1I do not own Kim Possible or Pirates of The Caribbean.
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Chapter 4: Sword Crossed.
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Jack entered the building with his sword drawn, prepared to take anyone who tried to stop him. Fortunately, he would not have to cut one person down that day, the place was empty. Jack sheathed his sword and took in his surroundings with keen eyes.
It was the main room of the shop, perhaps the only room. Nothing fancy, in fact its wooden walls, hay covered floors, and small working donkey made it look like a common barn. The only difference was the various weapons hanging on walls, laying on workbenches, and set on every other nook and cranny within the room. Swords, rapiers, axes, knives, and all manner of sharp implement. A boiling furnace was situated in the far corner, another sword set along its coals. He also saw that working tools, hammers and anvils, were set among the weapons.
Jack realized that he was in a blacksmith shop.
What luck! This was perfect, all he needed to get free was right here!
Jack was overjoyed with this lucky turn out, but concealed it, and quickly went on to the task of releasing himself. He walked down the steps, into the workshop and lazily set his hat across the nearest small anvil.
He looked around the room, at every sharp blade and boarding axe, but shook his head; even those were too dull to cut through something like metal. He looked to the furnace and thought, picking up a large sledgehammer. He could try to heat the handcuffs up, then hit them, they might break then. But at the cost of his wrists, which would be badly burned and blister-covered. Jack grimaced at the thought. That would be a pain to treat. He didn't want to risk it.
A sudden snore caught Jack by surprise, causing him to jump. He wasn't alone after all! He wheeled around, and lifted the hammer above his head as he looked into the far, right corner of the room.
A little man, sitting in the small, hay crammed corner, his legs folded into a meditating pose. He was old, older then most people got at the time, and Japanese, from what Jack could tell. He had a long beard and whiskers that made his mouth invisible, and was clad in a red and gold, oriental robe and small, brown sandals.
There was another snore and the old man's beard bristled. Jack lowered his hand, surprised and relieved at the same time. The man was asleep, and it seemed that he had not heard Jack come in. Strange considering all the noise, in here and out there.
Jack would've, usually would've, left it alone there and gone back to his own business. But he had to be sure his was safe. He couldn't help but wonder, just how much it would take to wake the old man.
Jack quietly tiptoed over to the sleeping elder. Observing him for a second, he poked him in the chest several times. Jack stopped. The man still slept. Jack nodded, shrugged, then turned away and began walking off, only to turn back seconds after and shout.
"Whoa!" His voice echoed throughout the room, startling the donkey. After a moment, he took a step back and grimaced in surprise.
Still asleep.
Jack sighed in relief. The old man was either the deepest sleeper, or dead. Jack couldn't tell the difference at this point, nor did he really care. Oh well, back to business.
He turned away, and lifted the sledgehammer again, he pondered on it for a second, twisting his mouth around from side to side. An idea suddenly formed. Maybe, just maybe, it could work without the heating.
Jack then quickly raced over to an anvil. He set the chain link onto it, a wrist on either side, and the hammer in his right hand. Once he was sure the chain was perfectly straight, he raised his arm and brought the hammer down with a clang, but it missed. The chain had moved when he had tried to hit it. Jack set it up again, bringing down the hammer, but once more, it met with the anvil instead. Jack grew frustrated, and set it yet again. Clang! Clang! Clang!
Jack struck the anvil three more times before setting the hammer down on the anvil, then bringing his chained wrists to his face, jangling them together in anger. That hadn't worked quite as well as hoped. His face filled with annoyance, he gritted his teeth, just about ready to toss his bonds into the boiler, swearing and screaming.
And then, in that moment of pure irritation, Jack saw his next means of escape through the links of the chain.
A large, train of machinery, made up of greasy, rusted metal and enormous, spaced cogs and wheels. It surprised Jack that he hadn't seen it upon entry, the massive bulk that it was. It took up most of the room. But he was glad he had found it we he had, because yet another plan had already begun to form. All that was needed was to start up this hunk of metal, but however one was supposed to do this, he did not know. But it can't be that hard, just follow the machine and look for anything that resembles an 'ON button', so to speak. Not difficult at all, or Jack hoped at least.
His eyes carefully scanned the machine all the way to the far wall, where the donkey stood. No switches, levers, pulleys, or anything that resembled them. So, this monstrosity was not activated by machinery. Then what? Jack thought. He walked over to the donkey, as to look at the machine from another perspective, and that's when he saw it for the first time, the ON button! It was the donkey! The donkey was hooked up to a wheel, a wheel that was connected to the rest of the machine. Jack's luck hadn't run out yet. Now, he thought, how to motivate the power source to start up?
Jack walked over to the furnace, knowing just what he was looking for. And found the motivation sitting on the coals. Not only was a sword there, but something else, and just what he'd been hoping would be there.
A high whistle came off the branding rod as he grabbed by its cool handle and lifted it from the fire. It was a normal metal rod, to say the least, except for the brand tip that was marked 'HS', and orange, glowing with heat. Jack looked at the tip carefully, keeping it a good few inches from his face not wanting it too close, for he could feel the warmth radiate off the rod. He smirked in delight. This was perfect. His eyes darted toward the animal.
There was a sight sizzle, and the donkey's eyes widened. He let out a loud cry, then, as animal instinct told him to, he tried to run away, but being tied to a giant wheel prevented him from escaping Jack, who twirled the burning rod in his hand, making it whistle again. Rufus became so frightened, yet he could not go anywhere.
The machine suddenly came to life. The cogs began spinning and wheels began turning. The room filled with the most ear wrenching noises, clicking and clanking and occasional high-pitched, sweet whistle. It was amazing that the old man remained asleep.
Jack hooked the chain link between the two spaces in a horizontal cog. He followed it as it moved in a circle, and waited. And it paid off. A vertical cog above Jack's suddenly collided with his, one of its rectangular points pressured down on the chain, which sat in the space where it was supposed it fit. Soon a second point set on the chain, the link blocking its place as well, the strain building between the two differing metals.
When the giant cog finally rounded, there was a clinking sound, and the two cogs snapped the chain in half.
Jack pulled his wrists away and admired his newfound freedom with a proud smile. No one kept Jack Sparrow bound! He shook his wrists, still feeling some pressure in his arms, jingling the chains in harmony. He looked at both wrists, the manacles were still there, but they were separated now, and this gave him a good bit more choices of movement. He would escape from this town much easier now; he'd be gone by sundown at the least. He sighed; at last, something was going right for him today.
A sudden new sound, a creak, alerted Jack from his celebration. He looked up from his arms and to the front of the shop, he froze, his dark eyes widened, searching, waiting carefully for any signs of movement.
The hinges of the main door squeaked again as the wooden blockade was automatically raised and the double doors were opened slowly. A young man entered the building, dapperly dressed, his blond hair tied back tight, he looked through the door with a tired, perplexed expression in his chocolate eyes. Jack held his breath, as far as he could tell, the young man had not seen him yet, but it was not a good thing for a pirate to linger here much longer with someone of this boy's stature moping around. A friend of the Commodore's, no doubt, probably sent to search for him and bring him in.
Not today, Jack thought. His eyes darted around the room, then sped out of sight in a random direction, off to hide somewhere until this youth gave up his hunt.
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Ron was relocking the shop door when he noticed all the commotion inside the blacksmith shop. He had just come back from delivering a specially ordered sword at the Possible's manor. The distance between the upper crust house and the grimy part of town he worked in had a difference of several miles, making the walk home long and tedious, and taking him several hours to complete. The afternoon had worn on a bit by the time he reached town again, leaving him sweaty and tired, glistening like a cooked pig. His once pristine hair was coming out of his brown, makeshift tie in several places.
He was just glad to be home, not only because of the long traveling miles, but all of the drama that he'd faced at the Possible household. The Governor's comments, the broken candle, the sword, his pants, and, of course, Kimberly. He couldn't stop thinking about their meeting; he couldn't stop thinking about her. She had been his only friend when he arrived in Port Middleton, alone, afraid, and an orphan. And her family had helped him and loved him like their own son, housed and fed him until he found a job of his own, until he moved on to live with the blacksmith, and learned to become one. Ron had always believed he was welcomed and loved by the Possible daughter, despite the differences between them, including public status.
And then they grew up, and things changed. Kimberly became very stiff and serious over the years, taking after her aristocratic, British heritage, losing some of the fun, fiery attitude he liked about her. No doubt Kimberly's father would be trying to marry his daughter off soon, now that she was twenty. That was fairly old, considering most woman married much younger. She would probably end up with some rich ambassador or a tight Naval officer. Ron dug into that idea somewhat, and somehow he couldn't picture Kimberly living with, much less marrying to, someone like that without injuring the poor guy. Would she? He didn't know much about her anymore. There was more distance between them then there ever had been before, he could feel it.
Even when he got into town, more drama. Apparently, some pirate was caught at the dock, as young Joshua Mankey informed him. He didn't like Mankey, not in the slightest, but listened anyhow. Jack Sparrow, wasn't it? Yes, that was right. When Ron heard about events involving Kimberly, his heart skipped a beat. That Sparrow character had taken her hostage! Ron inwardly cursed the man, had he been there, that pirate wouldn't have gotten away with it. At once, he began asking questions of Kimberly's well being, to which Mankey replied that she was 'shaken up' by the incident, but seemed to be in good health from what he saw.
Ron shook his head. He didn't want to think about all that now, not anymore, not today. Right now, he just wanted to relax.
Looking over his shoulder, he saw that the machine had been activated, squalling and squeaking and wheeling around in the noisiest manner. Rufus was running in his small circle at a rapid pace, a frantic look in his big, black eyes as he turned the wheel and kept whole shop abuzz with sound, keeping the machine in movement.
Ron quickly jumped the two steps that descended into the workshop and ran over to his donkey. Getting on his knees, Ron came down to where his eyes met with the animal's, and gently, he began stroking his gray muzzle, muttering a few calming words into his ear. Rufus always liked that. The donkey stopped at sight of his loving owner, overjoyed to have finally been rescued. He settled into Ron's grasp, braying softly. With the power source at a halt, the machine began to slow.
Ron smoothed the hairs on the donkey's nose a couple more times before looking up; making sure that the monstrosity above him was stopping. Once the last cog made its final spin, Ron stood up and scratched Rufus behind the ears once more time. He'd have to give him some extra feed tonight for all his troubles.
Something must've spooked him, he figured as he walked over to the end of the room, taking off his heavy, yellow coat and slipping it over his arm. He breathed out thankfully. That thing was hot, and itchy! How did the aristocrats wear that stuff all day?
Beginning to unbutton his vest, Ron stopped in front of the sleeping, meditating old man who sat in his little corner. His workmanship master, the person who had taught him everything he knew about wielding and blacksmith work. The person who had been his guide through the years, his friend. His… what word was he looking for? Ron smiled.
His Sensei.
"Right where I left you," he said to the sleeping Sensei, who remained undisturbed, amazingly. Ron couldn't help but softly laugh at this before walking off. He wanted to slumber like that. Ron was working on the last button and suddenly yawned, he laughed again.
He might actually sleep like that tonight, as tired as he was. With a sigh, he reminisced on his job, his hope sinking. He would probably be up late, again, working. He still had a few orders to fill.
As he approached the larger anvil within the shop, his expression turned a bit bewildered. Something wasn't right. Ron tilted his head like a confused puppy as he looked down at the flat, metal surface. He tossed his coat aside and walked closer, getting a better look at this change.
Set sideways on the anvil was his sledgehammer.
Ron stared blankly at the hammer for a moment, confused. He was sure; completely and honestly sure, that his sledgehammer had not been there when there he'd left that morning. A good blacksmith would never leave his tools out in such a careless manner! Okay, Ron did it every now and again, but only when he was extremely tried out after a long day.
He thought back to that night, remembering hanging up the hammer before trailing off to bed at an early hour of the morning.
Something was wrong here.
"Not where I left you." Ron muttered, narrowing his eyes in confusion.
Gazing down at the hammer a little more, out of the corner of his eye, something of another change caught Ron's attention. He turned his head from the anvil to his right, toward the worktable. A strange, dull brown, lumpy tricorne hat had been placed amongst his tools, sat along a smaller anvil. Ron shifted his head and raised an eyebrow. That's not mine, he thought. Somebody had left it there, which meant somebody had been, and might still be, in his shop. Customers? Thieves? Ron suddenly felt a pang a fear hit his chest at the thought of thieves, or worse, pirates, lurking around. If they were still in his shop…
Ron forced the fear back down, telling himself to remain calm. He brushed a loose hair back into place. He couldn't immediately suppose that there was any sort of thief here, it might have been a customer. Ron took a deep breath. A customer who came while he was out, looked around a little, frightened Rufus, messed with his hammer, and forgot his tricorne here before leaving. Yeah, that makes sense, Ron thought, more sarcastically then comforting. He couldn't help himself; he was too frightened to think otherwise.
Sighing gently, he twisted his mouth up in a knot, unsure what to do next. This hat had to belong to someone, and his shop was only so big, so whoever it was that had been here, had to be gone now, unless they were hiding. For what reason they would be hiding, Ron didn't know or understand. Nothing could be confirmed from fact or fiction, because all the proof he had of a visitor, friendly or foe, was a misplaced hammer and an unfamiliar hat. Perhaps he was being foolish, he could've very well accidentally left the hammer out in his varied moments of carelessness, and the hat…
Okay, so he couldn't quite explain why that dirty tricorne was on his worktable or how it had gotten there, but there had to be a reason for it! Hats don't just jump up and walk into blacksmith's shops. Ron looked down at it again, his eyes narrowing once more. With his right hand, he reached down for it. He figured that if this hat had an owner, he might find some trace of him inside it, a name, an address, and lock of hair would even prove useful, and the hat did, but not in a way he wanted.
Ron was a half-inch away from touching the hat when he felt a cold metal sting as the flat of a sword slapped the back of his hand. He recoiled in panic and surprise, but kept his hand under the sword, fearing that its handler might slice it off at the wrist. His breathing had turned heavy as he searched the shadows from which the sword protruded. He could not find the face of his attacker; only a hairy, suntanned arm was of visibility, the hilt clutched in grubby fingers, fingernails darkly colored and dirt filled. A broken maniacal hang from the wrist, its chain snapped in half. Ron swallowed the urge to scream as he realized he was in the presence of a criminal.
Jack emerged from his corner within moments, a stiff and grunt expression locked into his eyes as he held the cutlass level with the young boy, a look that told Ron he may not make it out of this alive. The man's scruffy hair, tattered clothes, sun burnt face, kohl-rounded, dark eyes, and the salty, sea water scent that wafted up from his body reminded the young man of the sailors had had seen at the dock. This was no normal sailor though, Ron thought as he remembered his meeting with Mankey.
He took a step backward, slipping his hand away from the sword and to his side. Jack strode forward, following Ron, his sword pointed at the boy's chest. With each step he took back, Jack took one forward. Ron clutched a fist and put on his bravest face.
"You're the one they're hunting," he spoke in realization, putting his right foot behind him. His surprise melted away as he gritted his teeth and narrowed his eyes. "The pirate." he spat the word like a curse.
Jack had backed Ron up to the center of the shop when he stopped pursuing the boy, his sword still raised. He looked Ron straight in the face, curiosity and wonderment filling his own. The brown eyes, the messy, blonde hair, even his snarl. Where had Jack seen this boy? He seemed… memorable in some, strange way. Jack could picture his face as clearly as a glass bottle, but couldn't quite remember when or where, or what event the boy connected to. He must've been drunk at the time, whatever time that'd been. He cocked his head sideways.
"You seem somewhat familiar. Have I threatened you before?" he asked quickly, his dark eyes questioning Ron as they gleamed hazily.
Ron ignored the question, figuring the old blackheart had taken in too much rum on a stop at the local tavern. His eyes narrowed farther as he spoke, glaring at Jack with a rigid expression. "I make a point of avoiding familiarity with pirates."
Jack's sword wavered around Ron's nose. The pirate swung his head back and looked at him, his eyes wide. "Ah, well, then it would be a shame to put a black mark on your record," he said, nodding as he lowered his sword, figuring this meant he could get away clean without problems from the boy. He turned around, facing the worktable again. "So, if you'll excuse me..." He reached over to grab his hat.
Ron quickly spun around, stretching his arm out to the hanging rack that encircled a large beam; he used it to hold his finished swords. He firmly gripped a gold and sliver entwined hilt, pulled it from the metal rack, and produced his own sword, swinging it forward and striking it out at Jack.
At the sound of the slivery cling, Jack turned around, sighing exasperatingly as Ron's blade came within three feet of his persona. How many times was going to have a sword pointed at his face today? He saw Ron's youthful determination and recklessness, and he smirked, raising an inquiring, taunting eyebrow. He began approaching the boy again, but this time, Ron didn't back away. He planted his feet, curling his fingers around the sword tightly. A look of such fury filling his once frightened face. Jack moved his sword to his side defensively, clutching it as Ron had.
"Do you think this wise, boy- crossing blades with a pirate?" He questioned, amused by Ron's brave attempt.
The young blacksmith raised his sword so the hilt was level with his face, the grating sneer still locked into his eyes. He licked the inside of his mouth before speaking. "You threatened Miss Possible," his words came in a dark and hostile manner, as if he were trying to avenge the wrongdoing the pirate had brought to his friend. He breathed in, waiting for the next move.
In response, Jack raised his own sword, but instead of attacking, as Ron thought he would, the pirate ran his blade across the flat of his opponent's, causing a scratchy, filing noise to escape from their blades and vibrate through their ears. Ron took a step backward, overwhelmed by the sound and the event. Jack soon removed his sword from Ron's and held it up next to his dirty face, a taunting look in his eyes. He smirked again.
"Only a little." he muttered, as if telling a joke. This only angered Ron farther.
They readied their swords. The fight had begun.
Jack advanced upon Ron, making a simple swipe at his leg. Ron blocked the move, quickly sweeping his own blade and stopping his adversary's. Jack moved from the parry and struck again, this time for the boy's head. Another parry and the pirate recoiled his sword, breaking away momentarily to calculate his next tactic. Ron waited patently, his sword still raised from the last deflect. Jack returned to the dual quickly with four more simple strikes, all going toward Ron's head or torso. He parried each one with great skill, matching Jack's speed and grace. The final swipe the pirate made went directly for Ron's upper skull. He reached up, blocking his opponent yet again. Seconds after the parry, Ron pulled his sword down and whipped it at Jack's chest several times, twisting at the small tassels that hung from the pirate's shirt and forcing him to back away.
Jack looked up at Ron in surprise; he hadn't been expecting that kind of move, not from an aristo-brat. Most of them just played defense until he finally had them on the ground, sword pointed at their chests, though some he had faced had been quicker with a sword then he, this much he knew and remembered. This kid was good, very good, and could very well beat him if he put his mind to it. Perhaps he should play this a little more seriously.
Ron held his sword at level with Jack, his body shaped into a fighting stance. A smug smirk crossed his lips as he eyed the pirate's shock. He had truly stunned him with that quick move of offence. What had he been expecting from a blacksmith, someone who works with swords all the time? Defense until he was cornered?
As his smirk swerved down again, Ron made the first move, fencing his sword out at Jack, who was forced to parry in turn. The young blacksmith quickly pulled out and sliced his sword at the pirate once more. He met with Jack's instead, which then moved down for Ron's thigh. He stopped it before Jack could even come close to hitting him. Then tried for the pirate again, but he only came to meet a parry, and then had to parry for himself to avoid the opposite's sword once again. This cycle of movement continued for several more seconds as the two shuffled across the dirt floors, parrying, playing defense, as we'd call it, until finally, Ron had put Jack between himself and a wall, holding down the pirate's blade with his own.
Jack lifted his sword away quickly, causing the scraping noise to reemerge from the blades. Ron recoiled his arm forcefully, but still clutched the hilt in resistance, now fully riled up and ready for a fight. He stepped back into the center of the building as Jack approached again, his cutlass held in front of his chest.
"You know what you're doing, I'll give you that." he commented respectfully, causing Ron to raise an eyebrow of confusion. "Excellent form." Jack stopped abruptly, crossing his sword against Ron's in challenge, a look in his eyes overflowed with the emotion as he questioned him again.
"But how's your footwork?" Ron immediately understood.
"If I step here…" Jack said, and took a step to the left, to which Ron went opposite, one foot to the right, forming a small circle between them. They parried again, the clashing of swords went back and forth for a second before Ron blocked, holding Jack's at bay. He could feel the pressure that his opponent put upon his own blade, signaling that Jack was keeping the blacksmith back as well.
"Very good." the pirate commented as he looked up at the two crossed blades. Without wavering his eyes from them, he continued. "Now I step again." He swiped away from the cross, speedily walking counter clockwise, throwing several more difficult strikes at the boy, to which each were parried as Ron was circled by his opponent. Jack moved from the dual again, spinning out of circle before Ron's blade came crashing down on him.
He stood mere feet from the young blacksmith now, with a smile that spoke of high amazement, his dark eyes glittered with wonder. A very talented swordsman, this boy was. Clever, strong, and determined, and very handy with a sword. He would make for a good pirate, Jack thought.
He jokingly advanced at Ron again, to which, as expected, was parried. Ron stepped back from the mock threat on impulse. Jack gave an unsurprised stare.
"Ta," he said before turning his back to the young swordsman. He sheathed his sword and walked back to the door, pulling himself over the stone build that separated the main area from the entry.
Ron gave off an inquiring stare as his opponent fled the fight. His mind boiled over with anger. No, this was not over, not yet, he would bring this pirate to justice.
His eyes narrowed, and in a burst of rage and quick thinking, he swung his sword arm back, then forward, throwing his blade out with such force.
Thwack!
Jack had reached the door and was about to lift the lock when this noise entered his ears. He looked to his left, finding Ron's sword inches from his nose, buried into the wood of the entrance, right over the blockade. It made a soft, wobbly sound as it settled from the quick tactic.
The pirate looked to Ron with wide eyes, then looked back at the sword. He stepped back a few feet and clasped the hilt, stopping the sword's movement. He pulled roughly, trying to remove it. Discontinuing for a second, he found that the weapon was stuck, but good. He stiffened up his arms with all the strength he could congregate, then tried again, shaking the sword angrily and muttering curses as he worked.
Ron watched Jack's sad attempt with amusement and pride, feeling as though he had really put up a winning on his part.
Jack violently tugged at the hilt a few more times, but still found no avail to this tactic. He then moved his arms down and grabbed the blockade from under, trying to pull it up in frustration, despite the sword that lay in its path. This, of course, proved useless as well. Jack tried one last time, and then moved away, sighing angrily. He looked at Ron was annoyance.
"That is a wonderful trick..." he said, his annoyance quickly morphed to a dangerous feeling that caused Ron to back step, realizing that he could not defend himself if Jack chose to draw his sword. Ron looked over his shoulder, to the furnace, where he saw his hope of getting out of this fight alive. He smiled slyly, then turned back to watch Jack as he stepped off the build, onto a nearby hay cart, which tipped slightly at the new imbalance of weight.
He continued speaking, "…except, once again, you are between me and my way out. And now…" Jack pulled his sword from it sheath again for effect, lifting it to his side, "you have no weapon." He sneered arrogantly as Ron stepped backward again; he was now a foot away from the furnace.
The young blacksmith acted quickly, reaching to the furnace's edge, he pulled the hilt of the newly forged sword he had been working on earlier that day. He pointed the orange glowing, heated tip at Jack, whose smile wavered at the sight of his opponent's newly acquired weapon. Rufus saw the sword, suddenly reminded of the former pain a burning object had caused him. He squealed in fear and took off, running his small circle and restarting the machine.
Jack watched the sword for several seconds with his brown eyes gone wide, then ran to the right, trying to pass the support beam with the sword rack. Ron took to the left, spinning around the beam and cutting Jack off, swinging his sword. Jack parried and red-orange sparks flew from the blades. Jack ran to the left of the beam, Ron spun back and their blades met again, more sparks blasted out from the blows. Ron pushed his sword toward Jack's legs. Jack was forced back, jumped away at the last second; hitting Ron's blade was his own, who stepped away at the blow. Jack took off for Ron, his sword raised. He crossed it with Ron's and leaned, forcing the blacksmith backwards again. Ron grunted at the pressure he was forced to put onto his arms, but was able to push Jack off with a quick summon of strength. He made a come back by fencing toward Jack's free arm, who saw this coming, and twisted the manacle chain around the edge of the blade before it made contact with his skin. He jerked his arm unexpectedly, and the sword flew from Ron's hands, clamoring onto the stone floor nearby.
Caught off guard and now aware he was, once again, weaponless. Ron cowardly shrank off to the other side of the sword rack; Jack followed his movements and swung his sword viciously at the boy. Ron veered to his left and Jack's weapon sliced at the air and became wedged into the support beam. He somersaulted over the moving turning wheel and landed semi skillfully onto the ground, once there, he reached out for another support beam, which also held a sword rack, and drew another blade from his collection.
Jack jumped onto the spinning wheel as it made its way toward the young blacksmith. A simple parry took place between the two, though Ron was beginning to look a little tired of this. Jack looked down at the other rack of swords, all beautiful and perfectly forged. Amazing.
"Who makes all these?" he asked to no one in particular.
Ron swatted at Jack's blade and the pirate jumped down from his perch. Ron quickly leaped onto the same wheel; his eyes now gleamed a bit more feverishly.
"I do!" Ron answered to the surprise of the pirate.
Jack went to attack from the left. Ron moved to the left side of the beam and skillfully parried again.
"…And I practice with them…" he continued arrogantly.
Jack held his blade steadily and made a strong swing toward Ron's face. Ron dodged and moved back to the right side of the beam. Their blades slightly met again and Jack gritted his teeth, annoyed by the boy's haughtiness, but Ron wasn't finished.
"…Three hours a day!" he said with confidence. His was tired of not getting the credit for all this work; at least now someone knew it was Ron Stoppable was both a skilled swordsman and a skilled blacksmith.
Jack swatted at Ron in response, and the boy quickly jumped off. Jack grabbed the beam and once again took his place on the wheel, now smiling sneeringly at Ron.
"You need to find yourself a girl, mate!" he spoke and struck for a fierce blow at Ron's skull once again. Ron clinched up and ducked before his head was sliced off and Jack's blade met with the beam. Ron lifted his own sword and tried at Jack, but the pirate jumped backwards right before the blade came too close, and it was beat against the beam lightly.
Jack landed on the other side of the shop. Upon straightening up, he grasped for a higher, spinning rack above his head and pulled a hammer down. Ron grabbed a second sword and jumped the wheel again to attack the pirate. Both came prepared. They fenced a couple times, then Jack raised the hammer and tossed it at the blacksmith. Ron fearfully ducked and the tool hit the floor. He soon jumped back with both his blades slashing. Jack parried his blows and quickly interlocked their swords, holding both of Ron's back with his one.
"Or!" he quickly began their banter again, looking the boy dead in the eyes. Which Ron found were stinging with tears from the smell of the pirate's breath. He raised an eyebrow as Jack spoke. "…Perhaps the reason you practice three hours a day is that you already found one, and are otherwise incapable of wooing said strumpet."
Jack's face suddenly clinched up into a disgusted expression. "You're not a eunuch, are you?" He looked down pointedly.
Ron's face turned from confused, to sour, to angry, in a matter of seconds. He had no idea what Jack meant by 'eunuch', whatever that was, but the comments about woman had certainly touched a nerve. He thought back to Kimberly, their friendship, their differences, Jack taking her hostage, and it all meshed together in one angry boiling pot inside his mind. A hotheaded expression appeared on his face.
"I practice three hours a day so that when I meet a pirate," he added effect to that word again by widening his eyes, "I can kill it!"
Jack gave him a mockingly surprised expression. Ron moved from the lock and made a slash for Jack, who jumped away and onto the hay cart. Ron tightened his grip on both swords and chased after him in blind fury.
The wooden block that held the cart in its place suddenly moved due to the sudden shift in weight. It slipped out from under them and the cart wobbled, its wheels free and two fully-grown men on each side of it. Its side slipped off the stone build and it rocked even worse, sliding forward very slowly. Jack and Ron took a moment to get used to the movement, but continued their sword fight. Jack threw out two strikes; Ron blocked both with a different sword, then grabbed Jack's sword between the two blades and forced him away. Jack stretched his weapon arm high in the air and endeavored to bring to down on the blacksmith. Ron was too quick for him, and parried it before it could leave the air. Lowering his blade, Jack tried again, this time at Ron's chest. Parried again. Ron then took his other sword a swung it at Jack, who ducked and brought up his sword for three more complicated attacks, to the neck, right arm, and upper thigh, and, unsurprisingly, Ron blocked them all. Jack tried for the knees, Ron parried with both swords, then brought them up and sliced each individually at Jack, to which he dodged, then came back was two more blows, met with two more parries. This was beginning to get very repetitive.
Rufus continued to make his round as he watched his owner fight for his life. Jack pushed into Ron's parry and tried to use it to hold the blacksmith back again. Ron caught Jack's blade with both of his and pushed him back. Jack went to pull away for an attack, but found he couldn't. Jack looked at his wrist and realized that one of Ron swords had found its way into the right hand's manacle chain somewhere during their last take at each other. Ron saw what had happened, looked at Jack for second, then decided to take advantage of the situation. He jerked the tangled sword upward and burrowed the tip of the blade into a low rafter. The chain slid to the hilt of the sword.
Jack found himself suddenly several inches off the ground as he was strung up by his arm. He jiggled his hand, attempting to loosen the blade, but it proved useless. He writhed forward, and Ron, who was watching with pride, backed up a little, fearing that Jack might try to kick him. He didn't, but instead, pulled out his sword again, and made several seemingly feeble swipes at Ron while dangling there. Still, a sword was a sword, no matter how bad it seemed to be used, it could still cut and slice. Ron was still forced to dodge each one until he had backed up to a point where Jack couldn't reach him, where he stood on the ground and had tilted the cart up one side, and down another. As it turns out, the 'up' side was Jack's, and he suddenly had something solid to stand on again. He stamped his leg down hard on the middle board, causing it to flip up. It almost hit Ron in the nose, but thankfully missed and only caused the young blacksmith to lose his balance.
Ron landed flat on his back, he shook his head and tried to come back from the daze the fall had caused.
Jack, now free of the pestering boy, lifted his entire lower body up, planting his feet onto the rafter he was bolted to, and began trying to pull himself down, grunting through clinched teeth.
Ron stood up and headed back for the cart, sword still in hand.
Jack continued his unprogressive endeavor, hoping just once, just once today, he could get his way, thinking how embarrassing it would be if the Royal Navy officers caught him like this, hanging by his arm and losing to a scrawny twerp like this kid. No, he was Jack Sparrow, there was not a scrap or obstacle in this world he couldn't handle, he had taken down sea monsters and other pirates tougher then this boy, so why was he having so much trouble defeating him?
Jack's thoughts and recollections were suddenly interrupted by the sound of creaking wood. He looked up too late, the sword had already been jostled loose, and Jack found himself falling back down.
Ron had gotten himself onto the cart and fixed to reenter the fight when he watched Jack fall from the rafter and hit the other side. He should've seen it coming, but he didn't. And the next thing Ron knew, he was flying, launched into rafters by the force of pirate's fall.
Jack rolled off the cart in a mess of black hair and ripped clothes and hit the stone build hard. He felt the blood rushing back from his head as he lifted himself and looked around. He was back on good old solid ground, nice to know. From what he could tell, no injuries had been sustained from the fall nor the hit. He was okay, and best of all, free again! Now just to win this sword fight and his day would be complete. He shook his head and looked back at the cart, expecting his young rival to be waiting with that confident smile, but his anticipations were met with disappointment. Wait, where's the boy? He stood up, looking for his opponent with narrowed eyes. Ron was nowhere to be found. He stepped back on the wooden cart and got a better look around the shop. Nothing. Where had he gone? Or had he just run off like a coward?
Jack looked up at the rafters that had formerly held him captive, and he smiled greasily, revealing his two gold teeth.
Ron sat along one of the long slabs of wood, a still determined glare in his eye. This fight was far from over. Not far from the boy hung a thick net filled with three large barrels, the rope that held that up was tied to the rafter. The young blacksmith took his sword and slashed the nearby rope, it slid away and the net plummeted toward the cart. Jack realized, halfway through the net's fall, just what Ron had done.
As the barrels went down, hitting one side of the cart, Jack went up and was also sent flying. Airborne for mere seconds, the pirate grasped out and managed to hold on to the closest rafter. Jack sighed exhaustedly, then climbed up. Upon standing, Ron breathed out, now sweatier then before, and prepared to continue. Jack stood up and climbed over the wooden beam, landing on the one parallel to Ron's. He pulled out his sword once more. Time to finish this.
Both leaped from rafter to rafter, crisscrossing each other and edging closer to their next fencing lesson. Jack jumped to the opposite rafter again; actually he was finding it a little enjoyable. He smiled, but then noticed that Ron had not leaped to the opposing rafter like he had. Instead, he stood face to face with Jack, sword at the ready.
Ron went for a strike; Jack parried quickly and fenced out at the boy. As their parrying continued, they were forced to tiptoe along the narrow board, which made it harder then it would be on the ground. Ron carefully jumped back to the other beam, and Jack followed. Their swords crossed in a moment of pure intensity, then they continued. Back and forth, another fence, another parry, that is… until Ron slapped the hilt of Jack's blade with his own, and sent it flying out of the pirate's hand and sailing to the ground.
Jack suddenly recoiled as Ron held the blade level with his chest. The boy smiled victoriously, and griped his sword with much pride. Jack was not as pleased, not fact, he looked quite shocked and frightened. Forget image! I'm getting out of here before I'm caught! He took off to the very edge of the beam, grabbed it, and flipped down to the bottom of the shop, landing himself close to the wall.
Ron watched his opponent flee, but no, he wasn't done, this pirate was going to prison today, and by his hand. He kneeled down and grabbed the rafter, swinging off the side, and gliding to the dirt floor. From where he stood, he could see Jack, whom he now had cornered again.
Jack turned around and saw what predicament he had gotten into, and now he was stuck. Not good! Franticly, he searched for another weapon, but all to be found was a large sack of sand that hung above the furnace. He looked back at Ron, who suddenly charged at him with great speed. Jack gritted his teeth nervously and looked at the sack again, oh well, beggars can't be choosers.
Right as Ron had reached the pirate, Jack lunged toward the furnace, grabbed the sack, aimed it for Ron, and squeezed the top hard. In an instant, orange, dusty sand filled the air, and poor Ron found himself caught in the full blast and temporarily blinded. He shielded his eyes with his hands and tried shift away from the sand, to which Jack only took advantage of. He relinquished his grip on the now empty sack and kicked the sword from Ron's hand, then jumped down from the furnace. Ron had felt the sharp pain in his hand and the hilt leave his palm. In the instance, he tried to rub some of the sand from his eyes and locate another weapon. His hair was completely undone and what was once colored yellow blonde, was now carrot orange, and his skin looked no different, like the rust on an old bolt, grainy and an unflattering shade of orange. His eyes hurt and were bloodshot from the sandblasting he had received. His clothes, his best clothes, he began to wonder if they were ruined and forever dyed this awful color. Not that that mattered right now.
He was suddenly able to spot a pair metal tongs through his sandy eyes, quickly he lifted them, and wheeled around in a defensive position, ready to yet again fight his attacker. But when Ron turned around, he wasn't just met with the unpleasant sight of Jack Sparrow, but the even more unpleasant sight of a loaded black pistol.
Ron eyes widened in a sudden burst of fear. Jack held it steady, fingers lingering over the trigger, a dead serious look in his eyes, though Ron could tell he was reclusive about using the weapon. He wouldn't risk relaying on a pirate's better judgment though; chances are he might get shot if he didn't surrender. He was good at blocking a sword, but ricocheting a bullet was near impossible. And Jack knew that.
"You cheated!" Ron said in a winy tone.
"Pirate," Jack merely replied and gave him a surprised look, like Ron had just stated the obvious.
There was a sudden rattling slam against the locked front door, followed by the grunting and shouting of many men. Shards of red fabric and musket barrels were visible through the spaces in the wood. They'd found him!
Jack looked at the door, then back Ron, who saw them and stepped away from his corner backwards, then stopping and blocking off the back door, he held the tongs like he would a sword.
"Move away." Jack told him.
Ron shook his head. "No," he replied calmly, but rather bravely.
"Please move," Jack said again, this time begging.
Ron's voice became gruff. "No! I can't just step aside and let you escape!" he looked back at the front door, hoping the Navy soldiers would hurry up already.
Jack became frustrated and cocked the pistol, causing a shiver to run down Ron's spine. He twisted his mouth in something of regret.
"This shot is not meant for you," he said in a tone that suddenly made Ron wonder what he meant, though he never got a chance to ask.
A thwack! sounded from behind Jack. The pirate suddenly gave off a strange, emotionless expression that confused Ron, then he watched as Jack fell face first and hit the floor. Ron gasped as he looked down at the unconscious form of Jack Sparrow, then looked up, and was surprised to see Sensei standing over the pirate, his wooden staff lifted in defense. He looked up at Ron, his elderly eyes filled with power and wisdom, and he nodded.
As if timed for it, the soldiers let out a definitive cry and the doors suddenly slammed open as they kicked them in. They swarmed into shop in signal file, muskets at the ready, and formed a quick circle around Sparrow. Once every soldier had taken to the shop, Commodore Mankey and Lieutenant Senior entered, their pistols drawn. Rufus froze in fear as the strangers stormed past him, the machine began to slow once more.
Mankey and Junior joined in the group of soldiers and gazed down at Jack, who lay face first on the dirt floor, his pistol not but two inches from his emptied hand. Several of the young soldiers aimed their muskets at him, should he wake up.
"Excellent work, Mr. Sensei," Mankey said as he looked down at Jack with a certain gleam in his eye, a victorious one. He wavered his vision toward the old man, who held his walking stick in one hand now. "You've assisted in the capture of a dangerous fugitive."
Sensei nodded again, his white beard bouncing amusingly. "Just doing my civic duty, sir."
Ron made a sour face. Civic duty? He'd slept all day! It was he, Ron, that had defended his home and his family from this pirate. Sensei probably wouldn't have woken had he not fought Jack! But once again, his master took all the credit for the things he had done.
Mankey nodded back, then looked down at his pirate enemy. He had done it. He had captured Jack Sparrow! Vengeance was sweet! No one made a fool of Joshua Wendell Mankey! An arrogant smirk suddenly formed on the young Commodore's face.
"Well, I trust you will always remember this as the day that Captain Jack Sparrow almost escaped." he nodded softly, then turned back toward the door. They were done here. "Take him away."
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A/N
Thanks to Chapter 3 reviewers Josh84, CajunBear73, Invader Johnny, Brian, NotTheCrimpMaster, daywalkr82, DuffKilliganFan, Ace Ian Combat, and Arya MageFire for returning after such a long wait! As well as all the silent readers, for you all made the hits for this story jump up by 2000 since the last update.
Any grammatical, spelling, or errors of any sort that you may have spotted. Report them to me please.
This chapter was by far, one of the most fun (and the longest) to write, considering how closely I had to watch this scene on my Curse of The Black Pearl DVD, over and over again, which can get very annoying, by the way, I had a good time putting it together. Hopefully the fight was easy enough to read.
I would also like to thank reader Eddi, for without this review; I would not have an appearance of Master Sensei in this chapter, and many similar references coming in the eighth chapter.
The Fannie Award voting has closed. Thanks for those who nominated me! I love you guys!
Next Chapter: Invasion of Piracy (and the appearance of Barbossa and Shego!).