The Trouble with Women

Chapter 17

Warning Bells

--

"I've decided, Captain Sparrow, that I would like an apology for your rude behaviour from last night and this morning," Vivien had told Jack Sparrow without so much as warning as they'd strolled the deck together, avoiding the bustle of the crew.

Truth be told, she was rather surprised that the request had come from her lips. She'd been thinking of giving the man a telling off, but didn't actually expect herself to gather enough courage to actually do it. One moment there had been an almost amiable silence between them, and the next she had to ruin it.

Jack had turned to her, eyebrows curved downward with what seemed to be a look of complete disbelief upon his face. He hid it quickly, however, because the next moment he was laughing heartily at her, which made her feel nothing less than a joke.

Vivien, l'idiot, she thought sardonically.

"May I inquire as to what is so funny, Captain?" she asked stiffly, observing the pirate with a stony face as he proceeded to laugh himself silly.

Jack managed to straighten himself somewhat, squelching a particularly adamant fit of laughter to an amused grin. "Pray, say that again, love," he requested cheekily.

"What?" Vivien's brow furrowed in confusion, and Jack could hardly contain his laughter.

"Vivien, I believe that's the first time you've had the audacity to demand something from me, unless of course you count our unfortunate dinner conversation concerning your father's treasure," he told her, his smile betraying his gold-capped teeth.

Ah, then he must find this terribly amusing... "Yes? And I'll do it again, Captain Sparrow," she retorted, deciding to humour the man more whether she wished to or not. "As far as our agreement goes, I've not heard a word that allows you to be locking me up like a prisoner or sleeping in the same bed as myself as though I'm something I'm not!" Vivien wasn't going to back down from this argument. Not while her person was being treated in such a way. C'était absurde!

Jack noted the way her face seemed to flush a bit, giving her nervousness away. He figured she wouldn't have even brought the subject back up unless it really seemed to bother her. Not that he hadn't expected it to. Not that he really cared…

"I think you're forgetting one very important thing, Vivien," he told her, humour in his eyes."I'm Captain aboard this ship and whatever I say, goes."

She eyed him warily, now, her suspicions roused by those last words. "And does that allow you to go back on your end of our agreement at any time?" she questioned tentatively, almost afraid that once she'd put the thought in his mind that would be exactly what he would do.

Maybe he noticed this, because he gave her a sort of reassuring smile. "Nay, I've never broken an accord in my life, darling. But that doesn't mean I can't lock you up—since it's purely for safety reasons. I can't have any unwanted hands on your lovely self, now can I?" he smirked cheekily down at her.

Vivien seemed to recall him explaining this to her yesterday on the outside of the door as she had cursed him in French and demanded to be let out.

"And, furthermore, last night I was drunk off my arse…pardon my French—" Vivien gave him a pointed look, in which he made an odd face "—No offence meant, of course. But as it goes, I was drunk as Davy's sow and unlikely to give a second thought that you were in my bed. What'd you expect? Me to be chivalrous and wake you?" he mocked, raising an eyebrow at her. "I'm afraid you may have forgotten I'm but a lowly pirate."

Vivien knew when she had been beat. "Then I request you inform me beforehand if you're going to be locking me down below, Captain," she told him icily, eyes fixed on a spot just below his shoulder, refusing to look him in the eyes.

Again, Jack laughed. "Well, then, now's a good time as ever, love. Do you wish for me to escort you?" he asked mockingly, offering her his arm.

Homme impudent.

She pointedly ignored his offer and refused to look at him as they made their way to her cabin.

--

"Damn Sparrow and his bloody whore…" preceded a string a mumbled curses from none other than Beckham, who sat at a rickety little table in the corner of the one Ambodiforaha's seediest, squalid taverns. Also huddled around the table were Louis and Bardus, the French pirate with a permanent scowl upon his face and the brutish man staring down into a tankard of ale.

They'd made it onto shore in humiliation, half the town laughing at their nakedness as they had waded from the water. Thoroughly disgraced, they had slunk about the backstreets of the pirate town for a good hour before an unfortunate three men, drunk out of their wits, came stumbling into the shadows. The three former pirates had left the men stripped, lying in pools of their own blood. They stepped from the allies fully clothed and with purses bulging with coin.

However, all three took Jack Sparrow's warning to heart, and made themselves scarce as possible, holing themselves up in a dark and grubby tavern just off the waterfront where the poor and the paupers made their homes. Sparrow preferred places with quality rum and familiar faces, and this was not the place.

They'd been hiding ever since.

"Who does he think he is, anyway? The cocky little bastard. Sonofabitch…having a bleedin' woman aboard like that…dumb wench…" Beckham continued to mumble, downing another swig of whisky. He couldn't even look at rum. It made him think of that smug fool Sparrow.

Louis, perhaps the calmest of the three, rolled his eyes at the man. "Cursing Jack Sparrow to hell isn't goin' to do anything, idiot."

Beckham sneered at his former shipmate. "I don't see yew with any great ideas. I bet you're gunna leave it at that, lettin' Sparrow have is way!" he snarled.

"You want revenge? You can do it yourself. Jack Sparrow may be arrogant but he ain't a bloody fool," he shot back irritably. "You'll be dead before you knew what hit you."

The three fell into silence, all frowning and all feeling like an equal share of vengeance was in order, although Louis was reluctant to go against Jack Sparrow again. Fortunately or unfortunately, none of them had a coherent idea how to achieve revenge, and it only seemed to worsen their moods.

Their opportunity came just moments later.

"Excuse me, gentlemen…but I couldn't help but here you speak the name Jack Sparrow."

The three looked up, disinterested, and were faced with possibly the most well-dressed man any of them had—or were—ever going to see. An ornately curved hat sat atop an almost regal looking head, with dark hair pulled into a small tail at the nape of his neck. His moustache was thin and trimmed neatly, a small goatee at his chin. His lips were curved into a devious smile, his eyes dark and glinting in the dim light. The clothes he wore looked almost suited for royalty, for the shirt he work looked suspiciously like silk, the overcoat fine leather, and the belt around his waist was decorated with a elaborate silver buckle. His britches, too, seemed of high quality, the fabric new and unsoiled. His boots were of medium stature and polished.

But what caught the three men's eyes most of all, maybe, was the high quality sheath of his sword, and the jewelled handle of the weapon. He wore two fancy pistols tucked firmly into his belt, and several daggers—the handles were just poking out from beneath the coat.

Beckham's first thoughts on the man were that he was a pansy waif prancing about a pirate town just waiting to be robbed, until he noticed the avid glint in his dark eyes.

Louis's thoughts were of the opposite. This was a dangerous man. He was reminded of Sparrow, with his dark eyes and smile, his strike quick and deadly. This man's voice was smooth and deadly, with a thick Spanish accent. A Spaniard in the Indian Ocean…?

Bardus narrowed his eyes at the man, feeling quite peeved that someone had interrupted his time to drown himself in ale, but realized the man meant business as he cocked an impatient eyebrow at them, his gaze cool.

Beckham's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Depends on why you want to know," he said, lips curling in distaste. He'd never liked the Spanish much.

In a moment, a fourth chair was at the table, and the Spaniard had seated himself without invitation. "Well, I couldn't help but overhear you speaking of Jack Sparrow as though he was a curse…and was reminded of my own reasons for disliking the man."

"What's that to do with us?" Louis demanded, leaning forward to study the newcomer.

The Spaniard smiled wily,a grinremarkably like Sparrow's. It was unnerving.

"I was wondering if you could point out his ship to me. A few friends and I have been searching for him without much luck," the Spaniard offered an innocent shrug.

Beckham glared. "We'll be needin' some sort of reason, Spaniard, afore sayin' anythin'."

Unaffected by the name, the newcomer folder his hands on the table. "To put it simply, señores, Jack Sparrow has something my current employer is after, and in getting it I receive a rather large sum of money for my troubles. And, if you help us I'll give up ten percent of the profits and you can split it between yourselves."

The three exchanged a quite glance between themselves, all three thinking the same thing.

The French wench, Vivien Brideau. It seemed as though Sparrow wasn't the only one after her treasure.

Louis spoke up after a moment. "We'll be needing twenty percent for our troubles."

The Spaniard shook his head firmly. "You'll receive ten percent, enough to keep all three of you satisfied for more than a while. Do you agree or not?"

Ignoring the question, Louis pursed his lips. "How much is ten percent?"

The newcomer grinned. "Roughly two hundred guineas, I believe."

Needless to say, the deal was sealed within less than two minutes after that revelation.

--

Vivien was staring out at the harbour again, leaning on the small porthole with her arms crossed under her chin. Behind her, there were several of Shakespeare's books stacked on the bed, ones Jack had brought her by request. Actually, Anamaria had been the one to bring them to her, but had informed her with a roll of her eyes that Jack had thought it best she have something to occupy her time with.

She'd read for a while before becoming bored. She seemed to have been reading the same line over and over again for nearly five minutes. But that was nothing a bit of fresh air couldn't fix. Vivien soon found herself watching the pirate town with a subtle sort of curiosity.

It didn't seem so bad during the day. Although from where she was standing the town was too far in the distance to see much. If not for all the pirate ships bobbing about, she would have thought it a normal town. And, before night had begun to fall the day before, Vivien could have been certain Jack Sparrow was feeding her one big lie. It had seemed peaceful until the first gunshot had gone off, and then the waterfront was crammed with boats filled with pirates piling into the town, their laugher and shouts carrying over the small bay. She was lucky she'd had that book to distract her from the noises!

So, now that she really thought about it, Vivien was somewhat glad to have a place of refuge. Before being once again outsmarted by the man, Jack had quite insistently pulled her around the better part of the morning after breakfast, intent that she learn as much about a ship—his ship—in the shortest amount of time possible. His reasons she couldn't even begin to fathom, but she'd had the strange feeling he'd tolerated her the whole morning simply because it was of some profit to him. Or maybe the sound of his own voice pleased him so much that he needed someone to chatter away at for hours. Most of what he'd told her had gone in one ear and out the other, though. Despite her initial dislike of the man and her embarrassment caused by him that morning, Vivien found herself strangely drawn to him. But did she trust him? Not likely. Not yet, anyway

Sighing, Vivien slid from the view and glanced back at the books on the bed. A Midsummer Night's Dream was still waiting to be finished, after all.

--

Jack knew something was wrong. It was that tingling of uncertainty in the very middle of his gut that was trying in vain to warn him of something. It was like that feeling someone got while being watching. One knew eyes were upon them, focused solely on them, but were unable to act unless they knew where their watcher stood.

He'd first noticed around midday, after paying for the last bag of flour and helping his men load their new supplies into the boats and row it to the Pearl At first, he'd thought he had forgotten something, but upon confiding in Gibbs, found that they'd purchased all they needed. Not a thing was left undone.

He'd scanned the harbour then, standing tall on the docks and surveying the ships before him.

There was something hiding from him. An elusive flash of colour in the corner of his eye, and when he turned to seek it out, there was nothing but black and white.

Hours later he'd found himself back in The Maiden's Head, talking to Eugene over the bar top. He'd seen nor heard a thing, Jack had been told, and had nodded it away absently. Another round of drinks were ordered for his table, and by the time the sun had set, he was once again too drunk to put a completely coherent string of words together. There was a woman on each of his arms and his crew around him. The atmosphere was what he was used to, loud and rowdy. The air was hot, Jack was drunk, and the feeling was completely forgotten.

As was Vivien, and her luring green eyes.

It was a mistake he'd have more trouble fixing than he would have liked.

--

Night had long since fallen on Sainte Marie, and the night owls had risen for pleasurable company and a drought of liquor. At this time, the waters of the harbour were near devoid of life safe for the restless souls trapped in the timber of ships. The water was too dark to see, and most avoided crossing back to their ships after dusk. Many would stay in Ambodiforaha tonight, and several men were quite pleased with this fact.

A rowboat was in the water, two sets of oars powered by for men—four pirates.

Three men sat huddled close to each other while two more sat facing them.

The Indian air was cool at night, nipping at the occupants of the boat. One man shuddered.

"It's a bit cold for being a tropical island! I'd rather be drinking myself into oblivion if I wasn't being paid!"

Beside him, another snorted. "Stop being a dumb get, Louis. It's a friggin' wind!"

Louis, the Frenchman and former crewman aboard the Black Pearl, glared steadily at Beckham. "Watch your tongue, Beckham. It was what got us all into this mess in the first place."

"Shaddap, braggart!" Beckham spat, elbowing his companion in the ribs.

Bardus, who sat beside Louis, watched as the two fought with a look of mild tedium upon his face. Clearly, this was something he saw every day…

Louis mimicked Beckham, adopting the Englishman's clipped accent. "'Lets get the stupid, chit, mate! No sense in Sparrow keepin' 'er all to himself! Valuable she may be to him, but she'd only good for one thing with me!'" he mocked, recalling the pirate's words when he first came up with his brilliant plan to subdue and force the Frenchwoman.

"What'd I say, fool!" Beckham snarled warningly, and opened his mouth to give Louis a verbal lashing when he was interrupted.

"You tried to force yourself upon Miss Brideau?" a deep, bitter voice asked, sounding somewhat perturbed.

Three pairs of eyes snapped up to regard the man who had spoken. Even the rowers had turned their heads and cocked their ears.

He was a big man with dark eyes and dark hair, and right now his face seemed disturbingly dark. One eyebrow was cocked in question, waiting for an answer.

"Aye, what's it to you, Belfast is it?" Beckham sneered. "What do ye need the wench for anyway? Treasure, perhaps?"

Belfast, for that was truly the man who sat before the three former Pearl crewmembers, glanced quickly at the man beside him. Antonio Elaido.

"Shoot him," he said nonchalantly,but it was more of an order.

Antonio stared. "Don't order me," he shook his head.

"Shoot him!" Belfast pressed, and the three companions looked horrified, Beckham most of all.

"Don't!" he protested loudly.

Belfast snarled. "Shoot him before he makes any more noise!"

Panicked, Beckham shot up from his seat, rocking the boat wildly. "No, no!"

"Do it!"

Looking peeved, Antonio pulled one of his pistols from his belt.

Naturally, Beckham didn't stand a chance. The Spaniard's pistol was in his hand, cocked, and had been fired before the pirate could open his mouth in protest. The shot echoed loudly over the water, and a body fell with a splash moment's later. The lead bullet in Beckham's head killed him instantly, and he was dead before he had collapsed overboard.

The two remaining companions stared on in shock.

Belfast cleared his throat. "You're being paid to help me get aboard the Pearl, not to be nosy. After this night, the name Vivien Brideau and anything you may have heard of her is forgotten, understand?" he cocked an eyebrow at the two. "If it isn't, I have no qualms with hunting you two down and killing you in a more fitting manner than that of your foolish friend."

Louis and Bardus nodded frantically in agreement.

"Very well. Now where is the Black Pearl" Belfast asked, surveying the ships around him idly.

Bardus pointed ahead. "T-that one, with the black sails. That's it."

Instantly, all eyes were on the formidable ship that suddenly seemed to loom before them, and ethereal sort of fog drifting about its hull. It rose up higher than most the ships docked, its masts reaching to the sky, and Belfast wondered how he could have missed it.

He felt Antonio stiffen slightly beside him, and couldn't help but let a small smirk on his face. "Is it more than you were expecting, Señor Elaido?"

Biting his tongue, eyes still glued to the ship as they neared, he bit out a forced, "No."

Belfast fought back a smart retort and watched as they quickly closed the distance between them and the ship. The pirate in his then took over. "That shot was bound to be heard somewhere, but with this fog we're invisible. Get on board as silently as you can. There's bound to be a few of his men lurking around…"

Antonio fixed him with a steady stare. "Sí, how do you know Sparrow hasn't left half the crew onboard?" he asked, his voice lowered to a whisper.

It was Louis who answered, finally gaining his wits back after seeing Beckham's dead body slumping into the water. "Jack Sparrow treats his crew well Señor. He won't have anyone staying back while he's out drinking. The only men on board will be the sentries. He changes them every hour to even it up. No worries. If you can knock out both men before one rings the warning bell, the ship is yours," he explained quickly, eyes straying back to his former ship. It looked foreboding, almost as if warning the approaching men not to come any closer.

"I'm not planning to knock them out. Jack Sparrow owes me for my troubles. I'm going to kill them," Belfast said with a grim smile.

The boat neared the Black Pearl

Louis and Bardus exchanged glances, then the bigger man spoke quietly. "Jack Sparrow won't take well to his crew bein' murdered."

Belfast turned to sneer at the man. "And I don't take well to people stealing from me."

Antonio was in agreement with Belfast. He was beginning to dislike this Jack Sparrow with each new word said about him. "I say we kill them. Any crew of Sparrow's isn't to be left alive."

Belfast addressed them all lowly. "Be quite, we're close enough to hear clearly."

The boat scraped gently against the hull of the Black Pearl, the rows making small splashes in the still water before being lowered into the boat. The figurehead above them seemed to watch them calmly, observing every move made. She watched as ropes fitted with rusty old grappling hooks were thrown over her side, digging into the wood, and watched as the men secured the boat. Then, there was complete silence, broken only when Dorian Belfast turned to the men and gave his last orders.

"Take down the men on sentry and we'll search the ship. Be silent, be quick. I'll have no mistakes."

--

Vivien had long since lit a new candle inside her lantern and had placed it upon her small cot for light to read with. Now, she was curled up on top the thin bed sheets, a new Shakespeare book in her lap. Hamlet. She knew neither Jack or his crew would be back for a while yet, and was forcing herself to stay awake until she knew there were others aboard. The sentry's weren't much company, simply because all they did was walk around the ship for an hour.

She could hear the pirate town was in full swing, guns firing and drunks stumbling around the streets. But the book before her brought her away from the noise, and of that she was glad.

Her eyes moved steadily over the words, pulling her into the story and prose and further away from reality. She was so engrossed in the book that she didn't even hear the loud boots outside her door until the knob on her door was being jiggled.

Startled out of her world of Shakespeare, her green eyes darted up from the worn pages to watch the door uncertainly.

It turned again, and this time she could have sworn she heard whispering. Who was it? Was this some sort of Jack's jokes? Was the crew after here again? Questions began to spin around her mind, and in turn made her panic with each new idea. Someone was trying to kill her…bandits maybe! The pirates who lived in the town, they'd somehow found out where she was!

A loud thump on the door made her jump, and she slapped the book shut and crawled further back on her cot.

"Captain Sparrow…is that you?" she asked hesitantly, and if it was indeed him out there, she was sure her voice was so quite he hadn't even heard her.

Silence. Then the sound of a key jiggling in the lock. Someone was trying to get in.

She swallowed her fear for a moment to call out louder. "Jack?"

A faint click. A thump. The knob turning. Silence.

The door burst open suddenly, making Vivien shriek in surprise, and a body fell through, slumping onto the floor ungracefully. She stared, eyes wide and trained on the man's face. It was Timms, a man on Jack's crew. A nice man who hadn't minded her horrible gruel and had eaten it without a complaint. And he lay on his back, arms at odd angles, eyes staring blankly up at the ceiling as liquid—blood, dark red blood—slowly seeped onto the floor around him, staining the wood.

He was dead.

Vivien wanted nothing more than to vomit, her stomach churning almost painfully, but her eyes were glued to the dead man. She couldn't stop staring at him. He'd dead, mon Dieu, he's dead! The blood was pooling around his head like a halo. A halo of red, slowly growing. He's dead, he's dead, she kept repeating it in her mind, horrified. Il est mort…Mon Dieu, m'aides!

A sudden movement in the doorway finally caught her attention, a dark shape blocking her only route of escape. Terrified, her head snapped up to stare, looking like a deer caught out in the open. She was met with the face of a man she had hoped to never, ever see again.

"Hello, Vivien."

--

Translations:

L'idiot – the idiot

C'était absurde! – It was absurd!

Homme impudent – cocky/impudent man

Sí - yes

Il est mort…Mon Dieu, m'aides! – He's dead...my god/my goodness, help me!

--Cayenne Pepper Powder