Seriously, reviews are the best thing on this earth since chocolate. It gives you the biggest buzz to peer cautiously into your email in-box and discover – reviews! You like me; you really like me! Well, you like the story. The story thus far anyway. I tell you what, it took every ounce of steely determination from me not to update immediately after I saw those reviews sitting in my in-box. I was so excited; I wanted to write more, more MORE. All for you, my loyal readers. Do you feel special? Privileged? But no; everything in moderation. So without further ado, your next instalment, my devoted and dependable readers.
Pebbles1234 - I believe it was - was wondering where the blazers Will's disappeared off to. Soon, young grasshopper, all will be revealed… (how's that for a tension builder?)
This chapter's a bit boring, so skip over it if you like; like Captain Jack Sparrow always says, "Whatever floats your boat, luv." I'll chuck the next chapter in tomorrow, if you find this one boring.
"So what are you really after?" Jack asked bemusedly, as he strode out of the prison in the unconscious guard's stolen uniform, shoving the lass in front of him roughly as they passed the other two guards on duty eating lunch.
"Watch where you put those hands, mate." She hissed under her breath, but yelled louder, "Oi. What do you think you're doin'? Wait 'til my father hears about this. Touch me again and you'll be swinging from the 'lows just like all those other lousy proverbiates!"
The guards only give a brief, cursory glance and raised their chipped mugs in a small salute to Jack before swinging back another mug of ale. Jack frog-marched the girl on, out into the bustling, filthy streets of London. Gleaming black horse-drawn carriages pulled by high spirited horses in the matching colour clattered by, the wooden spoke-wheels narrowly missing those bold individuals who wove and dodged between the perilous traffic. Urchins in non-descript grey rags pushed between the hordes of dark tailored suits, lacy dresses and stained workman's clothes, snatching purses, fob watches and jewellery as they shoved by. Some thieves pilfered their gains discretely and successfully, others did not have so much luck, with cries of "Stop! Thief!" following their frantic dash, often with a police officer in hot pursuit.
Jack did not envy the life of a street-urchin, but when he was a boy, he was little better than that. Those boys better run fast, Jack thought, before a life in a rotting hulk in the bay catches up with them. Jack chose the life on a sea as opposed to living on the streets, or living in a gaol cell. The poor souls that could no longer fit in the over-crowded gaol cells were sent to spend their incarceration in a floating gaol; a disused and unwanted ship, which had seen its last days travelling the open seas, but instead were also sentenced to a life of imprisonment. It was a common sight to look over London's bay in the early morning and see the fog rising off the shimmering grey water, revealing the ships with their masts devoid of any sails, black, stark and skeleton-like in appearance. It gave any mortal man a shiver up their spine to sail past those ships, frozen in time, and hear the moans and laments of the imprisoned men, huddled together in the darkness and dankness of the putrid, leaking bilge of those decaying ships. Jack looked out at the sight every morning and shuddered, knowing it was only Fate and Lady Luck that separated him from those other poor unfortunates on those rotting hulks. I couldn't spend eternity crammed together in some rotting hulk of a guttered ship, moored 100 yards out of London. But no, Lady Luck was his good friend indeed, and Jack spent most of his time on the fastest ship in the Caribbean, living like his ship; fast and free. Life on the sea was equally as dangerous as life on the street, but it appealed to Jack. Plus it had the added benefit of hidden treasure, which one did not find lying around so much on the worn cobb-stoned streets of London. Smart people survived on the sea, if they learned quickly enough.
As soon as Jack and the lass passed the threshold of the goal, Jack released her (although somewhat reluctantly – she smelled of spices and a flower that gave him fond memories of a short stint he had in Jamaica). She turned to him in answer of his question,
"I thought what I seek would be obvious to someone in such a profession as yours." She gives a cheeky grin and calmly crossed the bustling, muddy cobbled streets with no fear of being struck down by murderous rumbling coaches or galloping horses - and rightly so, for all traffic had slowed and was watching the fiery, spirited young woman and this eccentric pirate's discussion. She and Jack walked parallel to each other on different sides of the street. Teasingly, she tossed her long hair over her shoulder and Jack watched all the rider's and coachmen's eyes follow its sway, "I be after adventure and treasure, arr!" She concluded, a laugh in her voice and a smile on her lips, but her eyes fixed ahead, not acknowledging Jack.
Jack stopped in the middle of the street, his way hindered by a very public, very loud, very drunken brawl. He elegantly sidestepped a staggering drunkard and attempted to tiptoe around a large drunken prostitute with rosy cheeks and large spirally red ringlets, who promptly grabbed him and began clumsily waltzing and twirling him around. Jack manoeuvred himself to be facing the street, and looking beyond the dancing lady's plump face and over her shoulder, he could just make out the young lass's rapidly retreating figure. He watched, bemused and intrigued, and shouted at her "You mock me, kind lady?"
A coach rumbled by, with a pug-faced noblewoman in the carriage looking down disdainfully at the rather scruffy gentleman of fortune and the drunken, dishevelled prostitute, and Jack lost sight of his quarry. Over the clatter, Jack heard her mischievous voice yell back, "You patronise me, good sir?"
The old drunken lady, obviously sick of Jack's unresponsive dancing, twirled herself around and around, giggling like a child, before she sat down with a huge "pompf" that Jack swore shook several buildings. The lady of the streets simply shook her massive head several times as if to clear it, and Jack took his leave. He bowed to her deeply, stating gravely, "Encore, madam. Well danced," and promptly strode away, the gold that he had lifted off her person that made its way into purse jingling merrily in his tatty pockets.
Sorry this chapter's a bit on the tame side (to be honest even I find it a bit boring); no adventure yet – just setting the scene. So yes, scene is now adequately set. I assume you're getting sick of the scenery now, so next update – a change of scenery (gasp, shock).
For those of you who want to find out the fate of young William Turner, son of Bootstrap Bill, it's within your best interests to review. Will Turner will make his appearance next chapter, if you all remind me to do so… until then, he remains my hostage. Muah ha. Haha ha. Ha… Ciao.