Thank you, thank you, thank you to reviewers, Arquenniel, AKA Parfait, lynxlan, willabeth0906, Nicole Kazan, Telcontar Rulz!! I really appreciate all you have to say!
Chapter 14: First Clash
Will's head was kept high as he was escorted back on board the Waking Power. The two guards at his side shoved him towards the helm and never once did they loosen their vice-like grasp.
A knifing sensation filled his belly both from the abused gunshot wound and the overwhelming feeling of guilt.
"Turner, I believe you need to provide us with our heading." Hawthorne grinned sunnily. After all, this rebellious young man was on his ship for an unspecified amount of time and no restraints as to the youth's physical condition.
All his orders contained were that the pirate be captured. No particulars. No plan of action, besides using the blacksmith's knowledge. Just arrest him.
Will stared ahead icily, making a point to ignore the haughty captain.
"Need I remind you of what is at stake?" Hawthorne pointed a thin finger back to the Wood girls, being manhandled to the brig. "At any moment they could end up like their mother…and I'm sure you wouldn't want that."
Letting his gaze finally drop, Will swallowed uncomfortably. The three sister's lives could not be forfeit on his account. It was the right decision…but then why did it feel so wrong?
Jack was particularly content with the present situation. In one sooty hand he held a heavy bottle of rum, the thrumming wood of the Pearl's helm under his fingers, and the satisfaction of being Captain Jack Sparrow filling his veins.
The winds were perfect, the sea couldn't have been any bluer, and there wasn't a cloud in the sky.
The great vessel beneath him shifted under the breeze's caress and he unknowingly reallocated with it. A slight pressure of his fingers changed the course by a degree, adjusting to the ocean's patterns.
Everything was indeed faultless-a high pitched holler shattered the peace-or not. That voice he knew well…too well.
Sinking slightly, he closed his eyes and wished desperately to become part of the wood before him.
"Stupid, disobliging rope! Jack!" hurried footsteps approached.
Jack cracked one eye open and immediately stifled a rather unpleasant explicative that came to mind. Elizabeth, hair askew and eyes flaming with irritation, stomped forward, a coil of line in her hand.
"This ludicrous rope won't tie properly!"
"Love-"
"Are you saying it's my fault?!"
"No-"
"Jack! I can't believe you! Here I am doing my best to get to Will and you are disagreeable over how I tie off a line!"
"Lizzie-" He tried again. No such luck.
"Don't call me Lizzie!"
"Elizabeth-"
"What?!" she fairly roared.
"'ave you ever considered rum as an alternative to 'arrasing me crew?"
"Jack Sparrow!"
"Captain," Jack offered meekly but she apparently didn't hear him.
"How can you say that?! Will would never accuse me of such a thing!" Her eyes watered and suddenly she began to cry, quietly at the start then morphing into a full fledged sobs.
Jack, feeling remorseful at her distress, awkwardly took her in his arms only to be slapped full on the face. "Oi! Wot was that for?"
"You devious coward! Keep off me! I am not a strumpet! I'm not!"
"Elizabeth…love, bloody cool it."
"I'm so sorry, Jack." Her trembling hand traced the raised welt from where she had clouted him. "I'm so sorry…" her heartbroken sobs turned to hiccups. "I'm-hic- so sor-hic-ry..."
Wordlessly, Jack decided that she was overworked and that Will really owed him a good lot of rum when this was over. He took her quivering hand and led her to his cabin. Surprisingly, she was docile and did not even speak…save for the periodic hiccupping.
She was tucked into his thin cot and only when he spun to leave did she speak again, this time though he didn't think it was meant for his ears and the source of her anguish was made clear.
It was so softly spoken one could have missed it, "Will…" It was whimper of a woman lost in concern and misery. A woman worried for her livelihood, her child, and her husband.
Ah, Tortuga.
Home to the vagabonds of the Caribbean. Smoke, sweat, and rum's odor devoured the place, enveloping all inhabitants in its caustic stench.
Its dizzying streets were lined with dark alleyways, hooting pirates, and other filth. Laughter poured from the bars like the pungent and ever present stink. But it was not a truly mirthful sound.
It was the sound of intoxicated louts, the forced noise created by a rabble of heart-broken vagrants who had forsaken moral character. It was the clatter, jingle, and roaring of tramps.
And to Captain Hawthorne it was sweeter than any symphony.
He had not the men to overtake the haven, if it could be called that, but the sight of it filled him with a thrilling sort of capriciousness and instability.
The impulsive decision to do something solely because you wanted to…it was a most tempting thought.
"Captain?" A lackey questioned timidly, jumping when his superior turned. "Garret and Bradley couldn't find any sign of Sparrow."
Hawthorne's upper lip curled in disgust. "Bring Turner to me."
"Where is he?" The captain snarled.
Will knew precisely what information he wanted but acted ignorant just to irk the navy man. "Who?"
"Sparrow!"
"He's not here? Pity that…"
Hawthorne's face turned purple. "Your life is not the one at stake here, Turner, else you would be dead."
The threat did its work well.
Will's eyes narrowed, anger making them appear hard as steel. "He is a pirate. His paths are his own."
"Paths that you have traveled down, pirate."
The young blacksmith remained silent, averting his gaze.
"Turner, I am not like Colonel Edwards. I will hurt them if you do not oblige…and then again, I might hurt anyone because I am a cruel man. Yet, cruelty is all a matter of perspective." Captain Hawthorne grinned again, edging on lunacy with the brightness of it all.
Will looked at him as if for the first time. "You are worlds different than Edwards, I completely agree. He is intelligent whereas you are not."
"You push too far, Turner! Give me a heading or one of those brats in my brig will be dead by morning!"
Swallowing his rage, Will finally offered a new destination. "Try near San Juan."
Gibbs did not believe he was overly superstitious, in fact, he thought he was rather giving when it came to the supernatural and luck.
And to him, this day boded ill for all. It chilled his aching bones and sore muscles. The wind smelled of ruin and, if possible, foretelling sorrow.
The sea, too, was resistive under the Pearl's hull. It beat at the dark wood, as if telling her to flee.
Not only was the weather abnormal, the crew was eerily on edge. Jack was hunched in a corner reacquainting himself with a load of rum. Marty was obsessing over a simple knot. Elizabeth was mercifully sleeping in the Captain's cabin, but even that was odd for the pregnant woman.
The knowledgeable sailor faced his job with renewed trepidation. And that trepidation turned to crude fear with a dot on the horizon.
"Cap'n?"
Meetings with other ships this voyage had only produced more strife. Cringing, he watched as his captain mounted the steps to the main deck.
Gibbs couldn't find the words to tell Jack that another ship was fast approaching but instead nodded in its direction, expecting his superior to discover the heart of the problem.
Jack was silent at first, mulling over this new development in relative calm. But when the dam broke it broke completely. "Why doesn't the bloody King come and visit me hisself?" He stomped back down the stairs, howling at the crew.
Unfortunately, Elizabeth, face still groggy from slumber, appeared from the Captain's cabin.
"Gibbs?" she asked, one hand lying protectively over her womb.
"We have company, Miss Elizabeth."
Confusion wavered in her features for an instant until she caught sight of the approaching ship. "Who does she belong to?"
"Marty!" Gibbs bellowed. "What be her colors?"
"She's British!"
"Mary, mother a' God." Gibbs tightened his grasp on the Pearl's helm. "They've found us." He redirected his attention to Jack. "Cap'n, orders, sir."
Jack didn't move, frozen at the word British. Though, Gibbs knew better. His commander's conniving mind never ceased its schemes, whether it be getting out of the latest quandary with the Navy or how to perch his tricorn on his dreadlocked hair.
"Cap'n?"
"Ready the guns. We aren't gettin' out of this 'un wif'out a fight."
Gibb's couldn't have been more shell shocked if Davy Jones himself broke the ocean's surface next to the Pearl. "Cap'n?!"
"Run out the guns!" Elizabeth echoed, not fazed by the order.
Gibbs had often been surprised by the young woman's spunk and fire but this was almost too much to digest. Years of voyages beneath the jolly roger, however, kicked in and a business like efficiency took over his mind. "Do it, ya lazy curs!" He left the helm to Mr. Cotton and clumped down the stairs to the main deck, moving to aid Marty with an unmanned cannon.
They had fought the British before and they'd do it again. And if it was the last day he sailed on the Pearl then so be it but he wasn't going down to see ole Davy without a good fight.
Will knew the moment they were approaching the Pearl. For that was the moment he was dragged from the helm to below deck, Captain Hawthorne smiling smugly the entire time.
"I believe thanks are in order, Turner, our prize awaits us. A pity you cannot be a part of the welcoming party. I'll just have to make certain that they join you." He laughed dryly. "Come now, don't look so dismal. I'm sure they will be more than glad to see you, their betrayer."
A myriad of colorful insults flooded Will's mind but a word of advice bestowed on him years ago entered his mind as well and stayed his tongue. 'Wait for the opportune moment.'
"Ah, so I do not even receive a departing insult." He tsked. "No manners at all." Another chuckle filtered through the dank air in the brig, rumbling even after the Captain left.
The Pearl was an imposing figure with all sails extended to billow in the winds. Her sleek bow and obsidian hull sliced through the turbulent waters, prepared to meet her enemy head on.
The Waking Power's rounder figure gave her slower time but the strength within her build was not to be ignored. Her white canvas was let loose and she plowed forward, intent on destruction.
Light bounced off the weapons on both vessels attesting to the fact that these were deadly tools of war, unforgiving and harsh.
In minutes, the two mighty ships' paths crossed and in a roar the Pearl struck with hot iron first. Her massive bellow of cannon fire ripped into wood, flesh, and canvas.
Not to be outdone, the Waking Power threw her gun power into the fray, digging the opposing vessel's side. Her tone was even louder than the Pearl's, reverberating and whining with sheer potency.
Smoke enveloped the two combatants like a shroud and swallowed up all else save the flashes of molten metal, crackle of splintering wood, bloodcurdling screams, and death.
Will yanked at the shackles curbing his movements, disregarding the trio of sentries posted around his now locked cell.
The roar of battle filled his ears and with each dying shriek he felt his stomach twist into a tighter knot.
Frustrated at the craftsmanship that had formed the chains he pounded a fist onto the wooden flooring. He had expected at least one spilt, one tiny fracture, one miniscule fissure creeping across the steel like a strand from a spider's web, any weakness to be exploited. That was all he needed to pry the offending bonds off. But there was none. The work was flawless, whole and entirely unbreakable.
The guards had apparently noticed his increasing wrath and held their guns tighter, leveling the barrels and sights on his heart but slowly edging away from the bars as though he was some caged animal to be cowered at.
Everyone turned at the sound of thumping. A soldier burst past the base of the stairs and into the infinitesimal, soppy room containing the four cells, one of which imprisoned Will.
"Walters! Harrison! Private Walters requires you at the gun deck straight away." The pale man gasped, holding to the wall for support.
"But Captain Hawthorne-"
"He said to leave the prisoner!" the man paused for a deep breath, "Kerrigan will watch him! Hurry man!" he beckoned further with an impatient wave of his hand.
Shrugging and clearly eager to escape Will's presence they lifted their rifles and fled the room.
The messenger waited a moment for a few more quick gulps of air before he tramped up the stairs after them, leaving Will and 'Kerrigan' alone.
TBC...