Thanks to everyone who has reviewed! But I crave more.
Bill's eyes sunk at the mention of Barbossa.
"You do as you see best, Jack." He sat at the table in the galley of the Wench, still anchored and empty save for the captain and the mate.
"Now, mate, let me tell you why I made the decision I did, has nothing to do with your skill."
"It's not necessary," Bill said, holding up his hands. "You can't very well promise a pirate much less than first mate. We can consider ourselves lucky you didn't promise him the captain's position."
"Tis a position, not a bargaining chip," Jack agreed. "But I'd still like ye to be second mate."
"In the world of piracy, that could very well happen, you and he both taken out by some stroke of fate," Bill said, stroking his chin. "You need to keep an eye on this one, Jack. He's not a pirate for the same reason we all are. We all stood behind what ye did. This Barbossa, do we even know his story? Did ye talk to him at all?"
"Well, no, but it just so happens that he has a nifty little coin what resembles one of me own." Jack unclipped his Piece of Eight and set it down on the table, waiting for a reaction. Bill leaned his head forward and focused on the silvery piece on the black table.
"God's nightgown," he murmured.
"He can get us out of so many problems, Bill, you wait and see. It's like ye yourself said: we're all brand new pirates, knowin' nothing of the world. Well, I might have a few connections, but this man has been in the business for years and years. Why, one could call it the second oldest profession, piracy. With him a member of our crew, we'd be the most feared pirates this side of England, a true ship of buccaneers, the likes of which you've only read about until now. What say you to all that? Now, I know ye said you'd go back to Alice and what's his name…"
"How can you get the kid's name wrong after all this time? It's the same as mine. One thing's for sure, Jack, and that's that this Barbossa won't be monitorin' your drink intake like I do. Seems you've already hit the bottle pretty hard."
"William! See? I know what it is," Jack said. "Alice and William will miss having the great Bill Turner by their side, to be sure, but you're too involved now, mate. Make no mistake."
When the footsteps pacing on the deck came into earshot of the two, they hushed. Outside, Barbossa strolled the deck, his hand lazily draped over the rail, a slight limp shortening his stride. Jack and Bill watched him from the galley, their eyes following his route. The wind-blown, pocked face boasted more than just the beady eyes taking in the sight of the Wench. Somewhere underneath that massive, plumed hat slept well-oiled gears just waiting to be awakened.
"Mr. Barbossa," Jack called, stepping out. "If you'll meet me in my cabin, I'd like the first mate to know the exact course we will take."
"Somethin's tellin' me ye have no intention of goin' back for yer 'cargo,' Barbossa said. "So what be the captain's course?"
Jack unrolled the chart over the desk in his cabin, his face still. Barbossa peered at the contents. Along the Spanish territory of Mexico, an inked-in arrow pointed to a crude scribble of a chest on top of a small island off the coast of the chili pepper-shaped mass where it began to curve back up again. Barbossa squinted in order to make out the scratchy print next to it.
"Isla de Muerta," he breathed. "So, ye have an idea, do ye?"
"I'm quite offended you thought I didn't," Jack scoffed. "I don't know about you, but I rather like acquiring funds."
"Just…what do ye know about Isla de Muerta?" Barbossa asked, almost purring.
"Aztec treasure, mate, treasure enough to supply each man with their heart's desire and then some." It was an introduction Jack had been practicing for a while, and to say it in front of this pirate was too delicious to bypass.
"Aye, and ye don't fancy any of your East India Trading Company friends will follow ye?"
"Well, if they do…" he whispered. Barbossa nodded, a small heckle escaping from him.
XXX
The winds gushed over the solid black sails of the Wicked Wench, wailing like a banshee down a cobwebbed staircase. Jack wiped the cold rain drizzled down his face away from his eyes, picturing the warm glow of ancient treasure being hauled up into the hull of his ship with the sun shining overhead. Lightning flashed in front of him, followed by a roar of thunder, tuono, he remembered. A rose by any other name, he thought.
"Steady, boys!" he shouted down to the crew. "Tis but a sprinkling!"
Glancing up, he saw the clouds whirling by, shoved into each other by the unrelenting wind.
"Take heed, Jack. That's Charybdis up there, so help me!" Bill raced up to the deck, pointing to a shadow not far in front of them. Jack's mouth fell open at the sight of the maelstrom in front of them.
"Hard to starboard!" Barbossa shouted up to him, running up the steps, his eyes wild.
"I be belaying that, sir!" Jack yelled back. "We'll not be wanting to make any sudden moves." Taking his own advice, he let the wheel slowly turn on its own, catching it little by little, guiding it away from the maelstrom.
"We can still avoid it, Captain, provided we get away from its path now," Barbossa argued, edging closer to the helm. Even shouting, his voice could still barely be heard over the raging storm. "You'll have to turn faster than that!"
"Who's captain of this ship?" Jack thundered back. "Mr. Turner…" he trailed off, not sure just what he wanted from Bill.
"Captain's never steered us wrong before!" Bill answered, clinging to the railing of the ships, his feet almost slipping off the top stair that led to the helm.
"No, he just turned the lot of ye into pirates is all! Hard to starboard, Jack!"
Jack closed his eyes and snapped them back open. His arms strained at keeping the helm from spinning out of control. The ship made a slow, wide turn, still fringing on the opening of the maelstrom in front of them. Would be easier if Beckett had just followed and ordered us sunk, Jack thought. At least that would be a better story.
Sea water slammed onto the deck, knocking a few figures off their feet. Jack kept the same rhythm, blocking out all the cacophonous sounds surrounding him, blocking out even the icy water filling his boots. He wasn't sure if he heard someone state the obvious fact they were taking on too much water or if he just imagined it, but the chilly water rose up to his calves, the Wench finally gliding away from the overpowering whirlpool in front of them.
"Keep it up, Captain!" Bill called from the bottom stair, wading through the water to recover some of the men. Had it been lighter, Jack might have seen the arms and legs tumble around while the sea carried them off, but all he noticed was that considerably fewer men stood on deck than before.
"Now ye happy?" Barbossa blustered. "Lost half your crew and takin' on water!"
The Wicked Wench now a safe distance away from the maelstrom and distancing herself even more, she couldn't stop the water from rising up to the men's waists. Jack tightened his grip on the helm, ordering Barbossa to go down and see to the matter. So close to Isla de Muerta, Jack kept saying to himself. So close.
So many bodies floated in the water around him, and if nothing changed, his would join them, once again experiencing the mysterious swirls that came with being underwater for too long. But no arms would wrap him up and propel him to the surface or carry him into a warm house. No, even surrounded by panicked men, he was alone.
Next to the ship, the sea bubbled, churning like a boiling pot. The remaining men abandoned their work to take in the sight.
"Back to work! Get your arses back at once!" Jack ordered, but they didn't seem to hear him. Water rose up to their shoulders, but what lay under the water now held their undivided attention. A nauseating plunging sound echoed, followed by a ship clawing out of the water, so vertical it could have taken in a gasp of air. It looked to be made of bones and sea urchins, fused together in a hard, textured mess.
"We're done for," one of the men said.
"We're neither dead nor dyin' yet," Barbossa whispered to Jack and to Bill, who had just rejoined them, his mouth a trembling oval. "The Dutchman has no business here but to collect those already gone."
"So all the stories are true," Jack said.
"But seeing is believing as they say," someone said behind him. The three men turned around almost at the same time. A billowing array of green tentacles met their eyes. Above, just under a tri-cornered hat, a pair of human eyes narrowed at them. Shadowed by tentacles, water, and a large, obstructing lobster claw, it was impossible to tell where the creature's cartilage ended and its clothing began. Only a simple brown pipe in one of the tentacles brought about any sense of the familiar.
"Do ye men fear death?" Davy Jones asked, giggling to himself.
"Seeing as we're not dying, we're not at liberty to say," Jack said, taking a step forward. "Maybe you could point us in the direction of a nearby port, one that has a nice inn with a few pubs."
"Ye be the men on this sinking ship," Jones snorted. "I will bide my time unless any of ye say now yer willing to give me one hundred years at sea to avoid such a destiny."
"Tempt not a desperate man," Jack quoted. "Fly hence, and leave me; think upon these gone."
"Ye won't be shellin' out that drabble to me, sir!" Jones screamed, nearly body slamming Jack with how close he was. "Who do ye think ye are?"
Taking a breath, Jack tried to think. At last, he took off his hat and made an elaborate bow.
"Captain Jack Sparrow, not quite at your service."
The water long ago submerged the rest of the ship. Soon it would come up even higher and he, Bill, and Barbossa would most definitely be shanghaied into the Dutchman's crew. If Jack had bowed any lower, his face would have tasted the salt of the ocean.
"You're a little too far from land to be a sparrow," Jones mocked. "Perhaps you haven't yet learned to fly?"
"Now, Captain Jones, I might have yet to learn a thing or two about being a captain," Jack began, "but I know when one is being cheated such as you."
"Enough stalling! Agree to serve or die, simple as that."
"Ah, so then we agree simplicity is the best way to go, but I'm one to argue that simplicity mixed with quantity is a most irresistible marriage." The squid-man blinked, at least intrigued by what would be said next. "I have a measly crew, I'll be the first to admit. Not twenty men, I'd wager. Oh it's enough to man this ship, but it's not enough to really satisfy me, savvy?"
"I'd get to the point, Captain Sparrow. Time is of the essence," Jones said, noting the ever-rising water. Barbossa and Bill remained quiet, Bill quaking at the speaking figure in front of them who seemed latched onto the water, unable to be tossed by it.
"All I'm requesting is that ye spare me ship, resurrect it, if you will, and give me some time to establish myself. Already my name is legendary, but men still fear me. Ain't that true, Bill?"
"Oh, oh yes, Captain," Bill stuttered. "Word has it Captain Sparrow sacked Nassau Port without firing a shot. It's what made me want to sail with him."
Jack's chest swelled at that, wishing that was a true story. Well, if he survived this, no harm in spreading it around…but for the moment, he had to calm his heart from exploding in the presence of the devil of the sea.
"Ye see, mate," he said. "There'll be more sailors comin' my way, wantin' to sail your waters. Now how would it be if you collected me and all of them at a later date, eh?"
"You would sacrifice your entire crew to me, Sparrow?" Jones grimaced in disbelief. "I'd hardly believe you'd do such a thing."
"He would!" Barbossa said. "Captain here has brought out the cat on more than one occasion just for crewmen looking at him cock-eyed! Merciless, he is. The only reason I ain't showin' ye any scars is that the captain likes to make 'em in memorable places. But it be worth it. We's just on our way to collect an ancient treasure he was clever enough to discover the whereabouts of."
"How many men?" was all Jones asked.
"Excuse me?"
"How many men, Sparrow?"
"Oh, well, that depends on the allotted time now, doesn't it? Who knows? Given tomorrow, not many, maybe one or two more if I can scrounge some up. But fifty, sixty years from now…"
"Pirates don't live fifty years total, much less fifty more than where they are when I meet up with them. Five years and no more."
"Five? Surely you jest, mate," Jack laughed. "Five years may be a daydream to you, but to those of us who are mortal and lack gills, it's hardly enough time to make one's self a beloved leader with hundreds of followers."
"Hundreds? Why didn't ye say so? One hundred men, thirteen years. And, Sparrow, don't think I'll forget."
XXX
Jack opened his eyes, blinded by the yellow sun overhead. Still on the ship, he raced down the stairs to examine the ship. Not one hole, he marveled, even looked like it had a fresh paint job. The few survivors went about their work, scrubbing the deck and monitoring the nets thrown over the side for the fish. Most of them were shaking, a couple with a white stripe down their darker hairs on the top of their head.
"Well, ye did it," Barbossa said, approaching him with nostrils flaring. "Want to take a guess as to where we are?"
"Judging by the merry sunshine, I'd say we are not on the Flying Dutchman," Jack said back with the same tone. "I'd think you'd be a little more grateful I got us all out of such a mess. Jones may have wanted to see those scars in unmentionable places on you if he had more time with you."
"England! We're not a day's journey from England! You take that with whatever doldrums we may hit, it could take a year to reach Isla de Muerta."
"So we have something to do for a year." Inside, Jack grew hot with frustration. He remembered the deal he'd made, thirteen years with this ship, this ship that had always been in desperate need of a new name, one that really emphasized its unique beauty. "I don't think this genteel but formidable lady should be called a wench any longer, do you?"
"I'll tell ye, Jack, ye should be thankin' your lucky stars I'm aboard now," Barbossa said. "I think I may know somethin' about Isla de Muerta that you do not."
Before he could ask for clarification, Bill ran up to them.
"Jack! He sent us to England! Can you believe it? What odds. Jack, request permission to stop in England for a day, just a day. It's time to see the wife and the little one."
"We're talking right now, Bill," Jack scolded.
"We'll take two days at port," Barbossa said.
"Two days?"
"We'll take two days at port and if ye don't want to, Captain, then I'll be keeping the real secret of Isla de Muerta to me self." Barbossa shuffled his way down the deck, whistling and adjusting his hat.
"Take the helm, Mr. Turner," Jack sighed. "Go and spend some time with the family."
With a wide grin, Bill ran back up the stairs and gripped the wheel, humming a song to himself, one that sounded like a hymn of sorts.
"All right, Hector, what is this secret you know that I do not?"
"Aztec gold."
"Everyone knows they had gold except those ignorant of their history," Jack dismissed with a shrug. "If this is your idea of a revelation…"
"Gold that leads to immortality."
"Aye? Ye made no mention of it before," Jack said with wide eyes. Immortality. Just imagine, one hundred, two hundred years from now, still sailing the seas with a youthful body yet all the experience and knowledge in the world. It would be easy to seduce any young wench with his tales of how life was "long ago" as they would swoon and compliment his storytelling, cooing at how vivid he made it all sound.
"I thought ye knew about it at first, and truth be told, I saw no reason to share the information with the rest of the crew after I concluded you didn't know a thing about it. The Spanish ravaged the Aztec empire, which once had cities bigger than even London. Our diseases wiped out their population, and those who survived were violated and made into slaves. Ye know all that, I'd venture to guess. But oh, did they get their revenge. They never let the Spanish know how it was they lived so long, stayed so pure in form and face.
"Their gods blessed their gold, bestowing on the possessors eternal life. Never to die, Jack! The immortal can't serve aboard the Dutchman, that much is known. One only becomes immortal on the Dutchman and it ain't the most pleasant way to have it happen, blending in with that cursed ship until ye don't know yer own name anymore. This'll save us all, Jack, since it's not stupid to suppose yer including those you already know as your hundred to go down with ye."
"That was me plan," he admitted. "You know which gold it is?"
"Legend has it, it will have a clearly marked skull on one of the sides, indicating all the owner will avoid—disease, death, expiration. We got about a year's journey ahead of us, but it'd be worth it, agreed?"
"Most definitely agreed," Jack said, feeling his heart rate slow. "Now, we can concentrate on other matters, particularly ones vis a vis this ship."
"What be wrong with the ship? It sails, don't it?"
"I never liked calling it the Wicked Wench, didn't fit at all how I felt when I saw it." He paused, but didn't wait for Barbossa to enquire more. "To see a gorgeous ebony ship out on the sea, its sails mix into the night…there's no ship like it, none that could stand against it."
"I'm inclined to agree." Barbossa said. "I walk up and down this deck, and I'll be square with ye again, Jack, it feels a part of me, like it's me own ship. So black, so unique. Yet it don't seem like just anyone can see it. Ye have an idea for it? I was never one for namin' things."
"Yes…" Jack said so slowly it came out the same way steam does from a tea kettle. "The Black Pearl."
XXX
After the two days in England, Jack commanded the ship to make its second port in Spain, missing the welcoming sun, the spirited music no Englishman would dare dance to, and a certain well-born lady that might have a few smaller well-born ladies tugging at those immense skirts. Why choke ladies to death with so many layers while the whores can be as comfortable as they please? Jack shrugged away his thoughts as he pulled his hair back through his bandana. He'd considered going in some kind of disguise, apple peddler or something, until he decided it to be too much work. Trini would know him.
A red-faced maid with swollen cheeks answered the door, her hands wringing a plain white dinner napkin.
"I'm here to see Trinidad Valladares, young miss," he said, crossing his arms and looking over the short girl's head.
"Oh, oh…" she moaned.
"Mariana, Mariana, why have you not shown the gentleman in?" Another maid, one with more wrinkles in her face, approached them, casting her eyes down at Jack's boots, seeming to judge him by the cracked leather and damage from the salt water. "May I help you, sir?"
"Is Trinidad Valladares in? I'm sure she would not appreciate her servants standing around wondering what to do with a guest when one comes."
"La senorita died three days ago."
Jack's face paled, a harsh shiver tingling down his spine. He opened his mouth, but no voice manifested. "H-how?"
"She fell down the stairs," the wrinkled maid blurted, each word running together in a long string.
"Oh, but, Ana," Mariana began.
"Fell down the stairs, Mariana," Ana snapped. "Get back inside. Now, sir, what business did you have with the deceased? Her uncle is managing her affairs."
"From her fall," Jack repeated, trying to gaze past the opaque pupils of her eyes.
"Yes, from her fall. You may hear some scandalous things being said about our lady. Well, none of them are true."
"If you please…"
"None!" Ana slammed the front door and hearing the turning of the lock, Jack did not know what to do other than turn back and face the front steps, their life gone, compared to what they were when he had walked up them with such a witty enigma of a girl…woman, he corrected himself. She'd looked slightly older than he. He ran his fingers against the lace wrapped around his wrist, faded only a fraction—a miracle when one considered all it had endured right along with him.
"How can we keep up such a lie, Ana? Falling down the stairs? No bruises, nothing. Why…"
Jack stopped at the open window, his ears burning with an intensity as great as if the two had been talking about him.
"Quiet! No one will know anything if you keep your mouth shut. Don Valladares told us how to answer the door and you muddled it! You know how important the family is and here you were about to run your mouth off to a complete stranger…"
"Don't yell at me, Ana," Mariana choked out through tears. "I loved Miss Trinidad and it's not right to say such a lie…"
"You want strangers to know the truth? You want to run out and find that man and tell him how she poisoned herself and kept her soul out of heaven, disgracing her entire family, shaming her uncle's house? You go right out there and tell him, Mariana, and see what happens to her good name. You go right out there and tell him everything!"
Jack did not stay to listen to the younger maid's tears. Keeping his eyes on his, her, his lace, he forgot all about his journey back to the Pearl except the fact that he leaned against her warm hull, imagining her with arms that could be flung around his neck so he could cry on them. His face rigid, he barked a few orders at his crew before opening a fresh rum bottle.