest of what we purloin."
"I wish you wouldn't use words such as that," she sighed. "I can almost forget what it is you do at times."
"Needs must," he shrugged. "It's this or starve. Or be slaves…"
"Surely there's a legal occupation you could do?"
"Heh! Aye, if I an' countless others can avoid th'authorities fer th'rest of our lives. It doesn't matter how small yer misdemeanour, they hold it against yer forever."
"But that is so unfair!" Celia declared. "Surely they can see that some people don't have enough to live on?"
"Aye, of course they can, but they don't care. So long as they have food on their tables an' a fine house ter live in, th'rest of us can starve. Now come on, this isn't what we came down fer."
"No," she replied, forcing a smile. "Why did Ja… Captain Sparrow become a pirate?"
"Yer'd best ask him," Oliver replied. "Because none of us know, 'cept maybe Mister Gibbs."
"I've tried. He won't tell me."
"Ah!" he laughed. "We've even tried gettin' th'cap'n blind drunk an' he still won't say."
"I'm starting to think that you can't get Jack Sparrow drunk," she observed. "He always seems…"
"Drunk when he's sober an' sober when he's drunk," Oliver quipped, winking broadly at her. "Here, this should do." He held up a bottle of Italian wine, letting the light from the torch shine through the glass bottle.
"Come on then," Celia urged, wanting to get away from the deep recesses of the Black Pearl, but not wanting to hurry back to the cabin. She had a horrible feeling that Jack had guessed how she felt about him.
"Aye. I told yer it wouldn't take long." Oliver reached out to open the door as Celia stepped forward to do the same thing and his hand closed over hers on the knob. "Ah, Celia," he muttered, turning her around and into his arms, pressing his lips against hers and kissing her deeply.
"Oh! W-what on earth d-did you d-do that for?" Celia gasped as she pushed him away. "Oh, Lord, why did you do that?"
"I'm sorry, Celia, me darlin'. I just… yer must know that I like ya."
"You're married!" she exclaimed.
"An' yer th'cap'n's," he sighed. "I'm prepared ter wait until…"
"Until he's had me and I'm no longer a virgin?" she snapped, her voice betraying the hurt she felt inside. "But surely I won't be half as desirable then, hmm?"
"No longer a virgin?" Oliver echoed, frowning at her in the dim light. "Yer mean…?"
"He hasn't picked my cherry? No – he hasn't! Oh, let me guess, I'm suddenly even more desirable…"
"I-I…" the Irishman stammered, running his hand through his thick, wavy hair in confusion. "I don't want yer fer that, surely yer must know. I thought th'cap'n had already…"
"No," Celia sighed, closing her eyes as turmoil raced through her head.
"I'm sorry, darlin'. Please forgive me."
"Oh, Oliver… I'd like to go back up now, please."
"Of course," the Irishman sighed, pulling the door open and leading the way along the corridor with a small degree of difficulty as Celia had the torch and she was behind him.
"I do forgive you," came her voice in the near darkness. "It's just…"
"I know. Forget it ever happened, eh?" he replied curtly.
'I don't believe this,' Celia lamented as she concentrated on picking her way along the narrow corridor. 'First I think I'm starting to fall in love with Jack, and now Oliver goes and kisses me…' She yelped and put out a hand to steady herself as she stumbled over something, giving a small shriek as a pair of beady eyes gleamed back up at her.
"Bloody vermin!" Oliver spat, aiming a hefty kick at the rat which went scurrying away, squeaking as it went.
"T-thank you. Oliver, I'm sorry…"
"It's me who's sorry. I shouldn't have done that, especially with th'cap'n's woman. He really will hang me from th'yardarm now."
"I'm not going to tell him!" she gasped, horrified at the thought. "He wouldn't, would he?"
"I don't know," Oliver shrugged. "I don't think I'd want ter risk findin' out, either." He turned to face the young woman once more, cupping her face in his hand. "Do yer want him?"
"I-I d-don't know," Celia whispered, trying to damp down the urge to kiss him again. "B-but whether I do or not, it would be wrong to… you're married," she fretted. "I will not become an adulteress as well as a fallen woman."
"If yer give yourself ter him, you'll be fallen – what's th'difference?" he urged, leaning to kiss her and frowning as she backed away.
"No! There's only so far a woman can fall and I'm already going down. I-I like you, Oliver, but I'm not prepared to be an even bigger sinner by giving myself to you, not that I'll be giving myself to Jack," she stated, ignoring the questioning voice inside her head.
"Bugger!" the Irishman cursed quietly as voices approached them and he moved quickly away from the young woman, wishing he could have more time to try and persuade her to change her mind.
"Who's that, then?" Noah Trinity called from along the dark corridor.
"Mouse an' Miss Celia," Oliver replied. "Just fetchin' th'cap'n a bottle of wine from th'store."
"Well yer'd best hurry," Jacob Sumner put in. "Toby's dishin' up soon."
"Aye." Oliver took the torch from Celia and handed her the bottle before leading the way once more, nodding at his crewmates as they passed them.
'Stupid, stupid, stupid,' Celia reprimanded herself, keeping her eyes downcast, not daring to look the other men in the eyes lest they discover what she and the Irishman had been doing merely by looking at her. 'How on earth did I manage to get myself into that position? I can barely cope with Jack's advances, let alone a married man's,' she fretted as she and Oliver made their way up through the ship in silence.
…
