In support of Johnny Depp. One judge didn't hear you, the rest of us did. #JusticeforJohnnyDepp
I know this is very different to what my usual readers expect but i do ask that you give it a read. Sorry to anyone who was waiting on updates on any of my other stories.
AN: This is based on the scene (and the deleted version) where Jack and Beckett converse and strike their deal.
Apologies for any errors and enjoy!
Jack stumbled into the office, shooting a glare at the men who had pushed him in with an unnecessary amount of force. He straightened up and saw Beckett, looking out of the window at his precious Black Pearl. "Remarkable! The last I saw of that ship, she was on fire. A blackened hulk sinking beneath the waves."
— — — — — —
18th March 1715
— — — — — —
Jack squinted as he was brought on to the main deck of the ship. It was a bright day, the complete opposite of how he felt.
His hands were tied up in front of him and if he tilted his head slightly, he could see the 'P' that had been burned into his skin. It was still raw and if he moved his hands too much, it would become unbearably painful. Mercer had held the branding iron in one place for longer than necessary. Jack knew that it would never turn into a proper scar.
Gritting his teeth, he looked up and furrowed his brows when he saw his ship, the Wicked Wench, not too far away. He turned around and saw the coast about a mile behind them.
Almost as if answering the unspoken question, Beckett appeared, ordering, "Prepare the carcass charges."
Jack quickly realised what was going to happen. "She's just a ship. Made of wood, and canvas. You're going to destroy your own property? Just to get back at me?" Maybe he could convince Beckett this was a bad idea.
Unfortunately, Beckett's reply indicated he wouldn't be swayed.
"She's not just a ship to you, Jack. And yes. That's precisely what I am going to do."
"You're like a child." Jack spat. "An overgrown, angry child. Just because you can't have what you want, you do this. It's...twisted. Mad."
Beckett leisurely strolled up to Jack, until he was right in front of the recently branded pirate. "And what is it that I want, Jack?"
"Fear. Love. Respect. None of which you will get from me."
Beckett shook his head. Whether it was in amusement or disappointment, Jack would never know because a moment later, Beckett gave the order to fire.
"NO!" Jack jumped, making the men holding him lose their grips on his arms. One stumbled backwards whilst the other lost his footing and fell overboard after Jack. Once underwater, he swam as fast as possible.
All of his possessions were on that ship. The tribute he had been give after the Battle Outside the Devils Triangle, the bandanna Esmeralda had gifted him the last time he saw her. They may have seemed like silly trinkets and Jack's disdain of his past as a pirate should've meant he would be happy to see them gone. But as he swam towards the Wench, he realised the few things he treasured were either on the ship or was the ship. He had to try.
Jack felt something pierce his shoulder and instinctively opened his mouth to yell in pain. Water rushed into his mouth and he was forced to surface. Gasping, and struggling to stay afloat with his hands still tied together, the disoriented Captain tried to work out what had happened.
"FIRE!" Apparently, Beckett had recovered from the shock of Jack diving and had ordered his men to open fire.
Jack took a deep breath and then dived again, going deep enough that the bullets couldn't reach him.
Ahead, he could see the ship slowly sinking. He had to be quick otherwise it would become unsalvageable.
Jack didn't say a word nor did he move from his place in front of the door as Beckett mused aloud.
"It's curious. Your friends appear to be quite desperate, Jack. Perhaps they no longer believe that a gathering of squabbling pirates can defeat the Flying Dutchman.
And so despair leads to betrayal. But you and I are no strangers to betrayal, are we?"
He ignored the bait. At the mention of the Dutchman, Jack realised this was an opportune moment to look for the heart. He walked over to a dresser decorated with trinkets and fancy containers. He opened them one by one, without saying a word. Beckett had yet to turn around.
"We had a deal, Jack." Beckett sighed tiredly. "I contracted you to deliver cargo on my behalf,"
— — — — — —
3rd January 1710
— — — — — —
The Fair Wind bobbed on the water, not more than half a mile from the port. Beside Jack were two other young men. The three of them were here for a job on the ship.
"Think he'll accept us, Jack?"
Jack grinned at his companion. "If he doesn't, Robert my friend, then you have full permission to toss me overboard."
Robert Greene huffed. "I didn't save your life for you to die at the first sign of your plan going wrong."
"Who said I'd die?"
"Me." Robert drawled.
Their conversation ceased as a man walked out of the Captain's cabin and he stopped in front of the first man.
"Name?"
"Jim Crossby, Captain."
The man laughed. Most likely at the over excitement in Crossby's voice. He was startled when he heard a voice chirp,
"Beggin' yer pardon, but why doesn't a fine Captain such as yourself already have a First Mate? And why don't ye just promote one of the men already on your ship and promote a man to take his place and so on and so forth, until all you need is some men to scrub the deck? Ow!"
The Captain looked to the end of the short line and saw the brunette man glare at his companion, who had elbowed him in annoyance.
He carefully walked past Jim and Robert, stopping in front of the man who had spoken up. Jack showed no sign of fear. In fact, he was smirking!
"Your name?"
"Sparrow. Jack Sparrow." He looked disinterestedly at his dirty nails. "Surely you've at least heard of me? I'd be quite surprised if you haven't." Then he looked up at the Captain and politely asked, "Since you know my name, could you do me a courtesy and tell me yours?"
"Nathaniel Bainbridge. And I have heard of a young man by that name. Although, I don't believe it's his real one, Mr Teague."
Jack merely raised an eyebrow, the only indication of his surprise.
"Unless he dropped his father's name as it has a strong association with piracy and took up an old nickname."
"Well then, Mr Sparrow. Since you're so interested in the position of First Mate, tell me," Bainbridge leaned in until his nose almost touched Jack's. "Why should I hire the son of a renowned pirate?"
Without missing a beat, Jack replied, "Because me and my mate," he indicated Greene, "are better sailors then all your men combined."
— — — — — —
26th January 1714
— — — — — —
Robert and Jack waited outside Cutler Beckett's office, as his secretary informed him of their arrival.
"I still can't believe Bainbridge is dead." Robert said.
He and Jack had served as the Second and First Mate, respectively, for 5 years. The Fair Wind was a cargo ship for the East India Trading Company and so made the two young men employees of the EITC.
"And I can't believe you managed to stop Esmeralda from taking everything." Robert continued, eyeing his friend for some kind of acknowledgement.
Jack was saved from replying as Chalmers came out.
"Mr Greene. Mr Beckett would like a word with you."
Robert went in, leaving Jack with his thoughts. He could only wonder what Beckett wanted with him. He had met the man a few times before but to his knowledge, there was nothing extraordinary about those meetings.
20 minutes later, Greene came out, saying nothing but "Your turn."
Jack shook away his grief for his lost Captain, before walking in.
Beckett smiled at him.
"Mr Sparrow, please sit."
Nah, I'm alright." Jack then turned his attention to the giant maps on one of the walls. Suddenly, he pulled out a dagger and stabbed it.
"What do you thin-"
"This bit's wrong, mate."
"I beg your pardon?"
Jack backtracked. "This island - it's much bigger than this and it's located around..." He pulled out another dagger and stabbed the map north westerly from the first one. "Here!" He turned and, with a lot of unnecessary hand twirling, bowed. "No need to thank me."
Beckett stood, an eyebrow raised, and joined Jack at the map. "How do you know?"
"I've been there plenty of times. So many, in fact, that I can tell you with absolute certainty, that a man with an average stride can cross the island in 8457 steps. Approximately."
Beckett chuckled in disbelief. He sat again, watching Sparrow intently, as the First Mate muttered and jabbed parts of the map, shaking his head in dismay. Eventually, he turned to Beckett and said, "You need a new cartographer, mate."
"If you're quite done..."
"Not really but I get the feeling you don't really care."
So with as much care as possible, Jack jumped on to the chair and slumped downwards, with an "ooh. Nice chair."
"So you are Jack Teague, Bainbridge's First Mate."
"Ah." Jack leaned forward. "Two corrections there, sir. One, my name is Jack Sparrow. Not Jack Teague. That'd be my uncle. Two, I was Bainbridge's First Mate. I cannot be the First Mate to a dead man." Almost as an afterthought, he added, "God rest his soul," before slumping backwards again.
Beckett couldn't help but raise at eyebrow at this display of eccentricity.
"That is actually why I wished to speak with you, alone." Beckett pulled out some papers and handed them to Jack. "These are statements I've received from the remaining crew of the Fair Wind. Including your friend with whom I just spoke. And, as per usual, there are many variances. However..." Here, it was Beckett who leaned forward. But before he could finish.
"Let me guess. The large majority included a section depicting that I had some kind of relationship with the pirate captain that tried to steal the cargo." The First Mate said offhandedly, dropping the papers onto the desk without looking at them.
Beckett, while he was slightly annoyed at his dramatic moment being taken, couldn't help but lean back and appraise the man in front of him. It was inherent that he had little to no formal upbringing and if the rumours were to be believed, spent 16 years living amongst brawling pirates, before running away. Yet, he was so confident. His posture was lazy whilst also commanding any attention, be it good or bad. And from the guess he just made, it was obvious he was the type of man able to think ahead of his opponent. Beckett considered all this as he asked. "Tell me, what happened? Who was that woman to you?"
"Esmeralda." At the look Beckett gave him, he sighed. "That's her name, sir."
"Yes, I understood as much. That look was an indication to continue."
"Right. I used to court her un-"
"Used to?"
"If you'd let me finish...I used to court her until she made it inescapably clear that she wished to pursue piracy. I was undecided on my future apart from knowing that I wanted to steer clear of my family legacy." Jack abruptly stood again, grabbing Beckett's quill and began drawing the corrections on to the map.
"Jack."
No one said anything for a minute. Eventually, Jack decided to speak up again.
"She didn't know I was on the ship. Or that I was a part of the crew. Thought I was being held prisoner." For the first time in the meeting, Jack seemed slightly upset. It was momentary. "She had already taken a third of the cargo. I told her if she still cared about me she'd leave the rest, and me, alone."
More silence.
When the quill ran dry, he turned and dipped it in the ink pot. "That's all it was. A negotiation. A nonviolent negotiation." Then a thought struck Jack. "What'll happen to the Fair Wind?"
Beckett smiled. "It belonged to Bainbridge, hence it is to be given to his son who will decide its fate."
"Oh."
"However, I believe that with someone who has given us several years of outstanding service deserves a promotion." Beckett's smile grew slightly wider as the quill hovered over another island on the map.
"You mean..."
"The EITC has recently acquired a brand new square rigger called Marlin. Does that sound like something you would enjoy commanding, Captain Sparrow?"
Jack tilted his head so Beckett couldn't see the eager grin on his face. He'd been working for this since he was a boy.
He had at one point, referred to himself as the Captain of a small boat: the Barnacle. But his crew then had never really respected the title nor did they listen when he gave them an order.
But now? It was an official position from someone who had more power. He wouldn't be in charge of a fishing boat but instead a large ship. He felt giddy thinking about it.
When he regained calm he turned and asked, "And what kind of cargo would I be hauling?"
"It has been designed for carrying slaves an-"
"I have to stop you there, sir." The newly appointed Captain said. His nose was scrunched in almost disgust. "I'll haul any cargo you assign me, even powder, dangerous as that can be. But I won't transport slaves."
The defensive stance Jack took make Beckett raise an eyebrow, stating, "You surprise me, Mr. Sparrow. This is an... extraordinary position for a man to take in these modern times." Jack scoffed. "The slave trade isn't a pleasant business, granted," Beckett continued as if he didn't hear. "But it is extremely lucrative. It's very good business. One can't afford these days to be...finicky."
Jack shook his head. "Sorry. But I'd take scrubbing the deck over being Captain of a slave ship.
Beckett considered this, remembering something that made his lips twitch upwards.
"I have another ship. It's one I actually own. It's an older ship. The shipwrights have told me that converting her hold to haul slaves would be expensive, and rather time-consuming, so I bought her for hauling other cargos. She's called the Wicked Wench. Would you like to sail her for me, Captain Sparrow?"
Jack's eyes widened, ever so slightly in response. If he wasn't mistaken, which, funnily enough, he rarely was, that was the ship he was on in The Battle Outside the Devil's Triangle. Other than the ocular dilation, Jack gave no indication of surprise, evenly voiced as he replied, "Yes, I would, sir. I'd be pleased to do that."
Beckett chuckled. "What's with the sudden formality and respect? Does it have something to do with your history with the ship?
Jack momentarily paused. As Beckett predicted, he dipped the quill in the ink pot and continued his correction of the maps. They were starting to look a mess; however, it made Beckett realise that Jack was much more wise and experienced than he let on.
"I've sailed upon her long before she ever came into your possession." Jack informed him.
"As a pirate."
Beckett regretted adding that small statement when the quill snapped in Jack's hand.
"If I'm to sail as a Captain under your colours, then we agree I am not a pirate."
"I never said you are, rather that you were."
Jack spun around, the ends of his bandana flying around with him. "Perhaps, by some definition, I was. But I'm not now."
His employer conceded, it seemed.
"You'll find your vessel at the EITC berthing docks. She's the largest square-rigger on the southern side." He reached for the quill in the ink pot but it was missing. It took him a moment to realise Jack was still holding the broken writing implement. There was no look of guilt nor apology as Jack handed it back.
"You shall receive your first assignment within the fortnight." He sighed. Taking the broken quill, putting it on the desk and retrieving a new one from his drawer. "I expect you to refamiliarise yourself with the ship, personalise your cabin - if you so wish - and to recruit an adequately sized crew."
"Of course, sir. Thank you." Jack turned to leave when the man behind the desk said,
"I know you like the Wicked Wench, Jack. Perhaps you'd like her for your own some day?"
The Captain didn't give an answer as he left; his humming and jaunty walk, however, betrayed his answer.
"...you chose to liberate it."
There was a pause. Jack opened another box and caught a glimpse of the letter 'P' burned into his arm. When he finally spoke, his voice was thick.
"...People aren't cargo, mate."
— — — — — —
8th September 1714
— — — — — —
"Secure the cargo hold, Mr Crossby."
"Aye, Captain."
Jack gave the man a brief grin and then bellowed at the rest of the crew, "Hoist the mainsail! Prepare to lift anchors!" When there was very little movement in response, Jack groaned, then shouted, "ALL HANDS ON DECK! IF I DON'T SEE AMPLE CONTRIBUTIONS FROM ANYONE IN THE NEXT 10 SECONDS I WILL THROW YOU OVERBOARD. THIS SHIP HAS NO PLACE FOR LAZY SEA SLUGS!"
This immediately spurred the rest of the crew into action.
Jack had been in command of the Wench for almost a year, now. Yet it was so difficult to make his crew follow orders without threatening and insulting them. He wasn't a fool. He knew it was because of his close association to piracy. They respected him enough to be a part of the crew but not quite enough to follow instructions when they were given.
Surprisingly, it didn't bother him as much as he originally thought it would. He had made peace with his past. So long as his employer trusted him, Jack was a free man.
Speaking of his employer...
Cutler Beckett arrived, standing at the dock, quietly watching the scene aboard the Wench.
"Be prepared to set sail, men!" Grabbing a loose rope, Jack swung over the edge of the ship, landing neatly next to Beckett, as if he had been there the entire time. "Morning, sir."
Beckett just gave a nod in response. Sparrow frowned.
"You aren't still upset about not finding Kerma, are ye?"
"I must admit it has stunted my respect for you, Captain Sparrow." Beckett then turned to face Jack. "But I would entrust this cargo to no one else. If you deliver it successfully, perhaps we could negotiate the sale of the Wicked Wench?"
Jack smiled. "I won't let you down, sir. Though, may I ask what it is I'm transporting?"
"Apologies, Captain Sparrow. Viscount Penwallow has refused to let me inform you. The guards I have assigned to guard the cargo are to be the only men on the ship who know what it is."
The Captain furrowed his brows in confusion. "Why would you agree to haul cargo when you have no idea what it is?"
"It's just good business, Jack."
Jack turned back to the ship, gritting his teeth. He was growing to hate that sentence. It was like Beckett's catchphrase. But hearing it this time stoked the fire of curiosity in Jack. He would find out what was in the cargo-hold before they arrived.
"All set, Captain!"
With a dazzling smile (literally in the case of Jack's golden tooth) Jack shook hands with Beckett. "Well, Cutler, must be off. Mighty fine of you to send us off."
"Indeed." Discreetly, Beckett pulled Jack a little closer, whispering, "Don't disappoint me, again." He let go, turned and left without another word.
"Sorry, Cutler." Jack muttered, staring at the man's back as he walked away. "It's just good business."
— — — — — —
14th November 1714
— — — — — —
'This is my ship.' Jack thought to himself in the dead of night. 'I shouldn't have to creep around it to find out what's on board.'
Nonetheless, that's exactly what he was doing. Everyone else was asleep. Including, thanks to Jack's discreet amount of Valerian root he had hidden in their food throughout the day, the men who were supposed to be guarding the cargo. If Jack was quick enough, he could get a peek at the cargo and get back to his cabin; the guards would believe they fell asleep on the job and be none the wiser to his snooping.
"Sorry, lads." He mumbled, detaching the keys to the cargo-hold from one of their belts. He slotted the key and turned it slowly, timing it with the creaking of the old ship.
After looking over his shoulder to ensure no one knew he was there, he walked in, gently closing the door so that anyone who awoke wouldn't immediately realise it was unlocked.
He lit a lamp and opened the box at the forefront of the cargo-hold, peering inside. "Stale bread?" He said in astonishment. He picked up one, examining it and then looked back into the container thinking the real cargo was hidden amongst the bread. "A half empty container of stale bread?" He dropped the bread that was in his hand and massaged his forehead. "I'm missing something."
Like it was in response to the last statement, he heard a cough. When he span around, the door was still closed.
He wasn't the only one in there, like he originally believed.
Treading carefully, he walked further into the hold. He saw large iron bars and the lamp slipped from his grasp.
He caught it before it smashed and ran forward. His suspicions were confirmed.
People. There were people in here. Predominantly blacks but there were also some people of Asian heritage and a smattering of people who shared his gypsy like colouring. The large majority were men but there were about 10 children and quite a few women.
Slaves. A mental count put it at around 99. Until he noticed on woman who had a hand on her stomach, cradling a small bump. She was with child.
100.
They all stared at him, shrinking back. One child wailed in despair. He felt his stomach tighten remembering fever and cold and cruel mocking laughter. He shook off the memory before it could overcome him.
"It's alright." He told them, kneeling, placing the lamp on the floor beside him. "I'm not going to hurt you. You shouldn't even be here."
"Then why are we?" It was the pregnant woman.
Jack licked his lips. Then shook his head. He hadn't expected this. It could have been drink, guns, powder. Hell, Jack wouldn't care if it were spies for the Crown. But slaves?
"I'll haul any cargo you assign me, even powder, dangerous as that can be. But I won't transport slaves." He recalled saying a year ago when he first became Captain of the Wench.
'It's a test.' He quickly realised. 'He knew I would look. If I still carry through, he'll trust me again and make this ship mine.'
Yet, despite having wished for this, his own ship, since he was old enough to stand on the main deck, Jack's moral compass was pointing somewhere else.
He couldn't do this.
"I'll get ye out of here. I won't let them sell you. Just don't speak of me visit and I will return with a plan." He heard them muttering to each other; those who knew English were telling those who didn't. Eventually, they quietened down. This time, a man spoke up. "What will you do?"
"I'll...I'll work it out."
He was careful to replace the lamp before locking the door and tying the keys back to the guard's belt. He encountered no one on his way back to his cabin.
"Get some sleep." He said to himself. "You can work it out in the morning."
"Please, sir. I really must be going." Despite the fever, he was shivering violently. He gasped as they ripped the shirt from his body. "Please." He begged. "My Father is waiting for me."
His pleas fell on deaf ears as the two men discussed their transaction.
Him.
"...has the right bone structure for a more...personal kind of slave. And to sweeten the deal," he held up the boy's brown coin purse. "He comes with some maintenance money." They laughed, ignoring the streams of tears as the boy tried hard to pull himself from their grasp.
"Indeed. He will be enough to settle the debt, Captain Graven." He reaches for the 12 year old's arm.
"No!"
"No!"
Jack fell to the floor of his cabin, entangled in the thin blanket he was using. He didn't move for a long while, dispelling the last images of the dream?...memory? from his head.
"Rum." By that, he meant he needed some.
Once he had had a long drink, he looked out of the window. Nearly dawn. He had 5 days to create and execute a plan. They would arrive at port on the 6th.
He unscrolled the map which had the route, delicately inked, on it. Then he pulled out a larger map and copied it, marking their current approximate location.
He then placed his compass on their marked location. The compass, which had been given to him several years ago, didn't point North. Rather, it pointed at whatever you desired most. And Jack wanted nothing more than to get the slaves off the ship before they made port.
So when the compass pointed to New Avalon, where he had been instructed to take the "cargo", he checked to make sure he didn't accidentally pick up his regular one.
Nope, it was the special compass.
Jack suddenly realised it wouldn't turn because he wasn't holding it. With this in mind, he placed his finger against the side and watched as the needle turne y, until it faced the open ocean.
At first, he was understandably confused until he began tracing the route with his finger and realised it was pointing at a specific point of the ocean. He moved the compass to the opposite side of the map, only for the needle to face where it was pointing before.
He didn't dare outline the shape of the island he knew the compass was pointing at.
Kerma: the island whose location Jack didn't give to Beckett and the reason he was transporting slaves.
How ironic.
He heard a knock at his door which propelled him to hide the larger map and his unique compass. As he stored these things in the chest at the end of his bunk, he called, "Who's it?"
"It's Greene, Captain."
Phew.
He opened the door and ushered his First Mate in. "Robby, I've told you, ya needn't be so formal. We're close mates, aye?"
"And I acknowledge this when there be no one but us. If I start calling you by name in front of the crew, they'll take it as an invitation to do the same."
Jack's nose wrinkled in disgust at the thought of everyone forgoing his title; he'd worked too hard to earn it.
"Fair. You alright, mate?" Handing the half finished bottle of rum to his friend.
"Perhaps I should be asking you." Robby stated, lifting the bottle with a raised eyebrow. "Rum at dawn? Something must be seriously bothering you."
Jack went up to the door and pressed his ear against it. The deck was silent.
He then sat on his bunk and indicated for Robby to pull the chair up close.
"I can trust ya to stay loyal to me, correct?"
Robby looked puzzled. "Aye, of course. We've been through too much together."
"I snuck down to the cargo-hold."
"Jack!"
"Shhh! Shush! It's my ship, I should know what's on it."
"Well, what is it?"
Jack pursed his lips. "Slaves."
When he saw Robby's eyes widen, he knew his First Mate was on his side. Robby knew exactly what Jack's opinion was on so called "black gold". And if he was to be honest, he shared that opinion.
Jack explained everything, from how he drugged the guards, to the stale bread that was obviously being used to feed the slaves, to the pregnant woman.
"What are you gonna do, Jack?"
Here, Jack paused. If he didn't tell his friend, then Robby would have plausible deniability. But it would be much easier to execute the plan if he had help.
As if reading his friend's thoughts, Robby told him, "I'm helping and nothing you say will change my mind."
"Yer really willing to risk a dance with Jack Ketch to free them? I know you wanna go back to a normal life, with a wife and kids."
It was true.
Whenever he and Jack sat down together, it would always weasel its way into the conversation.
"Land for as far as the eye can see, Jack! Imagine it."
"I am. Sounds bloody boring."
"My wife: she wouldn't be the prettiest but by Lord would I love her with all my heart. And our kids? It's enough to make me weep!"
"I think that's just all the rum you've had, Robby."
"Two lasses and a lad. I'd name him after you, I would."
"Do that and he'll cause you more trouble than I have!"
Robby hesitated, thinking about the fantasy he had thought about for the better part of his life. But he seemed to shake himself off before finally saying, "What's one dream in exchange for a hundred?"
— — — — —
19th November 1715
— — — — —
"Would this be called a mutiny?"
"I'm pretty sure the mutineers have to mutiny against the Captain."
"So what would we call this?"
"To be honest, Robby, I don't think there is a word."
"Well, since you're, apparently, the first Captain to mutiny, you should coin the phrase."
"Don't think of us as mutineers, Robby! Think of us as...freedom fighters."
This conversation was happening over the wind on the main deck as the sun was setting.
Jack and Robby had used Valerian root again, but this time, on every one of the crewmen.
"How and why do you have so much Valerian root, Jack?"
"...Don't question your Captain, Mr Greene."
The two men had been anxious the entire day. Watching as the effects of the root took hold, they couldn't help but feel some guilt swell in their hearts. Many of these men were just working for their own families. A wife and children, their parents for some of them.
But what could they do? They couldn't risk anyone trying to stop them. They couldn't risk anyone getting hurt for doing their jobs.
Once all of them were sound asleep, Greene went down to the cargo-hold, freeing the slaves.
Many of them were now helping Jack and Robby steer the ship, which was a good thing considering the Wench was far too big for the two of them to steer.
As the island came into view, Jack ordered a starboard bootleg turn, so once the slaves were free, he and Greene would be able to steer back on course.
"Complete the turn, I'll start taking the women and children."
Carefully, the slaves were lowered into the shallow water, Jack following behind. He stayed at the back of the group, urging them in the right direction. The children were laughing, blissfully unaware of the danger they had been in. One of the youngest, around 3 years old tugged on Jack's sleeve and lifted his arms, the universal symbol of wanting to be picked up. One of the women came to take the child away.
"It's fine." Jack told her, swooping up the boy and putting him on his shoulders. He bounced the child as he walked, grinning at the ecstatic giggles that elicited.
When they reached the edge of the island, he stopped the liberated slaves and moved to the front, to be greeted with an old face.
"Jack Sparrow."
"Pharaoh Shabako. What voodoo magic told you of my arrival?"
The Pharaoh raised an eyebrow and Jack sighed, a long suffering sigh.
"Listen, you said that you owed me a favour. And as much as I'd prefer to wait for a much more personally opportune moment, I'm going to have to cash it in now."
"I owe you a great deal, Jack Sparrow. You saved me and my sister from captivity, and kept the location of our island safe. What is it you require?"
Jack explained. It took around 5 minutes but Jack spoke quickly, seized by a fear that the crew would wake up before they were back on course and discover what they did. It meant Robby's head as well as his own.
"We will give them asylum. They will be safe, I will personally assure it."
"Thanks. I'll bring the rest of them now, if it's alright with your Pharaohness."
A nod was all he needed to rush back to the ship and bring the men that remained on the Wench.
Once all of them had been escorted towards the main land, Pharaoh Shabako turned to Jack. "We can give you and your friend refuge, as well. I'm sure the Company will not be pleased to hear that they have lost all of the cargo."
"As far as they know, I have no idea what the cargo is." Jack faltered. He always knew that one day he'd face consequences for the choices he had made over the course of his life. But Greene... "Would you give refuge to my First Mate?"
"And how are you planning to sail the Wench by yourself while the crew's asleep?" Robby, who had helped lead the remaining slaves to the island, walked over to Jack and Shabako. "We're in this together, mate." He held his hand out for a handshake and Jack took it. What he didn't expect was for Jack to pull him in for a hug.
"Oof! Thought you weren't much of a hugger."
"You're a good man, Robby."
"Learned from the best."
When they pulled apart, they noticed Shabako watching, sadness tinging his expression. "So you truly won't stay? Even for a while, to throw their scent?"
Jack shook his head. "We can't afford to go back to piracy, mate. 'Tis too dangerous."
This time, it was who Shabako gave a long suffering sigh. "Be safe, Jack Sparrow. Until we meet again."
"We won't."
Robby and Shabako looked at him in surprise. He had said it firmly, leaving no room for argument, whatsoever.
"I can't risk someone following me and finding this place. The less I come here, the less chance there is of that happening."
"Then I wish you nothing but fruitfulness in your future ventures."
As Jack and Robby left, they heard whispers in the wind, "Thank you, Jack Sparrow."
Despite his fear of his uncertain future, he felt a bit better realising he secured 100 of them.
"And you incurred a heavy debt to raise her up again didn't you?" Beckett rolled his eyes and turned around, looking at Jack for the first time. "It's not here Jack."
"What? What isn't?" The pirate asked, spinning around. It had to be said, Jack was quite good at feigning ignorance.
"The heart of Davy Jones." Beckett said as if it were obvious. And it was. "It's safely aboard the Dutchman and so unavailable for you to use as leverage to satisfy your debt to the good captain."
— — — — — —
18th March 1715
— — — — — —
"Jack!"
Jack turned at the familiar voice. "Robby!" His friend was swimming quickly towards him. Judging by the ropes dangling from his arms, he had managed to cut himself free before diving. Jack did not share his foresight. "Yer a sight for sore eyes, Robert."
"Here." Apparently Robby had stolen a blade before escaping and he now used it to cut Jack free. "We must hurry if we have any chance of saving the Wench."
"No."
"What?"
Jack put a hand on Robert's shoulder, using the other to keep himself afloat. "You're free. Go. Find that treasure ya have buried on the mainland. Find that land of yours and that wife. Have your three rapscallions and don't you falter in naming one after me."
Tears were glimmering in both of their eyes but Robert was the only one of the two to let them fall.
"Jack, come with me."
Both knew Jack would never do such a thing. He'd lived on the sea since birth. That wasn't about to change.
"You're a good friend and the best First Mate a man could ask for."
"This won't be the last I hear about you? You won't die?"
"You'll be hearing the name Captain Jack Sparrow for years to come."
"Good." He hugged his friend before he began to swim away. "Thank you, Jack."
As Robby swam towards the mainland Jack realised that from this point on, he was by himself.
With that in mind, he began climbing the side of the ship, doing his best to avoid the burning wood and canvas.
It looked like Jack's rendition of hell. The main deck was beginning to turn to ash under his feet as the mast creaked, the base weakened.
Jack made a beeline for the water buckets at the port side of the deck, thinking the ship may be salvageable if he doused the flames. But the measly quantities of water were nothing next to the roaring flames that had now engulfed the front of the ship. When he peered over the edge and noticed the hull blackening, he realised the most he could do was get his belongings and get off the ship.
He rushed across deck, water splashing beneath his feet. He slammed the door to his cabin open with so much force that it bounced back as he slipped past.
Jack pulled out the three chests of his belongings from under his bed but quickly realised he'd only be able to escape with one.
Opening the biggest one revealed spare clothes and a coin purse. He took out everything bar a spare shirt, trousers, pair of boots, all of his (5) bandannas and the money. It wasn't enough for the long term but it was enough for him to get by for some time.
Jack then perused the second, finding the tribute he had earned around 6 years ago from the Battle Outside the Devils Triangle: a pistol, a cutlass, an assortment of beads, a reindeer shin bone and his tricorne hat. He donned the pistol and cutlass, threw the hat on his head and shoved the rest of the things in the first chest.
He knew what was in the last chest before he opened it. At first it just looked like a bunch of navigational tools - compasses, maps and other items. But the map on the top was the one he used to create the plan to liberate the slaves on Kerma. And enfolded in it was his compass. The one that pointed at what you wanted most. He took the compass but forwent the map, taking a smaller, uninked one.
By now the water had engulfed his bed and the chests were floating. He snapped the lid shut just before the water got into the chest.
Scanning the floating contents of the room, Jack realised there was nothing left for him there and swam towards the door.
He took a deep breath and ducked underwater, grasping at the handle and pulling.
It didn't budge.
Letting go of the chest for the moment, he took the handle in both hands and, pushing off from the wall, tried again. There was too much water.
His lungs began to burn so he resurfaced and discovered his lungs weren't the only thing burning. The ceiling of his cabin was aflame and was slowly falling. In a panic, Jack realised he only had two options: burn or drown.
Or...
Jack wasted no time. He immediately began whispering, "Davy Jones...I, Jack Sparrow, kin of a Pirate Lord, call you. I entreat you by your alliance with the Brethren Of the Court. You gave those mortals power over the sea, binding the queen in her bones, and I am of their blood. I entreat you. Come to me, Davy Jones. I summon you. I summon you. I summon you."
As he recited, the water climbed higher, embracing his shoulders, his neck, his head.
Jack held his breath, looking through the water for a sign of the cursed Captain.
But there was nothing.
Even after everything he had done and been through, he was going to die.
'Not without a fight.'
He swam closer to the door and tried pulling again. It still didn't move.
Jack could feel himself going numb and black was creeping into his vision.
There was no point in wasting the little energy he had left. Hoisting himself on to the chest, Jack struggled to hold his breath. How long had he been under the water?
That was his last thought before he blacked out.
"Yer nae a Pirate Lord!"
Jack was thrown on to the deck of a ship, coughing violently to get the water out of his system.
Thud!
The noise was the sound of Jack's chest of belongings being thrown next to him, not that he noticed. He was too busy greedily swallowing as much air as he aching lungs would allow.
After what seemed like the longest of moments, he no longer felt like he was being strangled and he stood, finding himself face to face with a tentacled monster.
It only disturbed him slightly; he had met this man twice before.
Perhaps, when he was a mortal man, Captain Davy Jones had looked more...appealing. But now he resembled a cephalopod: tentacles for his beard and one of his arms, a claw for the other. His beard squelched as it wriggled around and Jack couldn't help but scrunch his nose in disgust.
"Who are ya and why did ye summon meh?"
Standing tall to exude the confidence he currently lacked, he said, "My name is Captain Jack Sparrow...sir."
"Sparrow?" Jones repeated, his accent rolling the 'r's as well as his trying for a dramatic effect.
'I get it. You're Scottish. Move on.'
"Ahh. Now I remember ye! Yer Teague's whelp, aren't ye?" This question made Jack scowl, consequently making Jones laugh. The Captain of the Flying Dutchman quickly became serious as he asked, "And we met before that, didn't we? When you was travelling with that posh laddie, ainnit?"
Jack closed his eyes against the memory of the "posh laddie" Davy Jones spoke of, especially the betrayal that immediately followed their first meeting with Davy Jones. He sighed before he opened his eyes again. "That's me."
"So, I'm sure ye have a good reason from summoning meh, correct? To postpone the final judgement, no doubt."
"Yes and no." The answer earned Jack a bewildered look from Jones. "I'm aware of your normal deal 'postpone the judgement and serve aboard the Dutchman for 100 years' and that's all well and good, Davy (I can call you Davy, right?) but I have yet to live my life. Fulfil my ambitions, so to speak."
Jones didn't look too happy. "No man wants to die before he truly lives his life but he cannae control it."
"But you can."
This was very risky. Jones was not a variable that could be measured yet that's exactly what Jack did, searching the squid like Captain intently.
"You can extend a mortal man's life for 100 years to serve on the Dutchman so why can't you extend my life so I can continue it?"
"Get to the point, Sparrow."
This was it. His last chance.
"Bring back my ship from the depths and make it faster than any other ship on the sea. Let me Captain it for a few years. Then I will return the favour and serve aboard the Flying Dutchman for 100 years."
Jack's world seemed to freeze as a beard-tentacle began rubbing Jones' chin in consideration. The roar of the sea was silent next to the fierce drumbeat of his heart.
He didn't waiver, however. He looked Davy Jones in the eye, back straight: the image of confidence.
"13 years." Jones muttered before repeating it louder. "I'll give ye 13 years as Captain. I'll bring yer ship back as ye requested and once yer time is up..." Davy Jones leered, "you'll serve meh."
There was a wicked laugh which was so sudden, Jack took a reflexive step backwards. What he forgot was the fact that his chest of belongings was behind him. He tripped, his head smacking the deck.
Everything went black.
The next time Jack awoke, he could smell ash.
He was no longer on the decrepit deck of the Flying Dutchman.
His head throbbed in time with his heart as he stood to gauge where the cursed sea captain had deposited him.
The ship he was on was eerily familiar. It took Jack a bit of roaming before the realisation punched him in the gut.
He was on the Wicked Wench.
He swallowed before carefully inspecting every part of the ship, from the brig to the Captain's cabin.
Jones had raised his ship, alright, and it wasn't in pieces. But Jack felt uneasy. It wasn't completely unmarred.
Soot and burns surrounded him, gashes through the sails: A vivid reminder of what had happened.
"I need to get a better look." Jack mumbled, glancing at the setting sun.
He climbed the rigging slowly (thankfully it didn't snap) and looked down at his ship.
Unfortunately, he had been so slow and hesitate when making his ascent that the sun had set completely. Any part of the ashen ship below the crow's nest was invisible against the black sea and sky.
"An invisible ship?" Jack repeated aloud. His eyes widened as an image of an ebony ship sailing the night-time waters appeared in his mind.
He patted side of the crow's nest with an eager grin. "I think it's time for a makeover, my pearl." If possible his grin grew wider. "My Black Pearl."
"By my reckoning, that account has been settled." Jack said, wandering across the office to inspect a picture of Beckett.
"By your death? And yet...here you are."
"Close your eyes and pretend it's all a bad dream. That's how I get by."
— — — — — —
31st March 1715
— — — — — —
Jack wasn't sure whether to thank Davy Jones or curse him to his own damn Locker. The cephalopod Captain had brought Jack's ship back, far from the main land so Beckett, or any man who had been posted guard, would see he had survived.
But, there wasn't a piece of land in sight and Jones had conveniently forgotten to mention where he had deposited Jack. So between sailing a ship that needed 6 men by himself and updating his navigational charts to find out where he was, there was no way he would have noticed the storm before.
It started with a splatter of rain, that made the lone man look up from his task of knotting ropes. With an assortment of curses, Jack ran below deck to batten down the hatches.
The seas became violent in their rocking and Jack stumbled around deck; not because he was feeling dizzy. Rather it was the fact that he was trying to do several jobs at once.
The storm wasn't a normal storm. It was violent as if the sea was angry that he didn't drown and so was trying to rectify the problem.
Now, Jack had sailed through many a storm throughout his life. Hell! He was born in a typhoon! But every single time, he had other crew members to help keep the course and take shifts so the men on duty could rest.
He stood at the helm, soaked through, wishing he hadn't sent Robby away.
Even the safety lines were of little help, the weakest of the breezes threatening to send him into the sky like his namesake.
"I give up!" He yelled into the sky, 6 hours after the storm began. There wasn't any point in trying to maintain a course when he didn't know where he was going, anyway. He practically teleported to his cabin, locking the door and changing into dry clothes.
Face first in his pillow, he chanted, "It's all just a bad dream. When ya wake up, everything will be fine. All just a bad dream."
He must have fallen asleep during his self-reassurances because when he awoke, the sun was creeping over the horizon.
The deck was covered in water but, beyond the original damage, there was nothing wrong.
Jack slowly huffed a breath. "Looks like yer awake, Jack." He said to himself. The ship bobbed in the water without moving from its place. He patted the mast of the ship. "It was just a bad dream."
With a staff in hand, he imitated the picture, thinking, 'And they call me self-obsessed.'
"Your good deed cost me, Jack." There was a bitterness in Beckett's voice. But Jack wasn't having that. A man like Beckett had no reason to complain.
"And you have spared me any possibility of ending up anything other than what I am." Jack reminded him darkly. "And for that, I truly thank you."
— — — — — —
18th March 1715
— — — — — —
Jack critically analysed the room for every possible exit.
They had been caught. Immediately after leaving Kerma, Jack and Robby had taken the Wench to New Avalon and left the drugged crew behind at the port, just as they were beginning to regain consciousness.
"They'll be fine, Jack." Robby had reassured, hand on Jack's shoulder as the land vanished behind the horizon.
Jack had just sighed.
For months, the two fugitives were on the move. They only ever made port when they needed supplies and they bought the bare minimum to make their minimal coin last as long as possible. They never slept at the same time. While one man slept, the other kept watch in the night. Only sleeping every other day was starting to take its toll on them. Steering the ship was already difficult enough due to the lack of crewmen.
So, inevitably, 6 months in, they made a mistake.
They anchored themselves near a small spit of land far away from any populated islands and decided to take advantage of the isolation and get some extra sleep.
The first sign something was amiss was when Jack heard thudding on the main deck. He yawned and squeezed his eyes to push the sleep from them.
"Robby? Everything alright?"
He heard muffled yelling in response.
"What?!"
The words that followed gave Jack a feeling akin to being plunged in icy water.
"They found us! Jack!"
Jack had wasted no time in leaping from his bunk and storming out onto the main deck. The last thing he remembered was looking around for Robby and hearing him yell "Look out!" before he was hit over the head and blacked out.
Now he sat in the Captain's cabin of another ship, after spending months in a prison cell. He had no idea what kind of ship he was on because when they brought him aboard, they covered his head. There was no light apart from the fire in the fireplace, which crackled away tirelessly. He was sat facing towards a desk, the door behind him.
Speaking of which, it opened, creaking ever so slightly. Once it had been shut, footsteps crossed the room until the owner came into Jack's line of vision. Beckett tutted at his prisoner and sat opposite.
Deliberately, he opened a draw, without even acknowledging Jack's presence. Beckett pulled out a piece of parchment and opened it, before reading,
"'To Mr Cutler Beckett,
The crew that was due to arrive with my cargo this month, however lacked the actual cargo. There is no sign of Captain Sparrow, his First Mate or their ship.
It is with deep regret that I inform that due to the fact I haven't received the cargo I was expecting, I will not be able to get you the title of Lord.
Sincerely,
Viscount Penwallow.'"
Beckett finally looked at Jack, his expression unreadable. "That was your chance to redeem yourself, Captain. And you threw it away for what exactly?"
"People aren't cargo." Jack replied smoothly.
Beckett made a non-committal sound before getting up to stand by the fire.
"I have given you many opportunities since you began to sail under the EITC colours. I was advised against letting Bainbridge hire the son of a pirate as his First Mate. Again when I made you Captain. I ignored them and look where that's got me."
"Well, it's hardly my fault, is it?"
Beckett turned and advanced towards Jack, who had been trying to discreetly pull his arms out of the ropes tying him to the chair.
"What is your fault is the fact that I will not receive my title. You have set my progress back by several years."
"Again, technically your fault." Jack flashed him a smile. He dropped his usual fake English accent. It was now heavy with the mixture of accents he had incorporated into his speech over the years. "So now that that's been cleared up, any chance of you letting me and my mate go?"
Beckett chuckled. "You're a charming man, Jack. I'll give you that." The smile dropped from his face. "But I cannot let such a transgression go unpunished."
As if on cue, Mercer, Beckett's right hand man, walked in and made a beeline for the crackling fire. When he turned, Jack's eyes widened at the sight of a glowing red branding iron, with a 'P' on the end.
"You'll hang at dawn."
"What's the point of branding me if yer gunna kill me soon?" Jack asked, fear creeping into his voice as the branding iron inched closer and closer.
Beckett smiled. A genuine, horrible smile. "So that in your last moments you will realise that, despite your best efforts, you will die as you were born and have lived: as a pirate."
After that point was the smell of burning flesh and the sounds agony that escaped him.
— — — — — —
5th April 1715
— — — — — —
The first island Jack found turned out to be a little island not far from Tortuga. As his ship neared, Jack thought about turning to the pirate port. If anyone on this island discovered the brand Beckett kindly gave him, he'd lose his head. Literally.
The fact that he had no food, rum or fresh water left was the only reason he docked his ship. He would grab enough supplies to last him the two week trip to Tortuga.
Jack changed into his cleaner clothes and, after some consideration, tied the red bandanna Esmeralda gave him around his head.
He then tied a piece of scrap fabric around the brand. Hopefully, he could play it off as an injury.
When he was sure he looked like a common sailor, he disembarked his ship and made way for the market.
His chest tightened as he tried to act inconspicuous. It felt like everyone was staring at him, waiting for him to betray himself.
To his relief, he purchased everything without raising suspicion. One vendor had asked about the cloth around his forearm. "Got caught in the storm and the wind knocked me down. I must've cut myself on something." Jack was thankful for the fact that he often used "gentleman's English" when in the service of the EITC. The less he acted the part of a pirate, the less likely someone would catch on.
There was only one thing left for him to purchase before he could begin his journey to Tortuga: fruit. He hadn't had anything of the like in weeks and the last thing he wanted was to get ill when sailing a ship by himself.
After selecting what ones he wanted and paying the appropriate amount, the fruit vendor packed it up and put it in a basket to make it easier for Jack to carry back down to the port.
"Thank you." Jack said, grabbing it and placing it on the ground. He still had to replace the change in his money purse.
But as he pulled his hand away, the cloth came off.
Jack watched it in slow motion.
The cloth snagged on a splinter on the basket. It was a thin strip of cloth so it slowly teared in half until was no longer wrapped around Jack's arm. As it fluttered away in the wind, the ends flapped in farewell before disappearing.
Jack was so busy watching the cloth vanish into the distance, he forgot he had an audience.
"Pirate!"
"Hey! Keep it down, mate. I've been like any of yer other customers."
"Pirate!" The vendor shrieked again.
Seeing he was getting nowhere trying to placate the man, he shoved the chain into the basket, picked the basket up and ran around the corner as the island's law enforcement arrived at the fruit stand. He didn't stop. as he ran back towards his ship, some of the locals saw the flash of the brand on his arm. Slowly, everyone took up the fruit vendor's cry.
"Pirate! There's a pirate!"
"Oi, there he is!"
Jack didn't notice he had slowed down until he saw three of the local law enforcers in his path. He jumped nimbly on to a pile of crates and from there hopped on to the roofs of the buildings. He stopped listening and just focused on getting to his ship.
Later, when the island was a speck in the distance, Jack looked down at the brand. With it, there was no chance of honest work.
A red flag appeared in his mind's eye as he remembered the rogue pirates and the reason he tried to get away from that life.
But then he remembered Beckett's smug face as Jack writhed and screamed under the red hot branding iron.
"I'm a pirate, am I?" He said. His eyes narrowed as he promised, "Then I'll be the best bloody pirate to sail the sea."
— — — — — —
20th May 1715
— — — — — —
Jack smiled to himself from the shadows, watching as an old accomplice of his, Hector Barbossa, looked around for him.
"Sparrow! I've got no time fer yer games, lad."
"I think you'll find, I'm no longer a lad." Jack glided out of his hiding place, throughly enjoying the look of shock on Barbossa's face.
After his declaration, Jack had retreated to his cabin and made some changes to his appearance, and, once he had made port in Tortuga, made some changes to his ship as well.
He now stood before Barbossa a completely different man.
His hair was no longer tied back, but instead a mixture of his natural dreadlocks, braids, and loose hair. Beads of all kinds adorned it. A bone was also tied to his hair, a stark contrast to his dark brown hair. Wrapped around his head was his beloved red bandanna, and over the top was a string of more beads with a coin at the end.
His dark eyes were outlined with kohl, making them glow in the low light.
To top it off was his tricorne hat.
He walked forward with a confident strut, swishing his hips and swinging his arms.
"I was wondering if you could help me attain a crew for my new ship."
Barbossa looked at him in amusement. He had obviously gotten over the shock of Jack's new appearance. "And what ship would that be?"
Jack pointed at the ship at the end of the deserted port.
It was a beautiful ebony ship, with matching black sails. At the top was a pirate flag. It had the usual skull and crossbones but with beads on one side and red bandanna on its head. And if you looked carefully enough, you could see the silhouette of a sparrow in the corner.
Jack leaned towards Barbossa and whispered with a smile in his voice.
"I give you...the Black Pearl."
"Will someone be in soon to draw you a bath?" The captain joked, for the conversation had gotten far too serious for his liking. He picked up one of the model ships and inspected it.
"We can't all be gallivanting over the globe all year. Someone must ensure that the world turns properly. Give the people what they love. And what they love... is cargo. They love spices, and linens, and silks, and plantains. And as long as it is delivered on time and in sufficient supply, they are content to be nothing more than figures on a ledger."
Jack was more concerned with looking around and prodding as many of Beckett's possessions as he possibly could.
"You're a clever man, Jack. You know I'm right."
"If you're offering me a seat on the Board, I'm not even depraved enough nor drunk enough to accept."
"Or then, perhaps you'll consider an alternative arrangement. One which requires absolutely nothing from you but information." Beckett handed him a piece of eight and Jack could hear it ringing. The call of the Brethren.
"Regarding the Brethren Court, no doubt. In exchange for fair compensation... square my debt with Jones,... guarantee my freedom?"
"Of course. It's just good business."
How Jack hated that phrase. How many times had that been the answer or excuse? Too many.
"Were I...in a divulgatory mood, what then might I divulge?"
"Everything." Beckett's voice lowered to a whisper as if there was someone else who may be listening in. "Where are they meeting? Who are the Pirate Lords? What is the purpose of the nine pieces of eight?"
"I think I prefer to maintain my monopoly on those answers." Jack said, slyly, as if about to deliver the punchline of a fantastic joke. "Just good business, y'know?"
Beckett poured himself a drink and was about to take a sip as he said, almost disgustedly.
"You haven't changed."
— — — — — —
22nd August 1714
— — — — — —
Jack sniffed the glass of wine a passing server had handed him. It wasn't that he didn't like wine. He just preferred the burn and potency of rum.
He then made a raspberry noise with his lips. He was currently at an EITC party that was mandatory for all Captains who were docked. Jack knew it was no coincidence that it was held while he was at port. He wished his First and Second Mate had been allowed but they weren't ranked high enough.
So far he had spoken to 6 other Captains, 2 Lords and Viscount Penwallow, whom he had just escaped.
"I'll greet Beckett and be on me way." Jack mumbled, taking a sip. Then he spied a distinctive pair of cold eyes.
Ian Mercer.
And where there was Mercer, Beckett wouldn't be far away.
Speak of the Devil.
He found Beckett speaking to Viscount Penwallow which made Jack groan loudly, earning concerned and offended looks from those nearby.
Jack took a deep breath and approached the two men.
"Mr Beckett, sir. Viscount Penwallow."
"Captain Sparrow! I was worried you had left. I hadn't finished telling you of the renovations we are making in New Avalon."
Jack smiled tiredly. "I wouldn't think of missing it."
Thus Jack had to stand there listening to the Viscount. By listening, it meant zoning out of the conversation, only regaining focus to give a well-placed comment. At one point as Jack hid a yawn behind the facade of having another sip of wine. He locked eyes with Beckett, who was smiling, amused at the bored Captain's attempts to be polite.
After far too long, the Viscount apologised ("It's getting rather late.") and Jack was perhaps a little too eager in getting rid of him ("No no! Don't worry. We aren't offended whatsoever.")
When Penwallow was out of earshot, Beckett chuckled. "Bored, Jack?"
"Terribly so. I am far too sober to be enjoying myself."
"Another drink will medicate that problem." Beckett waved at one of the servers to take Jack's empty glass and replace it with a full one.
As Jack began to drink, one of the Captains approached them. Jack recognised him as Captain Morrison.
"Sir, Captain Sparrow."
"Ah! Captain Morrison. You made port just yesterday, did you not?"
"Yes, sir. Just before the Wench." He then gave a leering smile in Jack's direction. "I was curious, Captain, how you sail so quickly with so much cargo?"
"That's the beauty of my ship, Morrison." Jack replied, watching the other man carefully.
"So humble. No ship could go that fast without some help. It would benefit the EITC greatly if all of the ships were as quick as you."
"And when Mr Beckett requests I give up my secrets, then you will find out."
Beckett was watching the conversation, thoroughly entertained. Morrison was becoming aggravated, his subtle hints losing their subtlety. Jack was completely unfazed, answering without giving away anything, whatsoever.
Morrison left in frustration. Jack grinned, getting another drink.
"Enjoy the gallows."
"I've been." Jack replied, referring to the day Will liberated him from the gallows of Port Royal. He took Beckett's drink and sauntered to the other side of the room. "Once you've taken in the view, there's not much else to it." He swallowed the small glassful all at once before smirking, the tell-tale sign he was up to something. "Now, far be it for me to give advice to you: But if I were me, and you were you, we'd each have the same lack of trust in the other." He paused, partially for effect, partially for Beckett to catch-up.
"Imagine you're me. You being me would propose than rather than you telling me, being you, where the Brethren Court is meeting, you'd lead me there instead. Whereupon, you could serve up to me the Pirate Lords, the nine pieces of eight, and the whole of the Brethren Court on a silver platter. And you being me...I would likely accept such an offer if I were you. Savvy?" His gold tooth sparkled like the glint in his eyes.
Beckett huffed a laugh before asking, "On a silver platter?"
"With a frilly linen napkin and a spicy banana on the side."
Beckett shook his head at the pirate. He sat at his desk and watched as Jack found a Chinese fan and began fluttering it.
"You can keep Barbossa." The Black Pearls' Captain declared. "The belligerent homunculus and his friend with the wooden eye, both. And Turner." Jack's voice became low as he thought about the filthy betrayer. "Especially Turner."
"And what becomes of Miss Swann?" Beckett asked, no doubt noticing she had been left off the list of Jack's prominent members.
Jack stopped and, putting his hands on the desk, leaned forward. "What interest is she to you?" His voice was level but the flash of anger in his black eyes were enough to deter Beckett from saying anything other than "Hmmm."
Suddenly calm, Jack told Beckett, "The rest go with me aboard the Pearl and I will lead you to Shipwreck Cove. Bloody fair deal, d'you think?"
"Jack. I've just recalled." The Lord stood up and walked across his cabin.
'Of course he has.' Jack mentally grumbled.
"I've got this wonderful compass which points to whatever I want." He pulled it out and dangled it just out of its owner's reach. "So for what do I need you?" He challenged.
"Points to the thing you want most." Jack said matter-of-factly. "And that is not the Brethren Court, is it?"
"Then what is, Jack?"
"Me!" After a moment of consideration, Jack realised what it sounded like and, while he had reason to believe he wasn't wrong, he quickly backtracked "...Dead."
— — — — — —
29th July 1714
— — — — — —
Jack whistled as he picked up the rolled up canvas to take below deck. They were at port for a month so that they could transport Viscount Penwallow's cargo when it arrived. No need for the canvas to undergo unnecessary damage. Better to store it away until it was needed.
There was no crew on the ship. So long as they returned to start preparations, Jack had given them freedom to do as they pleased. So, naturally, when he heard the sound of a gun cocking on his isolated ship, Jack wasted no time in dropping the canvas and ducking.
He felt the whoosh of the bullet just over his head. When he turned around, he saw, "Mercer?!" Jack frowned at Beckett's right hand man. "What the bloody hell is wrong with you?"
Mercer snarled and shot again. Instinctively, Jack spun around to avoid the bullet. "Ahh! I haven't had enough rum for this!"
Mercer kept shooting until he ran out of bullets. Jack thought maybe he would calm down but, without a word, Mercer pulled out his sword and swung at Jack's lower half.
The Captain jumped and pulled out his cutlass. He wasn't going to die at the hands of a mad man.
Their blades clashed again and again and again. Sometimes Mercer would have the upper hand and sometimes it would be Jack.
'Not for long.'
Jack let Mercer back him up next to some barrels that sat to he side. A swift kick unlodged them and another kick made them charge in Mercer's direction.
Whilst the man was busy avoiding the rolling barrels, Jack grabbed the rigging overhead and climbed.
Jack wasn't the Captain of one of the fastest ships in the sea for nothing. He was in the crow's nest within mere moments of beginning his ascent.
Mercer, who had finally conquered the barrels, looked around in confusion for his opponent.
"Oi! Nutjob! Up here!" His yelling attracted Mercer's attention as intended and his dark eyes watched as Mercer sheathed his sword before beginning the climb.
'I've gotta get that sword away from him if I want any chance of leaving this ship alive.'
Hoping he was still as agile as his 18 year old self, Jack jumped down, clutching the flag rope to slow his fall. When he was close enough, he pulled Mercer's sword away and kicked the other man in the back.
Mercer fell to the main deck; he hadn't been too far up so it didn't cause much harm. However, Jack had successfully disarmed the threat.
Holding Mercer's own sword against his throat, Jack said (with mild amounts of hysteria) "What on the Seven Seas is wrong with you!?"
Mercer didn't reply. Instead, Jack heard clapping coming from the ship docked next to his. He had thought there was no one aboard but it seemed he was mistaken. He hesitated to turn. He didn't want to risk Mercer using it as an opportunity to kill him. The man was smirking as if Jack was the butt of a joke. That made Jack uneasy. He was used to being the one who made the joke.
"You can let him go, Captain Sparrow." Jack jumped and turned his head to see Cutler Beckett on the deck of the neighbouring ship. He stopped clapping. "He will no longer try to attack you."
Jack obeyed, returning the sword to its owner, his other hand over his cutlass, just in case.
"That, sir, begs the question of why he felt it necessary to attack me in the first place."
He had to wait, as Beckett disembarked from the other ship and boarded the Wicked Wench.
"You may go, Mercer." The man nodded at Beckett and Jack. Jack made an affronted face when he saw a glimmer of amusement in Mercer's emotionless eyes. "I wanted to see how you would react to such an ambush."
"Like any other man who doesn't want to die a sudden death?" Jack enquired, deciding to continue his chores alongside the conversation. He began folding the canvas again.
"However, most men have had formalised lessons in the art of combative etiquette. As the son of a pirate, I highly doubted you had something equivalent."
It was times like this where Jack sincerely wished he could punch Beckett in the face take the Wench and sail off towards the horizon. In those two sentences, Beckett slyly bought up Jack heritage and try to faze Jack with language he thought "the son of a pirate" would find difficult to understand.
What Beckett didn't realise about that last thing was, as he was not only the son of a pirate but the only son of the Keeper of the Code, Jack had to be able to understand such complex language.
With ease, he remarked, "Of course not. Instead of simulated fights where the outcome is predetermined, I learned through experience."
Jack shot him a disarming smile, taking the canvas below deck. Beckett followed him, only momentarily deterred.
Jack continued. "When your life is threatened, etiquette will only serve to kill you faster. No pirate cares about whether or not you're distracted by something. They are willing to stab or shoot you when your back is turned. So, accordingly, you must be able to react at the moment."
"An interesting analysis, Captain."
"I try." With the canvas securely stored, Jack pulled out cleaning supplies to scrub the deck. It would make scrubbing it at the time of departure easier if it had been done once beforehand. He was starting to get miffed when Beckett refused to move out of his way.
"And what do you use, Jack? To shift odds into your favour."
"Common sense." Jack drawled, panting as he furiously worked at the floor. "It seems to escape most people in battle."
"Perhaps, when you have a longer shore-stay, you may teach me how to hone "common sense" in battle."
Jack chuckled. "Sure. If you can ever get me to stay longer than a week."
"You're staying for a month, now."
"Whoever said that I would confine myself to land, willingly, for 4 weeks? Even if it means taking some time away in a rowboat."
Beckett took a deliberate step in Jack's way. "I have been told I can be quite...persuasive."
Jack analysed the situation; himself, on his hands and knees in front of Beckett, who stood tall and proud. He didn't like it.
Abandoning the cleaning stuff, he stood, instantly at ease when he towered above the short man.
"I'm sure you are." He said, vaguely, before turning on his heel and disappearing into his cabin.
— — — — — —
17th July 1716
— — — — — —
"Back to the Pearl!" The crew cheered as they rampaged through the streets to their ship. They had just finished another successful and bountiful raid. They heeded their Captain's commands, galloping towards the Black Pearl, their arms teeming with gold and jewels.
Jack was in a similar position to his crew in that his arms were full of treasure but something made him stop in his tracks. A poster tacked up against the wall of the church in the town.
'I'll look at it later.' He thought, grabbing it with his teeth and resuming his dash to freedom.
Whilst the treasure was being counted for distribution, Jack sat in his cabin, laughing.
The poster he had snatched was a wanted poster, issued by none other than Cutler Beckett.
It had two images; one was his official EITC portrait that was made upon receiving the title of Captain, the other was someone's artistic rendering of what he looked like now.
It didn't look much like him.
What made it even funnier to Jack was the fact that he knew, Beckett knew it bore little resemblance to him but chose to use it anyway.
Still chuckling, he took a swig of rum. "You must really want me dead."
Beckett opened the compass and, indeed, found it pointing at Jack. To prove his point, Jack pranced to the side, grinning in delight when he noticed the creases in Beckett's brow. That meant that the needle had followed him. He pranced to the opposite side, just because he was enjoying the slow frustration building on the lord's face.
"Damn." Beckett muttered, snapping it closed. He threw it at Jack who snapped the fan shut and threw it at Beckett in response. "Although..." Beckett began fanning himself as he made a consideration. "It occurs: if I got what I wanted most, then wouldn't what I wanted second-most, become the thing I wanted most? So if I kill you, then I can find Shipwreck Cove, is it...?" Jack winced, realising he had unwittingly given away a piece of the coveted information. "...on my own." He pulled out a small pistol and aimed between Jack's eyes. "Cut out the middle man. As it were. Literally." He came closer which pushed Jack into the desk behind him. But the pirate wasn't deterred, moving forward confidently.
"And with me killed, you'd arrive at the Cove, find it a stronghold nigh impregnable; able to withstand blockade for years." Their positions were now reversed. Jack towered over Beckett and he leered. "Then you'd be wishing, 'Oh, if only there were someone I had not killed inside to ensure that the pirates then come outside.'"
Beckett had yet to move his pistol.
"And you can accomplish all this, can you?"
"You may kill me but you may never insult me...Who am I?"
Jack's eyes widened as Beckett failed to answer.
Memories swarmed his mind - of standing at the helm of the Misty Lady at the tender age of 4, giggling as he swung the wheel of the stationary ship - a 12 year old who's violent sickness was only cured by the smell of the sea and the rocking of the ship - a 16 year old consulting the Pirata Codex, to justify running away and commandeering a fishing boat called the Barnacle with a few other kids his age - calling out for the Butcher of the Sea in the crow's nest, earning the name Sparrow, and saving the pirates at the age of 18 - writing his name with the title he longed for again and again in the back of the Captain's log after Bainbridge died when he was 24 - commanding the crew of the Black Pearl for 2 years - the years of insisting that he was to be called by his title, long after he had been mutinied upon.
Like Beckett he had longed for a title. Had worked for it all his life and clutched it tight when he earned it.
His dark eyes found Beckett's blue ones as he declared,
"I'm Captain. Jack. Sparrow."