Disclaimer: The journey be gettin' far more perilous fer our heros, but before we return teh their voyage, ye know what this sea dog has teh do. The disclaimer. It saddens this ol' freebooter turned writer teh admit that if the character be cool, 'tis probably not mine. There be many new characters comin' inteh play in this 'ere chapter, though, that be mine. Ye don' recognize 'em? Yup—mine. But not ol' Jack. Sigh. Now on to the story, me loyal guppies!
Chapter 4
The next day passed without incident. With a grin and a glare, Jack sent Morgan and Walter back to the noblewoman's cabin, letting them escape with a warning just this once as they did save his life. It was well into the evening, when Jack's clothes had finally dried, that at the sound of a shrill whistle in the distance he noticed something off the port side of the ship. Squinting to get a better view, he discovered he was staring at another ship.
The boat was about the same size as the Cloud Treader, although nowhere near as well kept. The body of the ship was made of a worn wood stained a light jade by the salt of the sea. The sails were a ragged light yellow-green canvas torn in several places. He could barely see a golden engraved title on the bow of the ship, just behind and below the figurehead of a beautiful golden angel-like maiden. "The Sylph…" he mumbled to himself. "…So she's a Dutch ship…" A set of signal flags flew atop the main mast.
Gibbs joined him in staring at the ship.
"Looks like they want somethin'," Jack murmured.
"Ye know 'ow teh read signal flags?" Gibbs looked at him, surprised.
"No," Jack answered, shrugging. "Just guessin'."
"Miss Scarlet's butler be an old sea dog, cap'n," came a voice to his right. He turned to see Rackham, the blind buccaneer they had invited to join their crew a month ago, tying off a line. "Bet he'd understand signal flags."
Sending Gibbs to fetch the man, he continued to watch the Sylph warily. No honest ship sails these waters…
"Yes, Mr. Sparrow," came Walter's voice as he approached the captain, watching him from down his nose.
Jack gestured to the ship on the horizon.
The butler squinted, examining the flags on the mast for a few moments. "She wishes to come alongside," he said simply, "while they make some minor repairs."
"Ah, o' course," Jack nodded, motioning back to Morgan's cabin. "Thank you, that'll be all." The butler made to turn around. "Oh, and one more thing," Jack stopped him. "You smell… funny."
Walter lifted one eyebrow. "Clean?"
"Ya, that's it," Jack smirked and nodded. "Ye might wanna take care o' that." He then waved him back to Miss Scarlet's quarters.
The Sylph slowly pulled alongside the Cloud Treader, most of the crew still within the ship, apparently. Gibbs had the rest of their crew lower boarding planks, while Jack stepped onto the lower deck to greet the captain.
Two men and a woman stared back at him from the Sylph. The first man was tall, lanky, and heavily tanned. He was dressed in leather and straw-colored cloth that hung from his thin yet muscular body. The outline of a golden sun had been tattooed on his forehead, two rays extending over his eyebrows and down his checks to his jaw. His hair was a golden blonde, tucked under a large brown hat with a white feather fluttering in the breeze.
Jack smirked, his thoughts drifting to Will Turner. That silly eunuch and his feathered hat… He wondered how the reluctant pirate was doing now.
The second man Jack immediately knew was the captain. His blood-red hair had been cut short in front, though the hair on the nape of his neck had been allowed to grow past his waist. Clad in a jade jacket and britches most likely stolen from some aristocrat, he watched the crew of the Cloud Treader with calculating golden hazel eyes. His right arm was looped around the woman's waist, while the other rested on the decorated hilt of his cutlass.
The woman at the captain's side was wearing nothing more than a silver corset with a small white chemise underneath it, an extremely short white skirt, knee-high gray boots, and assorted silver bangles around her wrists and ankles. She had extremely long platinum-blonde hair and fair skin barely freckled by the sun. She was tattooed in almost the same fashion as the first man, a silver crescent moon instead of a golden sun. A gentlewoman's cap rested atop her head, a white feather on the left side. Yep, they were definitely related.
"Ahoy, mate." The captain said in a deep, slightly raspy voice as he strode across the boarding plank. "I'd like teh thank ye fer lettin' us come aside while we fix the ol' girl. We been limpin' about fer days now, keepin' 'er from Davy Jones' Locker by sheer willpower, lookin' fer a ship teh beg hosp'tality off 'a. An' from the looks of it, we be lucky enough teh run up across a crew o' fellow freebooters."
Jack shrugged. "No need teh thank us, mate. Merely passin' through."
"Oh really?" the man cocked his head up and to the side slightly.
Jack nodded. "Aye."
The captain glanced over his shoulder to the tanned bosun to his right. "Corsair, tell the men teh take the rum back to the—"
"—Although!" Jack stopped him quickly, "—we are running a short'ge of rum these days."
The red-haired pirate smirked. "Alright, then. To whom do I owe a generous gift of grat'tude?"
A bit disappointed that the captain didn't recognize him, Jack forced himself to remain cordial. "Cap'n Jack Sparrow," he grinned as he held out his hand, making sure he got a flash of the tattoo.
The man blinked. "Jack Sparrow?" His eyebrows rose.
Jack's grin widened proudly.
The captain smirked, shaking the smug pirate's hand. "Cap'n Flint de Graff. Where's the Black Pearl?"
His shoulders drooped. Once again, his reputation was failing him without his infamous vessel. "In fer repairs."
"Ah, so this beauty's commandeered then?"
"Fer the moment." He gestured towards the captain's quarters, hoping to change the subject. "Welcome aboard, mate."
The three pirates boarded the ship and wandered towards the cabin, Flint's companions admiring the ship as they followed him.
Jack leaned to his left slightly, whispering to Gibbs in a tone low enough so that their guests wouldn't hear him. "Keep an eye on 'em."
"Ye don' trust 'em then?" Gibbs murmured back.
"As much as I'd trust that scoundrel Barbossa."
Gibbs nodded, backing away to notify the crew.
Taking a deep breath, Jack prayed that he'd be proven wrong by the trio and moved to show them around the ship.
•••
"What are you getting all dressed up for?" Walter asked with a smirk as he finished buttoning up the back of Morgan's best white dress.
"I plan on taking a stroll on deck, and Jack is not going to stop me," Morgan said resolutely as she ran a brush through her hair.
"And wearing this dress will guarantee that?" Walter chuckled.
"Quiet, you," Morgan rolled her eyes as she tied her hair back. Taking a deep breath to prepare herself for whatever the scruffy pirate captain would throw at her, she reached for the handle and slowly turned it.
The night was deathly quiet, the only sound the wind in the sails. A full moon lit the ship for her better than the handful of lamps littered across the deck. She jumped when she noticed the ghostly ship pulled alongside. It looked as if it had been dragged to the bottom of the ocean by some horrible creature and then resurfaced. A thin man she had never seen before, clad in garments of brown and gold, sat atop one of the yards watching her like a jungle cat—unblinking, unmoving. A chill ran down her spine as those eyes seemed to look right through her, and she quickly crossed the deck to the captain's quarters. The door was partially open and, hearing voices inside, she decided to peer inside.
A tall pirate with short red hair and worn jade aristocratic clothes was seated just to the right of the door. He was talking in a low, raspy voice to Jack, who was on the opposite side of the room, a bottle of rum in his hand. Judging by the way he swayed slightly in his seat and waved his arms around in a large, almost comical way, as if he were telling a very good story, Morgan guessed he was now incredibly drunk. She found herself smiling at the display. Cute…
There was a skimpily dressed woman sitting on the armrest of the red-haired pirate's chair. She could just make out the look that the man gave her, and the subtle nod she returned him. She began to talk to Jack in a rather flirtatious voice. Morgan frowned. …Whore… What is she up to?
"I'd best check on me girl's progress," the green-clad pirate said, standing and moving towards the door.
Morgan gasped and, jumping from the door, pressed herself against the adjacent wall, hoping he wouldn't see her.
The man strode out of the door, leaving it open behind him, a confident smirk on his face. Examining the ship, his eyes drifted to her, much to Morgan's dismay, his smirk dropping from his face. "Evenin', lovely," he smiled suavely. "Now what would a lass like yerself be doin' with men such as these? Hostage?"
Morgan remained silent, watching him cautiously.
He held out his hand to take hers. "Captain Flint de Graff."
Morgan made sure to keep a safe distance from him, however.
The man chuckled. "Why don' ye grace an ol' sea dog wit' yer luv'ly voice?" He took a step towards her.
Morgan instantly stepped back. There was something about that man's cold hazel eyes that she didn't like. Looking around her for anyone to help her, she found herself looking back into the captain's cabin to a sight that made her heart stop.
The silver-haired woman was sitting on Jack's lap, her arms around his neck, her lips on his. They sat like that for a few moments before the woman's eyes opened and looked her way. She broke off and gave her a dirty grin. Jack merely sat there, blinking rapidly, when he too noticed Morgan. He gasped and tried to shove the woman off of him.
"Oh, am I interrupting anything?" Morgan said blankly, forcing a smile on her face as if she didn't care. "Sorry. Don't mind me. After all, I'm only a hostage!" She whirled and ran to her cabin to hide the tears welling in her eyes despite her not knowing why she was crying.
"Norigan!" There was a loud thud and the noisy clomping of clumsy, drunken footsteps behind her.
Slamming the door behind her, Morgan quickly dragged her desk in front of the door, and then, feeling her legs give in underneath her, leaned her body against the wall.
Walter was instantly beside her, but said nothing, knowing she needed time to herself to sort things out but ready if she needed support.
There came a loud bang on the door as Jack ran right into it. "Hey!" A drunken voice shouted. "Com'on out, luv! Ye go'it all wrong!"
A sudden rage at the fact that he was still denying the obvious filled her and quickly boiled over. "Of course! After all, you're Jack Sparrow!"
"Capt'n, luv!"
"Women just line up for you! I'm sure that whore just walked right up to you, sat right down, and kissed you without your consent!"
"Exactly!"
"Oh, I get it, Mr. Sparrow!" Morgan snapped.
"Capt'n!"
"You're hopeless! I can't believe I trusted you! I hate you!"
There was a pause. "No'wai' a minute…"
"Go away!"
"List'n teh me!"
"I never want to hear your voice again! Just leave me alone!" With that, Morgan couldn't hold herself back any longer and broke down into sobs.
There was a faint whimper behind the door, a frustrated "Fine, then!" and then a frustrated drunken slur of grumbling. "Wha'm I s'pposed teh do? Tweet salk ye? I'm pust a jirate…"
Shakily standing up, Morgan dragged herself to her bed and proceeded to cry her eyes dry. About an hour later, her eyes were swollen, and her voice shot.
There came a softer knock on her door.
Walter straightened and stood ready at the door, ready in case anyone tried to break it down.
"Go away, Mr. Sparrow." She croaked.
"It's Cap'n Flint, lovely." Said a similarly raspy voice.
Morgan glanced up from her pillow, brow furrowed, sighed, and then buried her face in her pillow again.
"Darlin', I 'eard what 'appened b'tween ye an' the cap'n and—"
"There was nothing going on between us to begin with, sir."
"…Yes, well I'd like teh person'lly apol'gize fer yer suff'rin. I've also come to offer ye a place where ye won't be… taken advant'ge of…" he paused, "…aboard the Sylph, mayhap?"
Morgan's head rose from her pillow again. She looked at Walter, who returned her gaze with one eyebrow up. Unable to come up with an answer, she remained silent.
" 'll let ye think about it, then." Flint said after a pause. "Ye've got till sunrise."
Morgan stared at the door as Flint's footsteps trailed off, debating whether or not to accept his offer. She spent the next two hours going through the options in her head, Walter simply watching her.
Finally, she made her decision. "I'll go" Walter rolled her desk out of the way of the door as she steadied herself. Ready to go, she opened the door, only to almost fall backwards at the murderous glare she received from woman standing in the doorframe. She recognized her as the whore Jack was kissing just a few hours ago. Morgan didn't even get the chance to demand what she wanted before a hand cracked across her cheek, sending her flying to the floor behind her.
Walter grabbed the woman's arm to detain her, but no sooner had he done so that she pressed the blade of a dagger against his throat, forcing him to unhand her.
"Nice place ye got here." The woman said in an arrogant tone.
Morgan clutched her cheek, trying to bring her world back into focus as she slowly sat up. "What do you want?" she attempted to snap in her squeaky, misused voice.
The woman strut into her quarters, gracefully taking a seat at one of the chairs at the right wall. "I come bearin' a warnin'." She glared at Morgan with icy blue eyes that sent dozens of ice shards into her stomach. "If ye value yer life, ye'll do well to stay aboard yer own ship," she took a bottle of red wine from the drawer Walter had hid it in, pouring herself a glass, "and keep yer spoiled little noblewoman charms away from my cap'n."
Feeling nothing but contempt towards the uncouth woman who dared to barge into her private quarters, Morgan found a weakness and exploited it. "You're just jealous I can catch his eye without trying, while you're throwing yourself at his feet, not to mention Jack's."
The woman's eyes narrowed, giving her a glare that conveyed death with a simple glance. She stood, walking towards Morgan's form on the floor. Suddenly the wine glass in her hand snapped towards Morgan's face, splashing the crimson alcohol onto her face and neck, staining the pure white silk of her dress. "Keep teh yer own kind, wench, and don't bewitch those so completely out of yer reach." The woman whirled and stormed out of the cabin, slamming the door shut behind her.
Walter, obviously not willing to let anyone else into the room, rolled the desk back in front of the door.
Morgan had been holding her ground, keeping a firm, brave look on her face, but she let it all go as soon as the door closed. Keeping herself upright only by a single hand on the floor of her quarters, Morgan let her tears run freely again, mixing with the wine dripping down her chin.
The rest of the night she spent at a rinsing bowl, soaking the wine stains from her white dress, despite Walter's protests that it was his job, wishing she could just curl up in a corner and disappear.