I posted this yesterday, but as I replaced the author's note with it, it didn't show up as an actual update. So let's try this again…
Oh, good grief, it's back. This is just a short chapter to get the ball rolling again… and yes, things are set in motion here… wait for the next one…
First off, a collective HEY! to my continuing reviewers! I know I'm way behind when it comes to looking at stories, too, so expect me to pop by your tales verrrrrrry soon, maties. ErinRua and Erinya - so good to see you gals again! Captain Tish and Meggie Dodge - welcome aboard! Pop some rum, me hearties, the ship is setting sail once more...
Addressing one of the specific comments –
ErinRua – I wasn't thinking a drastic rewrite by any means. I've been meaning to edit a couple of the Commodore's lines, for instance, that didn't come across quite the way I wanted. Just tinkering. You know, kind of like George Lucas with the OT. I don't know if I could stomach a major rewrite of the thing, it might just drive me bonkers.
And now, about a year after my last update, I bring you... Silence
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What if 1688 came, and nobody noticed?
Wickedry welcomed the new year with her first hunt.
Of course, it was hardly the new year anymore; that had come and gone with vicious storms. But Gerrarrd proclaimed it his year, the very beginning – and so what if it did not quite match up with official calendars?
She put out of Noble Bay on the first, and her sails caught a strong wind almost immediately. She prowled the Caribbean with the hunger and appearance of an exotic predator, a being of dark wood and darker intentions. Displayed proudly in her captain's quarters was a parchment inked with the marks of over two dozen captains.
A truce. A promise. A navy.
And a vow that nothing in the Caribbean was safe…
Will Turner could not quite decide why Gerrarrd insisted he come along; he was happiest in the smith's shop, repairing old weapons as necessary. But the captain gave his orders, and with the strength of some thirty vessels at his back, no one dared defy him. So Will went about his business on deck, and the crew pretended he didn't get in the way. He supposed it worked out for everyone.
It took only a few days for Wickedry to come across an innocent-looking sloop that Iagan identified as the Helene. It only took Gerrarrd only a moment after that to issue the order to attack. Seconds later, Wickedry's deck was awash with action as crew members raced to make ready for a battle.
Helene surrendered immediately, running up a white flag and mustering her crew at the guns. Gerrarrd took one look at the captive vessel and swore, clearly put-out by the lack of a fight. He took Will's arm and pulled him toward one of the boats, his teeth grinding audibly.
Will went along without protest. Six burly sailors rowed them across, and soon enough they were aboard the Helene, inspecting a crew of a dozen men and one trembling captain.
Gerrarrd strolled easily about the deck, his drumming a tattoo on his pistol. "May I inquire as to why you ran up the flag?"
The captain, wearing a rich-looking plum doublet, cleared his throat. "We didn't wish to die, Captain Gerrarrd."
Gerrarrd all but grinned. "You've heard of me?" He used the cultured English tone that he generally used for Will and a select few members of his crew. "How delightful! When?"
"Why, there's talk of your doings all over the Caribbean – we'd have to be deaf not to hear some tell…" The captain looked over at Wickedry riding quietly beside them. "Your ship is faster than the gods themselves, it seems."
Will looked at the members of the man's crew and saw nothing but fear written plainly on their faces. Wickedry had not left port in months, yet they all knew Gerrarrd and his feared boat.
By God, he's done it. He's really done it. He's… and all under my nose…
No, that wasn't entirely true. Gerrarrd bragged about his plots often enough, now that Will thought of it. But it came in such abstract fashion that it only made sense after the fact.
He shuddered.
Gerrarrd didn't seem to notice his discomfort. Instead, he moved to the center of the deck and clasped his hands behind his back. "I'm going to offer you mercy, under one condition."
Will raised an eyebrow. Some of the men leaned forward.
"You will sail under my command," the pirate captain continued, "on this ship or another – you will be a member of something different. Something great. Something powerful… you will be numbered among great men. You will be remembered. And the spoils of your loyalty to me…" He looked disdainfully about the little Helene, "…will be far beyond what life as a cargo ship will make for you."
Well, he's certainly got his speech delivery down. I wonder what they'll do?
The Helene's captain cleared his throat. "Sir – you've slaughtered others you've come across – why--?"
Gerrarrd laughed. "Why, I recognize quality when I see it, sir! I've had my eye on your little ship for quite some time now. Think on it, lads," he said, turning to the sailors with a gleam in his eye. "You'll get away with your lives and even have a bit of adventure."
Will watched with fascination as one by one, the sailors nodded. How did he…
The captain gaped at his crew, and then looked at Gerrarrd. "There you have it, I suppose. The ship is yours."
"I suppose it is," Gerrarrd said. He smiled. "A well-made decision, men, well-made indeed. I reward loyalty."
He pulled his pistol from out of his belt and examined it underneath the weak January daylight. And then he turned around and shot the captain in the head.
The man's body hit the deck, the beginnings of a surprised expression still on his face.
Will gasped, but Gerrarrd had already tucked the gun away. "I reward loyalty," he said, his voice going cold, "but I despise cowardice. Your old man didn't even make a fight of it, and if nothing else you will fight. Is that clear?"
The sailors nodded, their eyes wide.
Gerrarrd turned to Will and spoke quietly. "You and Dugald will take the ship back to Noble Bay."
"We'll what?" Will squeaked, before gaining a grip on his surprise. "Captain, I don't think…"
Gerrarrd adjusted his sleeves. "I can't take her under tow and she'll need repainting. These men are already cowed by my reputation; you need only to show them a kind word. Dugald will make sure they follow orders."
Will glanced at Dugald, and then back at Gerrarrd. "But – but what if they—"
"Revolt? Mutiny? You'd best ensure they don't, Mr. Turner, for your sire's fate depends on it."
Will stared at him. "Sir?"
"If I do not hear word that you've returned to Noble Bay within two weeks, then I'll have no use for Bootstrap Bill, will I? And believe me, dear William – I have my parrots, don't I?" A dark smile flitted across handsome features, and Will could only stare as Gerrarrd bowed deeply to the gathered sailors. "You will sail under the command of good Will Turner for the time being, gentlemen, and once you make port you'll receive your just rewards. Other than that, little on this ship will change. Good day to you."
Will stood there slack-jawed as Gerrarrd and his entourage departed, leaving a dozen sailors and Dugald to look at him expectantly. Whatthe-he really just did that, didn't he?
He toyed with the idea of ordering the ship into Tortuga or even Port Royal – now's your chance, Will! Run for it! But Bootstrap was still in Noble Bay…
And Gerrarrd did have his parrots. Talking birds in the form of swift vessels, over thirty strong, coming and going from Noble Bay every day.
Will Turner felt he'd grown thicker-skinned over the past few months, but as he looked at the crew – his crew – he knew that Gerrarrd had played his bet wisely. Will could not leave Bootstrap in his clutches. Would not. It was all so beautifully-planned.
So this is how he secures my loyalty.
Will sighed. "Damn it. Put about for Noble Bay. Damn, damn, damn."
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Dennot
Lord Owlsley placed the sealed note carefully into Elizabeth's hands, and graced her with a smile. "You'll take that to your courier-husband, then?"
She nodded, trying not to appear too eager. "He will treat it with the greatest of care, my lord. He will be quick about it as well." And if he's not, I'll just kill him.
Owlsley nodded, looking out the door at the grim streets of Dennot. "He'll need to make haste if he wants to beat the coming storm – I fear things will get much worse before they improve."
Elizabeth suspected he was not just talking about the weather. Dennot had become increasingly rough in the months following her arrival, and she went about town with no small dose of caution.
Lord Owlsley took his leave, and Elizabeth reached for her cloak. "I'll be back as soon as I can," she promised Hermione, who stood next to her with a concerned expression. "But my mother has taken ill in Kent, and I must see to her if I can."
"I don't think you should go out there, Lizzie," Hermione said. "It's so dangerous…"
"I'll be fine," she said, drawing the hood of the cloak up. "Jack will keep me safe." Even as she said the words, she wondered of their truth – would he? Could he, if Owlsley's worst fears were accurate? What sort of troubles did await them, if any? "I'll be back before you can finish your cross-stitch."
Hermione shook her head, and hugged her. "Be careful."
The hug surprised her, but Elizabeth returned it as warmly as she could before stepping out into the street. She'd never had a young woman of her age to converse with; being the governor's daughter tended to discourage the other girls of Port Royal from attempting to befriend her. There was no such social stigma with Hermione, though.
She kept the folded envelope close to her, tucked underneath the slim gold necklace that she no longer wore for fear of robbery. I can finally make use of it again, she thought, as she headed for the horse trader's.
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A few hours later…
Elizabeth shut the door loudly, startling Jack at the table. She folded the cloak over her arms and looked pointedly at the quill in his hand, which he hastily set aside. "You're going to tell me what's waiting for us in County Kent, Jack, and you're going to tell me why we're in England."
Jack eyed her in the manner he tended to adopt when he knew she wasn't in a good mood. "Why?"
"Because I've got your letter of marque for County Kent," she said, holding the sheet up and displaying Owlsley's seal. She very carefully kept any trace of a smug grin off her face.
He pushed back from the table, his expression one of practiced disinterest. "Do you?"
"You can even leave at once if you wish, and without soldiers harassing you. But Jack – and I mean this kindly – I want to know."
Jack Kendrick stood up and pushed his chair in. He tapped his fingers on the table, regarding her mildly. Elizabeth remained stoic, feet planted. She'd gone to great lengths to secure passage, and she would not be cowed this time. Not by pleading eyes or by a sword. He could threaten her all he wanted.
Jack looked at the door. Elizabeth closed it.
"That's better," he said. "You want to stop Ephraim Gerrarrd from what he's doing?"
"You don't know what he's doing," she said. "He's thousands of miles away!"
"He is. But I know the man." Jack hesitated for the briefest instant, as though warring over whether or not to say what he did next. "We worked together."
Elizabeth's irritated stare turned incredulous. "You – what?"
"Many years ago," Jack said quietly, "before Black Pearl… before many things, Elizabeth Swann, yes, I worked with him. I'll say no more than that. During the ten years that Barbossa wreaked havoc with my ship, I drifted from island to island, and Gerrarrd was a great schemer even then. Yes, I know Ephraim's plans. And what we need to stop him is in County Kent."
She found she could do nothing but sputter. "You--and--but--how?"
He was clearly enjoying the reaction. "It's a long story, Elizabeth, one I don't care to tell just yet, but I'm sure the good people of the Caribbean will appreciate our efforts once all is said and done."
She just stared.
Jack was suddenly all business. "You said you had clearance?"
Elizabeth shut her mouth and quickly took stock of the situation. Fine; she could give as well as she got. "I have the papers. We'll go together under the guise of visiting my sick aunt. She's downstairs whenever we want to leave."
"She?" Jack blinked. "Who? Your aunt?"
"Not quite. Just our method of getting to her." Elizabeth gestured to the window and managed not to smirk.
Jack immediately went to the window and looked out, and his gulp was nearly audible. Oh, that little bit of gold jewelry had gone a great deal further in Dennot than it would have in Port Royal.
Standing in front of the building was a sturdy-looking black mare, who Elizabeth knew was causing a fair amount of trouble to anyone that passed too close to her.
Jack's audible sigh was enough to make every bloody cross-stitch she'd done over the past few months completely worthwhile.
"Elizabeth," she heard him mutter, "you're far too industrious for your own good…"
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Next time, on 'Silence' – introducing Captain Turner!
(Oh, and the thing about sailors not liking horses? We'll find out how very true it is.)