So the professors are still cramming it down my protesting throat-- But here I am attempting to have some regularity in my updates! Yes, I know that they're still sporadic, but believe that I'm trying. Heh. I suppose my note about this chapter would be to explain that it does not tend to do much in the way of fantastic plot advancement-- that which does ensue serves mostly to flesh out a few more characters, to have a bit of fun with banter, and to provide a nice big spoonful of that special brand of Captain Jack Sparrow insanity. The next installment will have more action-- promise. Hope you all enjoy this and please tell me if you do (or if you don't)!
...TanzFieber
Two pirates stood at the end of a pier in Madras, India and for a few long moments, neither of them spoke. Duncan's hands were hard on Kelsea's shoulders, but his eyes were even harder.
"Yer sure of it, then? Those bastards got th'captain?"
Finding no words to answer, the teenaged buccaneer could only nod, the worry in her eyes speaking certainty. For a minute she wondered what he would do, wondered whether he would have the plan that she so needed him to… And after an anxious pause, Kelsea Sparrow got her answer.
Duncan straightened up and placed a hand on her shoulder, the weight of it an odd comfort.
"Alrigh' then. Well, th'two of us stannin' 'ere like a pair o' bumblin' redcoats won' be much use… S'pose th'first thing t'do would be t'muster all hands back t'the ship, eh?" He winled and the girl let out a nervous laugh at the Naval slur, more relieved than she cared to let on that he had been the one to take initiative.
"So stir yore stumps, ye dozy lubber—back to th'Pearl!"
"Dozy lubber yeself, insufferable cad!"
And, grateful for at least a short-term goal, the two fell to launching a longboat and pulling for the dark-winged lady whose captain had been captured.
OF COBBLED STREETS…
"Uuuughhhh…"
A breathy groan found its way from dry lips and Captain Jack Sparrow slowly opened his eyes. What the bloody hell? For the world he found before him now was being viewed from a swinging vantage point— the pirate was slung between two men of the East India Trading Company, and they were carrying him non-too-delicately towards some undisclosed location. The pirate groaned again, feeling his whole body throb in concert.
"Sharp eye, Gabriel, the scoundrel seems to have awaken."
Upon hearing the voice, Jack glanced upwards and found himself looking almost straight up the nose of the man holding him by the arms. Down the other end of his body, there seemed to be a similar redcoat suspending him by the ankles. Not good.
"Aye, Lieutenant," answered the ankle-toting soldier, who was apparently named Gabriel. "Strike me, this blackgaurd weighs like a ton 'o bricks!"
"I've actually been told that I've a rather striking an' slim figure—"
SLAM! replied a rifle butt from another soldier marching beside the awkward trio.
Still swinging like a rag-doll on a rotisserie, Jack Sparrow cursed himself in three different languages for his irrepressible tongue, and then cursed the soldiers in three more. Clearly, wit would not be the way out of this situation. After regaining his breath from the blow, the captain tried again.
"Y'know gents, I was thinkin' maybe we could 'ave a liddle parley—"
WHAM! said the rifle butt.
"As honorable men of the crown, we do not parley with idiots."
"Easy mate, I never asked ye t'talk wiv Barty Greenwotsit—"
THUD! the rifle butt got the final word again.
Jack curled up as best he could around his newly bruised ribs and muttered a few more curses. He really needed to learn when to hold his tongue… Suppose that would be something to add to the list of things to do—assuming that he lived through the next day…The captain grimly speculated through waves of pain.
The small battalion of soldiers tromped onwards through the rough-cobbled streets, one pirate strung out between them in shackles. Now, Captain Jack Sparrow was the accomplished master of many arts—unfortunately, the art of keeping his mouth conservatively shut seemed to be elusive as of yet.
"Could ye at least be nice chappies an' inform me as t'where yer non-too-gently haulin' me off to?"
"Judgement day." Said one of the soldiers, and then that damned rifle butt sang him another lullaby.
THE BELL TOLLS…
A dark-haired girl clung one-handedly to a dark-hued mast, the other arm shielding her dark eyes. Over the crook of one arm hung a bronze bell, and she hefted its weight back to her fingertips.
CLANG CLANG CLANG!
Kelsea Sparrow winced at the loud sound, and also at the uncomfortable shockwaves that were reverberating up her arm. Despite both, she struck the bell again.
CLANG CLANG CLANG! CLANG CLANG CLANG CLANG CLAAAANNNGGG !
"HALLOO TH'MAST!" Came the shout from below, and the girl stopped to glance down at the diminutive figure on deck.
"AYE?"
"BELAY THAT BLASTED RINGIN' AN' CLIMB DOWN, SCAMP! YE'VE BEEN BEATIN' THAT BLOODY THING ROUND CAPE HORN FER TH'PAST HOUR, ME HEAD'S ABOUT T'SPLIT!"
In spite of her worry, the young pirate grinned at the words that floated to her ears from afar.
"STOW YER WHININ', OLD MAN! I'VE NOT BEEN AT IT FER MORE 'N TEN MINUTES!"
Even though he was obviously too far away to see, Kelsea knew that Duncan would be shaking his head at her with an exasperated half-smile before shouting back to her.
"AYE, AN' BY ME POOR ANCIENT EARS THAT'S ABOUT TEN MINUTES TOO LONG! GIDDOWN FROM THERE, YE UPSTART PESTILENCE!"
The seventeen-year-old allowed herself a chuckle and a rolling of her eyes before once again shouldering the bell and beginning the descent. "ON ME WAY, GRANDAD!" So she never could seem to relinquish having the last word.
From his place below amidships, Duncan found himself marveling at his youngest shipmate's uncanny ability to traverse wind-singing lines with no more trouble taken that simply strolling across the deck. If ever there was a lass with pirates blood… he thought with a touch of affection, but then his heart gave a jolt as she literally jumped from one track of ratlines to another. Mother o' God--! Daft like Jack indeed!
And then she was standing in front of him, arrival heralded by a light thump. Breathing lightly, but otherwise unfazed, Kelsea smiled sideways at her friend.
"Quick enough for ye, Creaky Bones?"
Coincidentally having just been thinking about how her agility made him feel stiff and old, Duncan snorted and swatted at her. "Away wiv ye, unprincipled braggart! Think ye'd better anchor yerself t'somfin afore that inflated head o' yers carries ye home t'the Caribbean!"
Kelsea danced backwards to avoid the playful attack, but then her smile faded as reality re-fell on her like an anvil. Always perceptive, her friend noticed and also sobered his expression.
"Duncan… What're we goin' t'do?" She asked quietly, more aware than ever of the uncertainty that came with her youth. "What if th'men didn't hear the bell? Should I ring it s'more?"
The mate's hand, in a switch from that slap to a comforting squeeze, landed on her shoulder gently and his eyes met hers. "Easy, Lass… They 'eard it, an' if not… well, we've got enough on watch t'make a go of it."
The girl stared at him bemusedly. "Make a go of what—?"
Duncan merely shrugged and gave her a wink to go with a somewhat crooked grin. "Oh, whatever we maggot-brains cook up—somethin' completely daft, more 'n likely."
The statement received a smile, but it didn't reach dark eyes. "And for now..?"
"For now—" Both pirates of the Black Pearl turned to gaze at the port of Madras as it sat bathed in scarleting sunset hues. "—we wait."
OF NAVAL EMBATTLEMENTS…
"Ahhhh, this's th'life…" Mumbled Jack Sparrow drowsily, stretching his arms back and lacing fingers behind his dread-locked head. Lounging in a hammock strung between two palms, he swung back and forth idly as he gazed out at pristine clear sea. Beside him, a veritable mountain of rum bottles was stacked in a caramel-colored glass pyramid. Breathing deep of the salty sea and the sweetness of rum, Captain Sparrow smiled and dropped his tri-cornered hat over one eye.
Just then, however, a beautiful woman appeared seemingly out of nowhere and he sat up a bit in mild surprise. "Oi, where'd you come from, Luv?"
The buxom mystery girl simply smiled at him and leaned over, one hand caressing his face. What was this—? He wondered, for surely this was too good to be true?
She leaned closer, and well-aware of what the result would be, Jack parted his lips in anticipation of a kiss. Somehow, though, at some undisclosed location in the six-inch distance that separated them, the tender kiss became a glancing blow to the cheekbone—!
"OUCH! What th'bloody Hell—!" yelping at the unexpected attack from a seemingly harmless source, Captain Sparrow pitched out of his gently rocking hammock and thumped down on—
—The damp, rough stones of a prison floor. Grunting loudly at the impact, Jack's eyes sprang open to a reality far from a sun-drenched, rum-soaked paradise. The tiny room in which he now lay prone replaced the pristine beach, the tumble from a comfortable hammock now appeared to have been two burly redcoats chucking him into the cell, and apparently, he thought upon bringing the heel of one hand to a rapidly swelling eye, his slap-happy exotic temptress had been a none-too-easy-on-the-eyes, portly man with a cudgel. How bloody marvelous.
"Mmph…" Jack mumbled, checking his protesting body for signs of significant damage. Finding nothing that was of immediate and dire concern, he brightened considerably and sat up. "Thanks fer th'lift, mates."
Lieutenants Dawson and Lapworth of the East India Trading Company, for those were the soldiers who had provided said lift, scowled fitfully. "Shut your scurvy mouth, pirate, before I come in there and sing you to sleep myself!" said Dawson, banging his rifle threateningly against the iron bars. Unfortunately, it seemed to not have the debilitating effect that the young man had been aiming for, rather the opposite— the irrepressible Captain Sparrow perked up and batted his eyelashes at his captors.
"Sing t'me? Really? I'm deeply flattered, son, but my first and only love is the sea."
Dawson struck the bars again, an embarrassed and angry flush creeping to his cheeks at the insinuation. "I said shut your mangy gob, scum!"
"Oi, there's no need fer that," Jack assumed his expression of injured innocence, one hand clasped to his chest as if he had been deeply shocked and offended. "One minute yer offerin' a lullaby an' th'next yer tellin' a body to shut 'is mangy gob—? Make up yer mind, lieutenant, eh?" He scooted back a bit so that his back was against the wall, crossed his boots at the ankle, and saluted his attempted-tormentors. "Now then, all this talk about lullabies 'as gone an' made me rather sleepy, as it were… So 'ow 'bout you two bonnie sailors run along an' I'll jus' catch a catnap."
Dawson and Lapworth could only gape in shocked annoyance at the airs this pirate was putting on. Imagine being locked in a stinking cell, bound for the gallows—and acting as if you were his royal highness on the throne! The man must be stark raving mad!
And yet, right in front of their eyes, Captain Jack Sparrow of the Black Pearl waved one defiantly careless hand dismissively and cocked the tri-cornered hat (that he had, Lord knew how, managed to hang onto) at a jaunty angle over his eyes. "G'night!"
Fully affronted by the prisoner's unconcerned gall, Lapworth sneered through the iron prison door and made his parting shot. "Right. Well, have a good sleep while you can, scoundrel— t'will be your last! Gallows at first light, mate!" The scathing tone dripped venom as the two marched off, laughing contemptuously.
The stale air filled with the sound of two pairs of boots marching up stone steps, followed by the bang of a heavy oaken door, and then there was nothing. Nothing but the sound of his own breathing. Nothing but the distant drip of water in a cell down the block, and the even more distant sound of the waves crashing on the far-off shore…
And Jack Sparrow, for all of his carefree bravado, for all of his light-hearted remarks, thought he could also hear the thump of a lever that dropped the trapdoor.
THE COURAGE AND FORTITUDE…
"Do you have the courage and fortitude to follow orders and stay true in the face of danger and almost certain death?" Looking out a the motley bunch assembled before her, Kelsea could almost hear those words as Jack had always said them… and she knew that the answer to said question was undoubtedly 'yes.' Each man in the crowd, no matter his haggard appearance, was a steady hand before the mast who ate, breathed, and lived the Black Pearl—They would not let herself, nor Jack, down. So thinking, the seventeen-year-old straightened up and cleared her throat loudly.
"Ahem—So sorry t'cut yer vacation short, mates, but—" She began, only to find that her voice had literally no standing over the sound of squabbling pirates. "OI!" She tried again, but still to absolutely no effect. The urgency of their plight sinking in, she looked helplessly to Duncan, who was leaning against the railing nearby. Their eyes met and then he was there beside her.
"AVAST, YE GUTLESS RABBLE!" Well, that certainly did the trick—every man there immediately shut up, with a slight bow, he nudged his young shipmate. "All yours, lass."
With a grateful smile, Kelsea opened her mouth to speak again, only to be re-cut off.
"'Ere, allow me." With a slight grunt and what seemed to be little effort, Duncan placed rough hands on Kelsea's waist and boosted her to the top of the railing, where she grasped a line with a muffled yelp of surprise. "There y'are, now we c'n see yore darlin' face proper."
The teen rolled her eyes at his grin, sent the crew a glare for their chuckles, and tightened her grip on the Pearl's lines for a bit of physical and mental support. "Right. So, as I was sayin'… M'sorry t'have cut th'fun short, but we've got a bit've a problem, mates…" She had to take a breath for piece of mind. "Captain Sparrow has been… Shall we say, detained."
A ripple of surprised murmurs ran through the group, and Kelsea barreled on, trying to fight back her own worry.
"Aye, by our fav'rite bunch— Th'illustrious East India Trading Company."
The ripple of murmurs now had a distinctly indignant tone to them, and this time Marty could be heard yelling out over the sound of his companions. "Those dirty stinkin' whoreson bastards! I'll cut all their thrice-damned throats!"
Kelsea, for one, couldn't agree more, and seemingly it was the general opinion all the way around. However, she shouted to regain some semblance of order once again. Besides, being indignant on Jack's behalf wouldn't save him from swinging at dawn—NO DON'T THINK IT!
"AYE! Couldn' agree wiv ye more, in fact, Marty. But th'truth of th'matter is that this time he's really in trouble— bound for a last jig on th'morrow's first rays, as it were…" And it's all my bloody fault… she thought miserably, but held her tongue.
At this the crew quieted. This was something serious. It was a moment before anybody spoke at all, and when they did, it was a very nearly a plea. "So… So what're we goin' t'do..?"
The men turned to Kelsea, who in turn looked to Duncan. The additional moments of silence were unbearable. Finally, Duncan cleared his throat and moved to his shipmate's aid.
"Well, we were thinkin' that maybe we should all 'ave a say in that, mate—so here's th'thing. We welcome any an' all ideas. C'mon then, sing out if ye've got any harebrained scheme at all!"
After a moment of uncomfortable shifting from foot to foot, it was Marty's voice that floated to the fore once again. "There's th'Code t'consider, eh? I mean, ain't we s'posed t'keep t'the code? Ain't that what th'cap'n allus ordered anyhow?"
Whatever man falls behind… gets left behind. Every salt amongst them knew that rule all too well, and the mumbling alluded to the fact that there was some sort of disagreement over whether the Pirates Code should hold true in this situation.
"Well c'mon! Ye all know I like 'n respec' th'cap'n as much th'next scurvy blighter… but we got t'do what's right by us! Jack Sparrow was a good man an' a good cap'n, but 'e knows th'rule 'bout fallin' behind!"
"AWK! Any port in th'storm!" squawked Mr. Cotton's parrot reasonably.
"Oi, that's not fair! Jack Sparrow is th'best cap'n any of us 'ave ever sailed under! 'E saves our necks from places we ain't got no logical right bein' saved from! We owe it to 'im an' we got t'do somethin'!" That was Kursar, shouting angrily above the rabble.
Marty's argument was practical, they all had to admit it—those were the rules, and the captain lived by them the same as all the rest. But Kursar was right too, they knew—Jack had saved them from certain death on more occasions than anyone cared to remember.
The discontented murmurs broke out again, this time in a louder volume. Sensing the conflict that the issue was bound to give rise to, Duncan called out to them all one more time.
"Alrigh' mates, ye all 'ave yer opinions, an' welcome to 'em, but we got t'come to some sort o' decision! So, all've ye fall out an' talk amongst yerselves 'bout what t'do an' then we'll 'ave a liddle vote. Clear t'every man?"
There was a half-hearted hail of 'ayes' and the crew of the Black Pearl meandered off in groups to discuss the latest peril that had befallen their ship—the loss of her captain.
A SPECIAL BRAND OF INSANITY…
"What d'ye think they'll say, Duncan?" Kelsea Sparrow stood with her back against the starboard railing of the Black Pearl, eyeing the many small pockets of men who had gathered here and there to discuss a plan of action.
The man in question, he who had gotten her this far through the crisis, looked up from studying the dark planks of his ship and tapped his scruffy chin thoughtfully. "Well, some's easy enough t'predict—take Cotton fer example: th'man has always trusted ole Jack t'within Hell's very teeth an' I don't reckon he'd be givin' up on th'cap'n at this point. Same's wid Kursar, as ye might've noticed. Th'rest, though… Think it'd be 'ard t'say, lass. S'true enough like Marty says that Cap'n Sparrow knows th'code, an' ye can't really expect more of a pirate than t'follow which course'll do best by 'im… But m'not tellin' ye anythin' ye don' already know, am I, Kelso?"
Chuckling half-heartedly at her old friend's revelation, the young female pirate shook her chocolate-locked head. He really hadn't said anything she hadn't instinctively been aware of. "Well then what about yeself, me ol' mate?"
"What about me?"
"Where d'yer… shall we say, allegiances, lie?"
"Hmm… That is an interestin' question…" As if fiddling would help him to think, Duncan drew a small dagger from somewhere on his person and began to twirl it between his gnarled sailor fingers. After a moment, he spoke. "Well, fact 'o th'matter is that Cap'n Sparrow ain't never done anythin' against me—not t'mention th'fact that most've me motivation t'keep alive is th'raw curiosity as t'what Daft Jack's goin' t'get us into next." He paused, as if remembering a few such occasions of bedlam, and chuckled with a bit of good-natured exasperation. "Y'remember the pigs," he asked, but it was a blatant statement rather than a question.
In response, Kelsea snorted and also allowed herself to remember the absurdity that had ensued when Captain Jack Sparrow had once, in the midst of a drunken stumble, dropped his beloved compass into a trough of pig slop outside the Faithful Bride. "As if anyone could ferget—I had jus' managed t'fall asleep when th'cap'n burst into the cabin raving that some 'thrice-blasted cloven-hoofed villain' had eaten his compass… Took a fair amount o' confused questionin' t'get him t'admit that the wily bandit had, in fact, been a pig—"
"—Aye. An' then came th'part where 'e couldn' tell which animal 'ad swallowed th'thing… So 'e made every available man catch every single pig in th'port—" Duncan continued.
"—Think I still got th'bruises t'proove it, mate." The teenaged piratess finished, shaking her head with a non-too-well-disguised laugh. Easy nostalgic silence fell over the pair of them for a time, each remembering the special brand of insanity that only Jack Sparrow could command. Finally though, one of Duncan's rough-hewn hands fell once again to the girl's shoulder.
"C'mon lass— time t'call th'vote."