The sea raged and the gulls screamed, or so it seemed to the silent on-lookers of the Shipwreck City council meeting. Pirates rarely saw eye to eye and a gathering in which they all were meant to agree on one single course of action rarely resulted in anything more than a headache. This particular debate was more heavily contested than the others. It was rare that any action outside of the realm of piracy made an impact on their fair city, but recent events had set the city abuzz with rumors of a mysterious Raider who struck only at night. His raids had drawn attention to the illicit pirate trade and had forced the various pirating crewmen and Captain alike to sheathe their squabbles and decide upon one course of action.
A picture of tranquility, Elizabeth Turner looked on from her seat at the table with a puzzled expression. Two quarrelling pirates stood nose to nose, Samuel Barber, known to her as Saucy Sam and Thomas Marks, known as Two Fingered Tom. Though Tom had managed to keep all his fingers, the same could not be said of his teeth—the results of the surgeries were excruciating to her eye—with a mouth filled with gums, she hardly understood how it was he could manage any speech more coherent than a whistle. Sam was, purportedly, a wanted man on three continents though she had never bothered to ask him why. She knew him to be a kind man with a penchant for the rare spices she sold in her shop. Every few days he'd come wandering by asking for red currant wine or essence of thyme or rosemary. He never explained what he did with the spices; her son had suggested in an insinuating tone she found irritating that it had less to do with spices and more to do with the idea that Sam fancied her.
She'd never understood why it was when the realm of piracy was threatened that the only subject they could all agree on was that they ought to call a council meeting. All it ever accomplished was the draw of pistols, the fear of death and tense moments that resulted only in the agreement that they ought to disagree.
As she scanned the room, she saw she was not the only person close to exasperation. Teague, Pirate Lord of Madagascar and Keeper of the Code sat perched in his chair at the head of the table, his withered face buried in his hand in a gesture of disgust and irritation. The beads and crosses that adorned his hair caught the glint of the afternoon sun. They drooped around his face to adding weight to the sagging lines that crossed his features from his hooked, prominent nose.
There was wisdom in his face; not the wisdom of age, but of experience. So often Elizabeth would gaze upon that countenance and see a little of her own weary features, aged more by the events life than the passage of time. There were moments, however, when an inexplicable impish expression would lift the dark hollows of his black eyes. In those moments, she no longer saw him as the great leader with heavy responsibility but as another man entirely. They were alike, the great Captain Teague and Jack Sparrow, most especially when she said or did something that amused them.
They shared the same smile; concealed by the edges of their facial hair, she'd always known to what degree Jack was pleased by the angle of the curled ends of his mustache. As though aware of her gaze, Teague lifted his head from his hand and fixed her with a pointed, questioning stare. With a startled blink, Elizabeth guiltily drew her eyes away from Teague. She'd been remiss in her duties; she lost hope in regaining her understanding of the purpose of today's meeting, though as she listened more intently, she realized that the council was still wavering indecisively on carrying a motion to action.
"Won't do no good, pure and simple." Saucy Sam crossed his arms across his chest and turned away from Two Fingered Tom, who was wiping away the spittle that had been sprayed across his face during the climax of their argument.
"Fool! O' course it'll do good—look at what happened the last time. The armada turned way before we even fired shot—they was shaking in their boots, says I." Tom twisted round on his heel, looking cross and red in the face.
Teague's head dropped to his chest and fixed the arguing committee with a withering stare. Elizabeth shifted uncomfortably in her seat. Unlike his son, Teague was quick to temper and those who raised his ire quickly found themselves at the mercy of his pistol--he was a deadly accurate shot. Hesitantly, Elizabeth interrupted fearing that they might have another pair of dead bodies to drag from the council chamber, though she was sorely tempted to draw her own pistol to restore order.
"At a tremendous cost, if I might remind you." She found herself bellowing over the pair of belligerent peacocks, who were attempting to out do one another for argument's sake, rather than trying to find a commonality in the debate that had embroiled the council.
"Our triumph had less to do with the fear of our enemy and everything to do with our sacrifice. Brave men were lost forever…" The pensive note of regret in her voice captured the attention of the feuding pirates. All heads turned sharply toward her, and she was self-consciously aware that every eye in the room was taking stock of her mettle. She'd been brought to her feet in her outrage; a rough, soothing hand rested over hers and Elizabeth turned to acknowledge the owner. Will's dark eyes radiated sympathy, and he knew her well enough to know that her temper was close to the boiling point.
There were only a few members of Shipwreck City who were not aware of her story. The constant whispers followed her wherever she went; in her shop, they smiled at her with reverence and a touch of irony on their lips—she was once the brave Mrs. Turner, the fierce Pirate King and once equally fierce companion to the Captain of the Flying Dutchman.
"If we are to do anything, we must first have some sort of strategy. The risk of war with the Armada is not to be taken lightly. Before we rush to battle, we must understand our enemies. If this man is raiding Company ships—he holds no allegiance to our side. We must first understand his motivations…his inner most thoughts…" Mutterings stirred the house; she had their attention.
"And I say the man is no threat to us." Teague's rich voice permeated the corners of the room, drawing the Pirates who had not risked the chaos to step forward in curiosity. Elizabeth's brows lifted archly; he'd been repressing his opinion on the matter of the mysterious Raider because it differed from the majority. Most of the pirates wanted to find the man and string him up by his thumbs. Typical! Teague's son was forever avoiding a fight when he could. It wasn't surprising in the least that Jack Sparrow had learned the habit from somewhere.
"No threat, says you? Poppycock, says I! Lost twelve stalwart men meself after they raked the side of me ship when they tried to board her. And the cargo of rum could not have been lost. Bollocks to the man who loses a shipment of rum what for fear of the Company."
Elizabeth's head snapped round to gage Teague's reaction. Though it was faint, she swore she saw the faintest twitch of his ring adorned pinky finger, as though he were considering a reach for his pistol.
"It's true; the added presence of the EITC in our waters had made honest piracy more difficult of late. And I admit that if we do not put a stop to it, the chances are great that our very way of life may be altered forever. More companies have expressed their dissatisfaction with the activities of the Raider and our ships, our cargo and means of life are in dire need of protection. That does not mean our only course of action is to rise up in arms against a fleet of company ships, poised to destroy piracy for their own lucrative means. They only need an excuse to launch an attack…" Elizabeth's voice faltered as another voice took up the call for action.
"Shipwreck City must make a stand. If they do not, it will be to the ruin of us all," Will piped up with strength in his voice as he rose slowly from his seat. Elizabeth wrenched her head from Teague's displeasure and favored Will with a sharp frown.
"We can wring our hands no longer. If the Raids continue, it will only embolden our enemies in the EITC to scrutinize our fortress further. We cannot withstand another direct attack. The straits are dire indeed—we must pursue this Ghost Raider."
The speech, as prettily arrayed as it was, stirred Teague from his seat and the lines of his face were stretched to one, so great was the displeasure in his frown. She agreed with Will; they could not remain at Shipwreck City and do nothing. The tensions between the EITC and the remaining Pirates ran high, and while Pirates were no longer being executed by the hundreds, the threat was ever present, a thick cloud that hung over the city. No one wanted to relive the nightmare of more than ten years ago.
"They say he steals people's souls and devours 'em for supper. Be that the enemy you'd all wish to make your final judgment with? I says a pox on the council of fools. There be none here with the courage to fight the villainous Raider." Teague fixed each arguing member with a chilling stare, his dark eyes hard as black obsidian daring any man to rise to the unspoken challenge he'd issued.
"We must engage him in a dialogue; surely we can find some common ground. There are other avenues to explore than outright war. What of the ancient tradition of Parlay?" Elizabeth suggested with a warning glance to Will. If he wasn't careful, his speeches would incite the Council to war, a war they were in no way prepared to fight. From the corner of her eye, she found she had earned one of Teague's rare smiles. She'd gained his admiration, and there was no higher praise than a smile from his lips, particularly when it involved the word 'parlay'.
"The man who attacks these ships does so at our peril. It is he who stands to gain--we'll lose everything. Clearly he is a man beyond the edge of reason; there comes a moment when parlay can do nothing and the only course is action," Will argued, his gaze fixed on the council. Intentionally, he avoided Elizabeth's pointed stare.
"They say that he cannot be found or killed, boy. He is a monster who lurks in an impossible strait: The Cape of the Sinner's Tongue," Teague hastened to interrupt, sensing there was a greater tension in the air beyond that of the council's disagreements. Will leaned both his palms against the council table, looking every inch the impervious Captain he had once been. The two men locked eyes, an epic battle fought with haughty silent resistance.
"Then I will reckon with him there. They say he takes only gold for his spoils. Why would a ghost from the next life have need for the riches of ours?" Will's voice was low and dangerous; menacing in his determination to fight. He'd had more than enough experience with the spirits of the past life. He was convinced that the Raider was a mortal man. Elizabeth watched as Teague's hand shifted to the butt of his pistol.
"No!" she intervened, seeing that Teague was more than prepared to silence Will's rebellious opinion forever with the crack of his pistol. Her voice was overshadowed by the rallying cry of the council. At last they had heard a solution from a man brave enough to offer it and they welcomed it with a joyous 'huzzah.'
"You ever were a rash fool, William Turner…" Teague stepped forward from his position at the head of the table and with solemn diffidence, offered Will his hand.
"Take my ship. I've no use for it, and it'll suffer from dry rot without use. She'll need a Captain, and ye'll be needing a fair ship to find this scurvelous phantom." Teague's lips were a straight line, and Elizabeth noted that beneath the deep tan his skin had taken a deathly pallor, his posture pushed down by an unseen weight. Their sentiments were the same; Will's decision was fool hardy at best and Elizabeth felt an unfavorable ill wind sweep through the council's chamber. With gratitude, Will took Teague's hand though their smiles were tightly strained with mistrust. There were moments when it seemed Will saw as much of Jack Sparrow in the man as she did and the residual dislike had transferred through the generations. Will turned to address the council as their new leader.
"I am in need of a hearty crew, able-bodied men valiant enough to face a man and a monster. Who's with me?" He bellowed with a spirit of energy and courage. The men of the council rushed forward to shake Will's hand for his nerve offering him their sentiment of respect and their services in his mission. Elizabeth was swept backwards by the crush of smelly pirates; her cheek was pressed against a velvet vest and a linen shirt of a heavily perspiring man before she was shoved onto the border of the room.
"Will! Will!" she cried desperately to gain his attention as the crowd swallowed her whole. A man's elbow jabbed into the delicate flesh between her shoulder blade and collar bone, sending her reeling backwards. Flailing, she continued to try to attract Will's attention, but the crowd had swarmed to an overwhelming size.
"Well I never!" she huffed with an irritated sigh, her arms caught up the fringes of her shawl as though to protect herself from the cold. Will smiled broadly as hands were shoved in his face. He took the time to shake each one of them, his head inclined to listen as they clapped him on the back or spoke words of enthusiasm about their mission. Elizabeth prepared to launch herself back into to the crowd to pull Will bodily out by the arm to scold him, and nearly did so when she caught sight of lonely body on the outskirts, lingering in the shadows.
Teague surveyed the scene devoid of his usual remote detachment. He was disappointed with the outcome of the meeting and it seemed to have struck a personal chord. He mourned their decision and loathed himself for allowing it in the same breath; Elizabeth shared his sentiments. The call to declare war on an unknown enemy was reckless and they both knew it. He'd granted Will his ship for that very reason; in an effort to protect Will from himself and in doing so, protect her. For that, she felt the stirrings of warmth and gratitude. In that way, he was very much like his son. She tore her eyes away from the encircling, fawning masses to thank him, but he had disappeared. The only trace that remained were the dregs of a haunting melody played by a stringed instrument, a morose Celtic tune that waxed and then waned into the rhythmic jolt of the voices.