A/N: Thank you so much for all the reviews! Please continue them!
Jack sprinted out of the church, still draped in a shapeless black robe. Clawing at the white collar strapped around his neck, he only heard the muffled shouting of the crowd behind him. He bit his lip, concentrating on making one leg follow the other. Skidding against the dirt road, he side-stepped into a narrow alley, shadowed by the heavy brick roofs that seemed to squash the little stone buildings attached to them. He stifled a pant, clutching the pine box at his chest. A cloud of dust swirled into the alley, the mob bypassing it with a rabid pace. Wedging himself as far into the alley as he could go, he held his breath until the dust cleared.
Stealing from a church, he thought, shaking his head. If you weren't going to hell before, Jackie boy, you are now. Officially condemned at the ripe old age of twenty-seven. For shame.
At last, his knees began to buckle from squatting for so long. He staggered to stand up, that business with Barbossa and the island years ago forcing his center of gravity to constantly shift. A sad state of affairs when a man can shoot straighter than he can walk, Jack thought, his hand stroking the barrel of his pistol at the remembrance of Barbossa, as it always did.
Ripping the collar off and shaking the robe off, letting it droop down to the ground, Jack stuffed the disguise into a pile of straw against the building. He peered out of the alley, taking note of the serene townspeople, entering and exiting shops, approaching carts and then departing from them—all with the detailed blandness of a Flemish painting. What had he been thinking, agreeing to meet the man in the afternoon rather than at night?
He dumped the coins from the box into a cloth bag and tied it to his coat with a bowline knot, second nature. Whistling to himself, he sat on a bench in the town square, watching the passers-by. Una spia, he thought with a laugh. He'd only heard the man's raspy, excited voice once. Musing the kind of face and body that would accompany such a voice, he almost missed the signal.
"It was down by Swansea barracks/one May morning I strayed/a-viewing of the soldier lads/I spied a comely maid/it was o'er her red and rosy cheeks/the tears did dingle down/I thought she was some goddess fair/the lass of Swansea town."
Sitting up, Jack tried to spot the singer without turning his head too much. He cleared his throat. "I said, 'fair maid, what brought you here/what brought you here to mourn?'/'Oh I'm in search of Willie dear/my bonny young sailor boy/Eight years ago he left me here/for Bermuda he was bound/He said he would prove faithful/to the lass of Swansea town."
A sun-damaged, thick face sat on the bench next to him, a cautious smile at the bottom of it. Experienced, competent eyes lit up beneath grayed eyebrows.
"I suppose you're him, since ye be knowin' all there is to know about Willie and his lass and his scar," he said.
"Aye," Jack said, tracing his pistol under his coat. "You have what I want?"
"If ye have what I want."
"Forgive me, sir, but I do seem to have an honest face, I suppose, what with everyone thinking they can take advantage of me. You'll be puttin' out your end of the bargain first." His teeth bit down on the insides of his cheeks, preparing to be able to shoot this man without a second thought.
"Ye just said ye wanted to know the whereabouts of the Black Pearl. Well, I can tell ye I saw it not one week ago, comin' here all the way from England with that prig Swann and his little girl. The king must be tryin' to get rid of him, sendin' him all the way to Port Royal and all."
"It's no secret Weatherby Swann's a hopeless ass," Jack agreed, offering the man an aged flask, aged, but just as able to hold a sweet pint of rum as a new one forged of silver. The older man took a hearty swig, smacking his lips at the sweetness of the contents inside. "Yours to keep, free of charge. Tell me more about all the idiots who may or may not have seen the Pearl."
"Far from idiots," the man said, momentarily breathless from his gulp. "They sent James Norrington with him."
"That does change things," Jack whispered, a frown forming on his face. Just a lieutenant, James Norrington's reputation transcended oceans. Seven pirate ships sunk, fifty-nine pirates hanged, countless others rotting in some jail cell—Port Royal's lax law enforcement might see a change coming. It wouldn't be long, Jack thought, before this whole square is torn apart, each man lined up and examined to see if they wear the brand. What is the phrase? A short drop and a sudden stop? He fingered his own neck, Trini's lace rubbing his throat. "So you were coming from England?"
"That we were. Foggy day at sea, not half a day's distance from this very port. Well, other than that, it was routine, up until we saw the carnage. I don't know if ye can imagine, but through all that mist, flames bright as Jupiter's thunderbolt cut through it until it cleared the way, goin' up like a stage curtain." The man's hands made the gesture, fingers spread apart and stretched out. "Then there it was: the legendary Black Pearl, as black as the vicious pirate what captains it."
"And who be that pirate?" Jack asked, leaning forward. He told himself it was to test this storyteller's credibility, but it was as if he were in bed with Mum spinning one of her tales, the conclusion a mystery until the very end.
"The murderous pirate lord Barbossa," the man said.
Pirate lord? How did that happen? Jack shook his head, afraid to miss any more details. Ridiculo.
"He wasn't always the captain, oh no," the man continued. "It used to belong to Captain Jack Sparrow, the Spear of Destiny in the East India Trading Company's side. Well, no one's quite sure why it happened, but old Barbossa marooned the sorry sod and took the Black Pearl for his self. Well, one look at it, and I almost felt I couldn't blame him. A true beauty, that ship. Eyes don't go wanting.
"Now, as if Barbossa ain't ferocious enough, legend says the Pearl is cursed, as dark a Jezebel as ever there was one, luring men to her and then stabbin' them in the back so. First captain marooned and left for dead, the second cursed, unable to die."
"Unable to die?"
"The devil's been shot at, stabbed, even hanged once…did that stop him? No. He and his crew just keep sailin' the world, searchin' for one medallion, just one medallion small enough to be a rich man's monocle."
"I'll refill that flask for ye if ye keep going," Jack said. "Mister…"
"Gibbs. Joshamee Gibbs. T'would say I work on Lieutenant Norrington's ship, but…let's just say he found out just how far my like of the drink goes." Gibbs waggled the flask in front of him before taking his next drink. "Strapped for money, one might be able to see why the amount of money you offered seemed such a good deal."
"Indeed."
"Indeed. Where was I?"
"Medallions—one to be exact."
"Ah yes! Ever heard the name Bootstrap Bill?"
Jack shook his head, his forehead wrinkling. Surely that couldn't be Bill. Bill had a pistol pointed right at him during that whole mutiny. They had to have killed him after that.
"Bootstrap Bill's the only crewman that wanted to spare Captain Jack. Barbossa's not having any of that, so he puts old Bootstrap in the brig. But the soul has too much honor in him still. Finally, Barbossa straps him to a cannon by his bootstraps and sends him to the bottom of the sea."
"That can't be true." Jack paled. Good man, Bill. "Then what about his piece of the treasure?"
"You know your stories!" Gibbs chuckled, slapping Jack on the back. "So ye know the Aztec gold story. This is part of that same story. Well, ye know all the crew have 'em one piece of the gold, except Captain Jack who by now is wallowin' away on some desert island. Bootstrap sends his medallion home! Have ye heard about the way to fix the curse?"
"The blood of all who have a coin."
"Naturally, with Bootstrap on his way to Davy Jones and the medallion sent off to God-knows-where, the crew of the Black Pearl scourge the sea, destroyin' anything they think stands in the way of that medallion and lifting the curse."
"So," Jack sighed, still in disbelief about Bill, "you saw that ship not half a day's journey from here? Tell me, Mr. Gibbs, did Captain Sparrow survive his ordeal?"
"You bet he did! The man has a record a mile long! Last I heard, he impersonated an officer in the Spanish navy, just to pilfer an English ship and frame them Spaniards. He got off that island in three-days' time, ropin' some sea turtles that took him all the way to Portobello and back." Gibbs paused, eyeing the bag knotted at Jack's waist. Untying it and dropping it into Gibbs' lap, Jack sat back and let his hand stroke the long strand of hair that fell in front of his shoulder. He'd always liked how Tia Dalma and her village kept their hair out of their faces, and now that it was locked and kept behind his bandana, he forgot that Teague also kept his hair that way. It was too practical a style to abandon for sentimental reasons. That and the kohl along his eyes rendered him unrecognizable to anyone that knew him before his pirating days, and to anyone that did know him as a pirate, it only improved what they had already seen.
"What interest have ye in the Black Pearl?" Gibbs asked him. "Yer goin' after it?"
"Yes," Jack said, turning towards him. "She's always been mine." With that, he pushed back his shirt to show off his sparrow tattoo, the little creature still flying into the horizon. He smiled at it.
"Holy Virgin. Jack Sparrow."
"Captain Jack Sparrow, and you've been most helpful, Mr. Gibbs."
"Gibbs!"
The two turned their heads to see five officers behind the bench, armed with bayonets and shocked expressions.
"We've been looking for you!" one of them shouted. "One too many nights of drunken debauchery."
"Gentlemen!" Jack stood, his one hand still hidden. "Join us. Mr. Gibbs here was good enough to lecture me on the dangers of public drunkenness. Showed a scoundrel a thing or two it did."
"You're under arrest!" another one of them growled.
Jack and Gibbs sprang up from the bench and ran into the town, whizzing by the shops and vendors, shoving a few slow townsfolk out of their way.
"Where are we running?" Gibbs huffed behind Jack.
"Follow me!"
The number of seagulls circling over them increased as they reached the harbor. Jack leapt to the lines of the first ship he saw, thanking God the heat had nearly ruined his stride but left his hands alone. Scrambling to release the lines, he spotted Gibbs catching up from the corner of his eye. Gibbs practically slammed himself into the ship, climbing up to the deck and preparing the ship.
You leave me here, old man, and I'll kill you, Jack thought, shocked at his own heartlessness. Don't look at him! Look at the rope! He immediately placed his attention back on the ropes, untying the last one just as the officers sped towards him.
"Stop!"
Jack dove into the water, only a few feet away from the ship.
"Sparrow!" Gibbs called to him, tossing a rope overboard. Gripping it, Jack paddled closer to the ship, feeling Gibbs hoisting it up. The two of them climbed and pulled on the rope until Jack toppled onto the deck, a puddle of sea water staining the deck until the sun decided to drink it up. Using the remainder of his energy to get up without wobbling, Jack grabbed the helm and gave the ship a sharp turn.
"Let's go after him!" he heard one of the officers say.
"And commandeer someone's ship?" another said. "Scandalous."
Gibbs let out a deep laugh and hoisted the colors.
"Till we meet again, gentlemen!" Jack yelled to them, drunk off of his escape. "I guess today will be the day you only almost caught Captain Jack Sparrow!" Letting his laughter die off, he turned back to Gibbs. "Still got your money, or in all the anarchy, did it see fit to lose you?"
"Got it." Gibbs patted his pocket. "If you'd be so kind as to drop me off at Tortuga…"
"Ye could have left me," Jack said.
"Aye, but after hearin' ye'd been marooned before…" Gibbs shrugged. "I just thought it would be more sporting if…say, there any truth to that sea turtle part, by any chance? I made it up."
"I neither confirm nor deny anything, mate." Jack slapped Gibbs on the back. "What all is there in Tortuga? You think we could sell this heap to anyone?"
"What's in Tortuga?" Gibbs repeated, his eyes wide. "Prepare yourself for your home away from home! We'll find some other pirate that lacks a ship and sell this shoddy excuse of a ship. Split the money fifty-fifty. Why, back when I serviced officers to and from England…"
"Mr. Gibbs, how would you like to help me get my ship back?"
Gibbs stopped in mid-sentence, his mouth agape. Unable to help himself, Jack let out a laugh at the sight of a speechless storyteller.
"There's the position of mate in it for ye," Jack continued, sweetening the deal. "I could use someone who won't leave me."
XXX
Jack shivered in spite of the sweat dripping down his neck and chest, enough to fill a few buckets, he'd wager. The dreams he'd been having, Bill on the Flying Dutchman of all places, condemned himself to it for trying to avenge his former captain. When he was a child, he'd killed a man Teague had sent to bring back his treasure…by any means necessary. That brute had deserved it and yet he'd felt terrible after he'd done it. That same smothering feeling visited him that night, hovering over him and the two wenches he'd paid for, waiting for all of them to fall asleep before preying on him. Bill's face, bloated from drowning, looking up one last time at the swirls that swam in front of one's face when said person drowned, only to be picked up by Davy Jones.
He tossed to his other side, facing his other wench's sleeping face, her face paint smeared over her eyelids and cheeks. She'd seemed the type to just lie there and let him do all the work and he'd been right. Squeezing himself through the covers and out through the foot of the bed, he dressed himself and sorted through their dresses. Women always had the best clothes, he thought, soft dresses that actually breathe in this weather, unlike the hulking leather and tweed and all the other rough materials reserved for men's clothes. At last he discovered the coins he'd paid them with and pocketed them.
"Should always leave the customer satisfied, ladies," he whispered to the two naked women sharing a bed. If he had cared to waste more time on them, it would have been a fun image to watch for a while.
That Aztec medallion he'd only seen once lingered in his mind, wrapping itself around Bill's throat and strangling the life out of him. He shuddered and tried to think of something else, but the guilt would not let go of him. Maybe Gibbs would have some news for him. Dobbs was reported to have been seen in Tortuga. Jack thought it strange that the rest of the crew of the Pearl wouldn't be about, but shrugged it off.
"Gibbs?" he yelled when he reached the downstairs tavern. For once, the tavern was empty enough for someone to shout on one side and be heard on the other. A few miserable card players sat at a lone table, each one trying to win back his earnings. A few maids scrubbed the tables with unraveling cloths and dirty water.
All right now. I can fix this, he thought. He took out his compass and opened it, forcing himself to want to know Gibbs' location more than anything. It took effort, but not time, to change what one wanted most, he had found out. The arrow lingered, then swayed to the other side and lay still. To get to the Pearl, he needed Dobbs, and to find out about Dobbs, he needed Gibbs.
He followed the arrow out to the back where the pigs and a few chickens camped out, keeping cool in the mud and the moonlight. Something was wrong. What kind of man turns down a warm bed in the middle of the night to come out and parade around with some livestock?
Suddenly, from behind the barn, a man fired a shot. Missing by more than four feet, Jack drew his pistol and fired within a split second. Just as the explosion of the shot quieted, the thud of the body dropping to the ground replaced it. The man did not look familiar, and that disturbing hole in his forehead didn't help matters, Jack observed. That's another one to haunt ye with, but he dispelled those thoughts. If someone was trying to kill him, someone was trying to kill Gibbs. Jack wished he had drawn his sword instead at such a bad shot of an enemy. He'd wasted a bullet and there was no way he would draw his other pistol. No, that shot was reserved for someone truly deserving of it…
"Out of bullets, Jack?"
Spinning around, Jack came face to face with Beckett, his hands behind his back as always. Mercer and another man kicked open the barn door, revealing Gibbs tied up with a knife pressed against him.
"I forgot how short you are," Jack said.
"I've been tracking you, Jack," Beckett said, slinking over to him. "And I propose an exchange."
His brand burned at the sight of Beckett and Mercer, but Jack felt chills at Beckett approached. The man always stood so close and always looked so, so…he could joke with Bill about what he thought of Beckett, but in person, it just disturbed him. He didn't like how the man's eyes seemed to light up at the sight of him, seeming almost…hungry.
"I don't think my coat would fit ye, mate," he said. "We could try, but it would be a most uneven exchange."
"I'll ignore that. You've brought your compass out here, I see." Before Jack could respond, Beckett resumed his monologue. "In fact, word has it you take it out and look at it no matter if you are lost or not. Now, there is a legend of a compass that does not point north but points to something much better, but it was thought to be lost. Am I to assume it's been found?"
"Couldn't tell ye."
"Ho ho, you will, Jack. In fact, you'll give it to me of your own free will." He twisted his body to face Gibbs. "You'll do it, or we'll slit this drunkard like a Christmas goose. Your choice."
A/N: The song is called "Old Swansea Town" and in its entirety, is eerily close to the plot of the POTC series. I do not own POTC, and I accept all compliments, questions, criticism, and comments, so leave reviews! Please!