As gold and crimson streaks blushed the setting sun, so began the merriment aboard the Black Pearl. The ship itself seemed to breathe a sigh of relief as the guest of honor strolled alongside the captain. Both men were silent save for Jack's soft hum. Several of the pirates had brought out their musical instruments for the occasion, much to his enjoyment and the enjoyment of the rest of the men. And women. Leading the tune was the beat of Marty's bongos and rising above to pick at the very air around them were the intermingling melodies of the two celtic flutes. The redheaded Irishmen may have been twins but their songs varied, one catching the other's at its low with a high of its own and drawing it out for a tussle against the sigh of Alice's strings. Jack smiled at her as he passed, pleased that he'd talked her into playing the violin that night.
The music was most delightful, he decided, pausing with Isaac to listen to it. They leaned against his door, both eyeing suspiciously the blur that streaked past them. It was the second time that young Turner—who'd been identified by his glinting eyes and rather modest height—had sped past them. Raising brows after the lad, Jack shook his head at a smirking Isaac, shrugged, and surveyed the deck before him. Quite a few of the men had brought out decks of playing cards and had seated themselves in groups around the tables they'd set up. Twice as many were rolling dice, and near all of them wore a grin or a smile.
Cotton was heading up a game of Hazard not far from where Jack stood. "Six and forty-two," the prancing parrot squawked the stakes. "Six and forty-two!" Gibbs called a main of seven. He rolled a rotten twelve to it, and lost out his chance at the stakes. The game was up to Tearlach, who nicked his call of five with another roll of five. The stakes were his. "Winners don't lose," quipped the parrot. "Losers don't win."
Jack arched a brow. "That the rum talking, Mr. Cotton?"
"But why is the rum gone?"
Isaac laughed. "Will they ever let you forget?"
"I doubt it."
"Where is Elizabeth?"
"As far from the rum as I could put her."
--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---
The bottle of rum that Jack had sent Elizabeth sat untouched on the small table. Bright light of the sinking sun cast its golden rays upon it, sparking the amber liquid inside aglow. Sighing, she gathered up her skirts and crossed the room to pick it up. She'd allowed her children to join the party at Jack's request but had declined the offer herself in favor of sitting by her lonesome wishing that things were not as bad as they seemed. The pirate must have understood, for he had not sent for her but sent the bottle to her with a folded note. She picked it up and flipped it open to read the loopy scrawl.
Some of my finest. For consumption purposes only.
"Really Jack, will you ever let me forget?" Elizabeth rolled her eyes. "Burning the rum might have been practical then but at this point consumption is more than necessary." She sighed and uncorked the bottle. "Strange that one man is enough to drive a woman to that same point time and time again."
--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---
Jack watched Gibbs lose another round of the dice game and shook his head. "If it weren't for bad luck, I don't think Gibbs would have any luck at all."
"Aye Cap'n, when you're right you're right," grumbled the sailor in passing.
"And I am right." Jack frowned, marveling again at the sight of the man that had replaced the shaky boy he'd known. "Are you hungry? You look it. Didn't they feed you in London?"
"They tried," Isaac said, allowing the captain to usher him away from the gambling and toward the bountiful buffet. "But as it turns out, the best chef in London's the worst chef in the world."
Jack winced, remembering his own beef with the preparing of it in old England, and looked down at the table.
Stacks of fine china waited, and Jack was pleased to see that Cook had even set out the fluted bowls. A crock of soup steamed beside them. Ironstone trays offered an array of fresh fruit and vegetables—a scarcity aboard pirate ships that Jack had insisted upon having on his as much as was possible. Shiny oranges surrounded bunches of succulent red grapes, piles of bananas, and a bowl of brightly colored berries. Blossoms of broccoli and cauliflower bloomed among a ring of olive buds topping sticks of carrot, celery, and green pepper. And loaves of crusty bread and fresh rolls were piled amidst the silver platters and pans presenting a variety of prepared foods.
"Captain," Cook said, his voice grave, as he stepped up to offer a plate. "Bon appetit."
Jack accepted it with a frown and eyed the Cook, who smiled stiffly at him. Shrugging, he turned to Isaac with the plate, only to find him already helping himself. Arching a brow, he set to heaping food onto the plate. "Celery!" Jack grinned at Cook. "French celery, if I remember correctly."
"Aye." Cook nodded. "French it is, and the olives Spanish and the bananas Cubano." He adjusted his spectacles and nodded down at the cauliflower. "Don't know where that's come from, though."
"Cyprus." He ignored Cook's raised brows and munched decidedly on a stick of celery. "Aye, as I remember, it's Cyprus colewarts." His lip curled in disgust. "Sounds like a disease."
"Speaking of disease…"
Jack paused in the slapping of mashed potatoes to his plate and frowned at the dish Isaac was staring at. Unlike the majority of the offerings, this one was still largely in tact as the men had passed it by. Lumps of orange stuck in a sticky brown sauce elicited a gasp from him. "My yams?" He raised tearful eyes up to a flushing Cook and swallowed hard against the lump rising in his throat. "My yams!" The man's gaze behind the glasses darted toward the woman lurking nearby. Jack's brows snapped together. "You let her prepare my yams?!"
Cook offered him a nervous smile and an overflowing ladle. "Gravy?"
Isaac looked from Jack and Cook to Anamaria, whose eyes narrowed on him, to the spoon of yucky yams he held at length. "You let her in the galley," he hissed through his teeth to Jack, eyeing the sticky mess. Quickly, he plopped the spoonful onto the gaping captain's plate. "So you enjoy the spoils!"
"That's rotten," Jack grumbled, wincing at the sight of it.
"Aye, I think you're right," Isaac said, wrinkling his nose.
Quickly, the two of them raised their heads and nodded, smiling brightly at the woman who brightened and smiled back.
"I tried to stop her," Cook hissed behind his own smile. "She wosn't havin none of it."
"Which is fitting," Jack said, casting an accusing eye on the ruined and rotten yams on his plate, "considering we'll be havin none of it as well."
It was some time later, as he was about to ditch the plate and its uneaten yams, that Jack found Anamaria at his side. Warily, he followed her gaze down to the remaining food on his plate. Unable to look at them for very long as it brought tears to his eyes, his gaze shot back to hers, and he groaned inwardly at the hurt plain to see in her eyes. Outwardly, he smiled brightly, spearing one of the sticky orange lumps and lifting it to his mouth. "Saving the best for last," he told her, biting it off the fork.
To his dismay, the woman waited for his reaction, and he chewed. The rancid bit in his mouth rose tears to his eyes, and he blinked furiously to be rid of them. The tragedy of eating the yams was hard to swallow. He gulped and forced another smile to his face. "Delicious!"
Anamaria nodded. "I knew you'd like them." Patting his arm, she walked away.
Eyes wide, Jack handed his plate off to a pale-faced Cook. "Drink. Hurry!" When the goblet was shoved in his hand, he smacked it to his lips and gulped its contents, shooting the spectacled man a grateful glance over the rim.
"I know." Cook nodded, sympathetic. "She made me test em."
"Tragic," Jack shuddered, wincing as his belly protested the terrible intrusion of the rotten sweet potatoes. He foisted the goblet at Cook. "Quickly!" When it was returned to him, he drank the fiery liquid down. Gasping, he shook his head and cringed, thrusting the goblet at the man once more. The third did its trick, and he was thankful for the burn that overtook the unrest of his suffering stomach. Closing his eyes, he handed the goblet back and waited. With the fourth in his hand, he sighed contentedly and took an easier and much more enjoyable swig of the stuff.
"Captain?"
Groaning, he opened his eyes, followed Cook's gaze, and saw Little Lucy reaching for Gibbs' mug. The sailor, wrapped up in a game of cards, paid the little girl no heed as she stood on her tiptoes and stretched out her arm. Grumbling, Jack raced across the deck and grabbed the girl up 'fore her fingers reached the handle. The surprised men stared up at them, and Jack glared down at them in return. "Gibbs, mind your mug!"
Gibbs, flushing guiltily, pulled his mug in front of him. "Aye, Cap'n."
"As for you," Jack said, turning to look at the wide-eyed little girl, "it's mighty mean to take a man's mug, little love."
"Thirsty," she whispered, lip wavering.
Wincing, he nodded, the memory of the yucky yams still painfully fresh in his mind. "I know the feeling. We shall get you a cup of juice." He grabbed the shoulder of the blur racing past that he was sure was Jack Turner and nodded down at the boy. "And you, young Mister Turner, shall join us."
--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---
Elizabeth sighed, once again rolling over on her side. For several silent moments she stared at the door in hopes that her husband would walk through it with a sincere apology, and then her gaze fell upon the near-full bottle of rum. She'd only sipped it, fearing Will's reaction should he suddenly return to her. Suddenly, staring at the fine liquid fire she craved, her fear fell away. Elizabeth jumped up, crossed the room, and grabbed the bottle.
"I will not be one of those women," she said, shaking the bottle by its neck, "who lives in fear of her husband's reactions!"
When she drank, she drank greedily, and when she stopped, her eyes burned with tears.
--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---
At some point, Jack had convinced the children to join him at the card table and stay there. Little Lucy sat happily in his lap, her little fingers thoroughly examining every odd bit in his hair as if she'd never seen them before. And young Jack seemed more than happy to join a group of poker playing pirates, golden eyes gleaming at every single man—and woman, as Anamaria had pitched her own purse in—with cards in hand. The pirates themselves grinned back, played the game, and seemed as content as the children. Pleased that the plan had been a profitable one as he'd also procured plenty of the profits—quickly gleaning quite a gleaming of gold—Jack sat back in his chair and grinned.
"Hey Uncle Jack," the boy piped up as Gibbs shuffled the cards, "you're winning!"
"Of course I'm winning, lad." Jack paused to pluck a gleaming piece of eight from the pile and chuck it in the center, indicating to Gibbs that he was indeed in for the next round. He picked up the cards he was dealt and gave them a glance before winking at the boy. "Was there ever any doubt?"
A collective murmur of mockery went around the table, and the pirate captain narrowed his eyes at them, each one ducking behind their hand of cards as he did so. Isaac, across from him, however, clucked his tongue quite loudly and made a show of a slow eye roll. Anamaria's snort drew Jack's glare to her smirk. Her hand of cards abruptly flew up to cover her mouth, but her dark eyes sparkled at him over the fan of red and white. He couldn't help but flick his brows at her, and when she arched hers, he brought his own cards to his lips to mask his smile and fluttered them between his fingers.
"Oh Jack." Anamaria chuckled. "If ya could just see yerself."
He winked at her over the fan of them. "I imagine it's quite an image to behold."
"Oh ye're right about that," she said, tossing her own piece of eight in to the pot, "ain't he Isaac?"
It was Isaac's turn to snort as he waggled his own fan of cards in front of his mouth. "Looking your loveliest, Captain," he trilled in a falsetto, fluttering his lashes at Jack. "What shade is that on your eyes? I simply must have it so that all the handsomest pirates will wish to pillage me!"
The five other men at the table chuckled and chortled as Anamaria snickered.
Jack scowled. "I'll have you know that this kohl refracts light so that the glare of the sun glinting off the water—"
"does not impair my vision," Isaac finished, grinning.
"Exactly."
"Hides wrinkles too," young Jack offered, smiling innocently up at his Uncle as the scowl turned down on him.
"Untle Jat," Little Lucy said, her little hands on both sides of his face. She drew close and examined his eyes, drawing his gaze to hers. A tiny smile lifted her tiny lips. "Gots lots of wrinkles."
The pirates laughed outright, Anamaria cackling the loudest.
Jack sighed. "That wasn't very nice," he pointed out, patting the girl's head with his cardless hand.
"Truth hurt."
"On with the game," Marty demanded, tossing coins into the middle. "I bet two crowns."
Shrugging, each of them tossed two crowns in to match the bet. Jack caught the lad eyeing his cards and arched a brow at him, tossing in another two crowns on top of his match. "Raise ye two crowns more."
Gibbs sighed, laying his cards on the table. "Foldin."
"Aye," Tearlach echoed.
Cotton's parrot squawked the same as Anamaria, Marty, and Isaac added two more crowns to their bets. Isaac smiled and added a stack of gold to his bet. "And I raise it ten guineas. You call?"
Marty scowled. He laid his cards on the table. Jack and Anamaria eyed each other as they met the bet, and Isaac raised his brows.
"Done!" Gibbs slapped the table. "What's ye got?"
Isaac laid out his cards, the four Kings eliciting a sigh from Anamaria who turned over her own cards to reveal three Queens and two red tens—a full house, and a royal one at that, but not good enough to beat four of a kind. She folded her arms over her chest and looked to Jack with the rest of the table. He sighed and snapped his cards on the table. "Four Aces."
Isaac shook his head. "How do you do it?"
"Son…" Jack grinned, sweeping his winnings from the middle with a cupped palm. "I'm Captain Jack Sparrow!" Leaning back and glancing deftly at his sleeve, he winked across the table at him. "Savvy?"
"I want to play."
Jack spun in his seat. He found Alice Witter behind him.
"Pairs. Gibbs and Marty, Cotton and Tearlach, Ana and you, and Isaac and I." She treated him to a sweet smile. "What do you say, Captain Jack Sparrow?"
Her pointed—albeit quick—glance at his gold was not lost on him and his eyes narrowed. Of course, her pointed—albeit quick—glance to the ring on her finger was also not lost on him, and he smiled pleasantly back at her. "Well, Miss Witter. I simply could not decline such a delightful proposal."
Her eyes widened.
Jack smirked.
--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---
"Why it's rather dark in here," Elizabeth said, squinting against the darkness. The only light was that of the silvery moon filtering through the porthole and it was not very bright. Only a few beams shone in, and it was not enough to illuminate much of anything, save for the sheen of the glass bottle in her hand. Lifting it, she frowned. "Half empty already?"
Shrugging, she brought it to her lips, choking when her grip slipped. She grasped for it but not before the amber liquid sloshed too fast to her mouth. It dripped down her chin and ran onto her neck. Elizabeth sat up, gasping as the rum soaked her bodice. "Oh dear," she giggled, looking down at her glistening bosom, "I simply can not hold my liquor."
The bottle clutched in her hands, however, proved that theory wrong and she took another long drink of it, not surprised to feel another slosh against her skin. "Well, I suppose rum is a fine perfume on a pirate ship."
Rising slowly to her feet, Elizabeth blinked to bring the room around her into focus. Unable to do so, she gave up and stumbled across the room, narrowly avoiding a nasty fall over the shoes her son had left behind in the center of the cabin floor, and leaned close to the mirror on the wall. Elizabeth squinted at her reflection. "But," she said, eyeing disdainfully the prim make of her dress, "this old thing will never do." A smile curled her lip and she took a long, lusty drink from the bottle of rum.
--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---
That the poker game did not take long to purge the purses of the pairs of pirates was no surprise. Gibbs and Marty were out by the second hand and although Cotton and Tearlach lasted a few rounds more than their peers, they did not last long either. All four were still seated at the table, however, and were eyeing—whilst scowling at—an unblinking Alice Witter.
Jack shook his head. The woman was tenacious, he had to give her that. She'd been cheating since she sat down beside Isaac. He'd not been surprised—in fact, he'd expected such from the best thief he knew. He'd not even been surprised that his own cheating could not hold a candle to that which she had up her own sleeve. But he had been surprised when she slapped a Royal Flush matching his own—right down to the thin-lipped King of Diamonds—on the table.
Alice Witter's face reddened as her gaze flicked between the identical hands on the table. Looking up, she caught his smirk, and she lifted her chin. Her grey eyes narrowed. "Cheater."
All four heads swiveled to Jack, eyes wide.
"Well he is a pirate." All eyes fell upon the woman who fell into Gibbs' lap. Elizabeth Turner, dress torn to tatters in all the right places—or, wrong places, Jack noted. He raised a brow at the woman Will Turner had taken as a wife. When she winked and flopped toward him, Gibbs grabbing to steady her, he raised the other. She didn't seem to notice, reaching out with a fumbling hand to paw his shoulders. "A very piratey pirate." Elizabeth giggled, nearly falling off the flustered Gibbs' lap as she attempted to turn and look at Alice. Her finger waggled at the wide-eyed woman. "Very."
Jack's brows lofted higher.
"Mum?"
Jack winced, having forgotten that the children, too, were at the table that their mother had taken by surprise. Little Lucy's ever-explorative fingers had stopped examining the curiosity that was his hair and he glanced down at her. His attention, however, was drawn to the open-mouthed boy at his side. A wave of anxiety washed over Jack as he saw the boy stunned to silence. The pirate righted his own dropped-jaw and frowned, wondering how to escape or explain such a situation. Young Jack's wide eyes prompted him to clap his hands over them for lack of a better idea.
Little Lucy whimpered, clinging tighter to the pirate.
Jack choked. He reached up to loose the girl's stifling grasp and winced at the boy's gasp. Glancing down, he found the eye he'd uncovered wide as before. Young Jack's blink was all it took to clap the hand back in place and frown at the boy's mother. Though, he thought, a smile was much more befitting—"Good to see you Elizabeth—"what with the view he was being afforded—his brows drew together, irritated with the task of ignoring the charms of the charming woman. "But you seem to have lost your dress."
"Only a little of it, Jack."
"I hate to think how little it was to begin with then," Anamaria whispered.
"I don't," Isaac put in. He grinned. Alice smacked him, Jack scowled at him, and it was only then that a vastly apologetic look of contrition shone on his face. He shrugged his shoulders. "Sorry?"
Jack tsked.
"Wot's that?" Gibbs sniffed the air.
Elizabeth giggled. "What do you think it is, Mister Gibbs?"
"Mum?" Her son blinked behind Jack's hands. "Have you been hitting the bottle again?"
Taking his hands from the boy's eyes, Jack frowned down at him. "Again?" He looked up at the giggling Elizabeth and sniffing Gibbs. Rolling his eyes, he patted young Jack on the shoulder. "Best find your father. Immediately." Jumping back from the bit of rum that sloshed from his mug as Elizabeth swiped it, he whipped around with a frown to the boy bounding across the deck. "Or faster, if possible!"
"Mighty mean to tate a man's mug." All eyes fell upon the wee Turner in his arms and Jack nodded down at her in agreement, much to the delight of the chuckling pirates around them.
--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---
Neither the first nor the second level of the Black Pearl showed any signs of his father's presence, and Jack Turner was beginning to get slightly irritated with the task of searching for him despite the imminent danger his mother was in. When in the compromised condition she currently suffered, she had "a tendency to run at the mouth" as his father said. The man was the only one who was ever able to quiet the woman, it seemed, and so it was that Jack found himself sneaking through the cabins, narrowly avoiding the waking of snoozing crewmen, and examining every nook and cranny only to do battle in several confrontations against an assortment of very irritable vermin. Roaches, spiders, and two brown mice he fought and subsequently conquered. But the trouble of it all still, well, troubled him.
The dark, damp space that he knew to be the sparring hall lay in front of him as he stepped off the landing. He shivered. Creeping through the great open on the third level, he squinted into the shadows, hoping that there were not any more foes waiting to fight with him. Or perhaps that he would find his father lurking in them. He thought it a distinct possibility what with the mood his old man had been in as of late, not to mention that his mother seemed no better for it. But he came to the end without finding the man. Shaking his head, he felt along the wall for the closet doors and flung them open, holding the lantern high for light.
But the space was empty, save for one huffy black mouse that shook a white-paw at him and darted back into the safe confines of the wood of the ship. Jack sighed and shut the doors. Tramping through another hall, he wondered vaguely where his father could be.
--- --- --- ------- () ------- --- --- ---
"You know," Jack said, promptly rising to his feet, "I was recently taught a most exhilarating dance by a most extraordinary gypsy woman." He sashayed to the front of the assembled group of pirates, flourished a sweeping arm, and curtsied. Feeling every bit the captain as the men cheered and jeered in good humor, he grinned and tossed back his hair. It was a move he wished—quite immediately as a matter of fact—he hadn't made, for he had to grasp the air to regain his balance.
"Think ya had one drink too many, Captain," Anamaria called to him over the noise.
Jack winced. Recovering as quickly as possible, he cleared his throat and held up a hand to quiet the laughter. When it had, he nodded over at Marty who had once again taken up his bongos. "You know the one."
Marty stared back at him, unmoving.
"Not a good time for stage fright, mate."
With a grimace, the pirate obliged, thumping out the beat.
"Now," Jack said, bouncing at the hip as first his right arm flicked in front of him palm down, and then his left, "this dance was all the rage quite recently." Still bouncing, he flipped both palms up. Right hand lain on his left elbow and left hand on the right, his arms crossed his chest. "Extremely popular in fact."
Ignoring the incredulous guffaws of much of the men, he bounced on, flicking his right hand behind his right shoulder to press against his neck. With the left hand he did the same. "I daresay if there were a measure of the popularity of dances," he paused to slap his right hand on his left thigh and left on his right, "this one would have been… at the top of the—charts."
"Charts?"
"A big scorecard. Made like a playbill board perhaps? Billboard?" He shrugged. "Nevertheless," he said, slapping his right hand to the left and left hand to the right of his rump, "everyone must enjoy this delightful dance. Contagiously catchy beat and it was taught to me by a most memorable woman named…" Trailing off to swivel his hips to the left, to the right, and back again, he clapped his hands and whirled to the right. "Macarena!"
For whatever reason, the crew erupted in gales of gleeful laughter. Jack nodded, pleased with himself, and bowed low in front of them, which seemed to agree with them all the more. As a giggling Elizabeth dragged a red-faced Isaac toward him, he caught sight of the flash that was a bounding Jack Turner and turned his attention to the boy.
"Da's not on the ship!"
The breathless declaration replaced the mirth aboard the Black Pearl with a low buzz of a murmur, and the captain smiled stiffly, drawing the young Turner to his side. "What do you mean," he asked softly, "by 'not on the ship'?" He flicked a hand toward the Celamar. "That ship? Or," he said, flicking the other hand toward the Odessa, "that ship?"
"This ship! I've searched every bit of the Pearl and can find neither hide nor hair of my Da." The boy sighed and shook his head. "I even looked in every closet."
"What would your Da be doing in the closet?"
"I don't know," young Jack snapped, flicking a hand. "Waiting to come out? It would be rather frightful. If he'd popped out of the closet, I mean..."
Jack frowned, shaking his head. "Doubtful, lad."
"Well I looked there anyway, and you're right. He wasn't there. He's not anywhere on this ship, Uncle Jack."
Playing with the plaits of his beard, he considered what the young Turner was saying. If the lad was wrong and Will was aboard, he did not want to alert the crew to the details of their duress. If the lad was right, and Will was not aboard, it meant that the blacksmith had left under his nose and unbeknownst to him. The thought of such a thing—such an unlikely but surely possible thing—happening on his ship pinched his mouth shut in irritation.
"What," asked a disgusted Jack Turner, "are they doing?"
Jack followed the boy's gaze over his shoulder to find the scantily clad Mrs. Turner swinging her hips suggestively in front of an appreciative Isaac. His brows knit. "Ey!" Isaac's blue eyes flashed on him and he flushed guiltily. Elizabeth, however, seemed oblivious, giggling and turning to perform the moves of the dance around him. Grumbling, he pushed between them. The woman didn't miss a beat however, swinging her hips instead against his backside. Jack felt the color drain from his face and jumped, whirling to glare at her.
"Captain Sparrow," she purred, slapping her hands on his rear instead of her own, "is it that you have a mind to ruin all my rum?"
"On the contrary, missy," he growled, suddenly all too aware of the heady drunkenness slipping away in favor of irritability stemming from irritation, "it seems you're ruining all my rum."
"Rum?" She pushed his hips to swivel in time with hers and giggled at the shock on his face. "Did I say that? I meant to say that you're rooning…roog—roo-en-ing… all my fun."
Tearing away from the woman's grasp, Jack turned to Isaac. "Will Turner's gone amiss. And—" He winced at the sound of her giggle as her rear wiggled in close proximity to his and grimaced when she shimmied between he and a grinning Isaac. His pointed glare seemed to sober the younger man. "—He must be found! Without delay, as it's an urgent situation we find ourselves in."
