The Trouble with Women
Chapter 18
No Deliverance
--
It wasn't often that Jack found himself sleeping ashore when his ship and cabin were waiting for him on the water. Years ago, he could remember sleeping in inns and taverns along the coast without any discomfort, but now it was not so. He much preferred the gentle rolling of the sea to lull him to sleep that the steadiness of the land. The ground was too solid, too sturdy. When he wasn't swaying he could not rest, it was as simple as that.
But, nonetheless, every once in a while Jack would wake up in a bed in inn (usually with several women and an agonizing headache) or on the floor of a tavern being swatted at with a broom (usually handled by a bar wench). But this only happened when Jack managed to consume copious of amounts of rum the night before (or day, depending on how long he slept), and was so irrigated he couldn't even see straight, not to mention get to his ship. Once or twice he'd even awoken on the docks with overzealous seagull pecking at his hair or several sailors staring down at him with curiosity.
That happened less and less, however, since he'd learned his lesson after waking in a rowboat drifting off the coast of Barbados a few months after losing the Black Pearl to Barbossa, stripped naked and unarmed. Thankfully, he'd managed to track down his pistol, hat, coat, and compass, but everything else had been lost.
Now, Jack Sparrow only drank himself into oblivion when his crew was nearby, for safety reasons, and the last night had been no exception.
Jack woke face down in the scratchy covers of a small bed, the distinct feeling of a woman's body pressed up against him. For a moment, he thought he was in his cabin on the Pearl¸ and Vivien was snuggled up beside him (which was a rather appealing thought), but as he turned his head to breathe and blinked several times, noticing the stillness around him, he realized that was not so.
He was on land and the woman beside him was most definitely naked...as well as himself.
Making a face of distaste, for rather disliked it when he'd been so drunk the night before as to not remember a thing, Jack turned his head to squint over at the woman in his bed.
She had coffee-coloured hair, long and dark, with golden skin unmarred by freckles. And she was distinctly thinner than the young woman back aboard his ship. No, definitely not Vivien.
That made sense of course, since he was sure even he couldn't woo the Frenchwoman into his bed at this point and time, and he had a feeling she would never agree to drink the amount of alcohol needed to do so. And, of course, Jack would have wanted her fully conscious during the event. It was much more...pleasurable that way. He also had a feeling that she would think twice about sleeping with him if she knew he frolicked around with prostitutes while onshore. If she didn't already.
What she doesn't know can't hurt her.
Heaving a sigh, he rolled himself away from the naked woman, preferring to avert his eyes from the sight. Grimacing as light from the window beside him hit his face, Jack managed to recall a small snippet from the night before.
Fowler had challenged him to a drinking match, and Gibbs, Quartetto and Thomas had joined in. Jack had no doubt that he'd won, since he'd managed to get himself into a bed with a woman, and surely that wasn't possible while one was passed out on the floor?
No, of course not!
Careful of the pain in his head, Jack heaved himself up from the hard mattress, the bed sheets and covers pooling limply around his waist. The woman moaned slightly beside him, and he glanced back at her as perched on the edge of the bed.
Janine. That was her name. Rough and feisty, he recalled wryly.
Bits and pieces were coming back to Jack now, some rather embarrassing while others caused a small smirk to form on his lips.
Feeling considerably better now that he knew how he had gotten into the bed, Jack stood up; naked as the day he was born, stretched lengthily, then began to search the room for his clothes with a slightly unstable wobble. That happened sometimes. The land was far too sturdy for his liking, and his hangover wasn't helping much.
After several minutes, he'd managed to locate all of his attire and had dressed himself, although he had backtracked once when he noticed his breeches were on backwards. Pulling his boots on, he glanced over his shoulder at the woman again. She was still dead to the world, blankets gathered at her hips, her upper body bare. Although she was facing away from him, which disappointed Jack slightly. Nonetheless, he pulled out his small purse and retrieved several coins.
Jack Sparrow always paid his pleasurable company, so to speak.
Setting them on the nightstand next to the bed and glancing once at the woman's dark face, he left the room with a slight spring in his step. Oh yes, he was feeling quite a bit better now. He made his way down the stairs and into the tavern. Apparently he hadn't left The Maiden's Head the night before, since Eugene was wiping down the grimy bar top with an equally dirty rag.
Jack spotted several members of his crew, including his first mate and Fowler at a table in one of the corners, but made a beeline for the wiry bartender.
Eugene looked up from his work and grinned as Jack leaned casually on the bar top.
"Jack," he greeted warmly. "Nice mornin' tis. The fog's cleared out nicely."
The pirate nodded, and when he spoke his voice was slightly hoarse. "Aye, bloody beautiful, mate," he groused slightly. His pounding headache was not gone, no matter how much his mood had managed to improve.
As if reading his mind, Eugene stopped his work and wiped his hands. "Hangover, I imagine? Got just the thing for that," he said, and disappeared in a wink, not allowing Jack to even answer.
The pirate Captain settled himself down at the bar, sitting upon a stool with his fingers tapping on the wooden counter. Eugene was back with surprising speed, a tankard in his hand. He plunked it down before Jack, who leaned over slightly to peer at the liquid inside. He glanced up at the bartender, cocking an eyebrow.
"This wouldn't happen to be the stuff I remember?" he questioned monotonously.
Eugene nodded proudly.
An almost pained grimace flashed across the Captain's face before he snatched up the tankard. He sniffed the brew slightly as Eugene looked on, eyes darting from side to side to see if anyone was watching. No one was, and deeming it safe, Jack tipped the tankard up and drained it in three gulps. Moments later, he slammed it noisily down onto the bar top, a mighty shudder running down his spine as he winced in disgust.
Jack nodded to Eugene, eyes near watering. "Aye, and still as—" he was about to make a crude comment when a sharp shout cut him off, one sounding suspiciously like his name.
"JACK!"
He managed one last swallow in an effort to rid himself of the foul taste in his mouth before turning to the voice. Not surprisingly, it was Anamaria who was storming towards him. He'd only known a few women who could shrill as well as the female pirate. Of course, there was usually a viable reason when she began to screech, and now there was a distressed sort of look upon her face. The rest of the tavern's occupants followed her with their eyes, curiosity obvious.
Jack was no exception, but sensed something was horribly wrong. Anamaria also wasn't one to stress over many things, nor become as frantic as she looked without a good reason.
Feigning disinterest, Jack faced her with a lazy smile. "What's it now, Anamaria? Moises got caught in the rigging again? Or maybe Cotton's parrot's finally flown the coop?" he inquired humorously.
The mulatto woman was not impressed, and halted before him, hands planted firmly on her hips, a grim set to her jaw. "Vivien's gone missing, and two of your crew are dead, that's what," she told him with a murderous scowl.
Needless to say, Jack's day didn't improve much from then on.
--
If ever Vivien cursed her ability to faint at any moment it was now.
She sat miserably, staring around the dim room, watching the dust dance across thin rays of light escaping through boarded windows. It smelled of smoke, pipe smoke. It was thick and made her nose itch; it made her head ache and her eyes water.
She'd woken upon an unfamiliar bed, something she'd become rather used to in the past week. That had been hours ago, she was sure. But time seemed to flow slowly in the dark cabin she was confined to.
It was bare save for a large bed, a chair, and a nightstand, reminding her of her own cabin back on the Pearl. But this place had a decidedly more ominous feel to it. She was not a guest here, if what she had been aboard the Black Pearl could be called a guest. She was a prisoner. A captive. Someone who had to be locked up for fear of escaping.
She sat stiffly upon the hard bed, hands clutching the fabric of her tattered dress. Distorted flashes and images ran before her eyes. Broken memories that only served to increase the pounding in her head. There was blood. And eyes. They stared lifelessly up at her until couldn't stand it a moment longer and blinked the image away. But then there was another face, weathered by years and hardened with cruelty.
Dorian Belfast had grinned victoriously, taunting her. He had found her and killed poor Timms, staining her cabin with his blood.
She had fainted not long after that. The shock of Belfast turning up on the Pearl and the sailor he had killed too much to bear. Vivien's last memory before darkness had claimed her was that of sickening fear and disgust as her guardian greeted her so casually, as if mocking her attempts to escape him.
Upon recalling her reality, she felt sick to her stomach.
The floor beneath her rolled, confirming Vivien's fears that she was once again at sea. She didn't want to be at sea. She wanted to be back in her small little cabin on Jack's ship. As much as she had protested before, she could think of nothing better than being cooped up and reading Shakespeare on her small cot while waiting for someone to bring her lunch—or dinner.
Thankfully, no one had even come to see her as of yet, not even to bring a meal. Vivien doubted she would be able to hold anything down, anyway.
Belfast had caught her and there was no telling what he would do once he realized that she had rather willingly stayed aboard the Black Pearl.
She also wondered if he already knew.
--
Jack peered down at the faces of the two deceased crewmembers. He'd arrived back aboard his ship not but a few minutes ago, a grim frown upon his face. There, lain atop two sections of ripped sail, lay Timms and Labroc, the two men he'd assigned to the last dog watch the night before. Their eyes were closed almost peacefully in death, expressionless. Their skin pasty white, but two near identical ugly red gashes cut across their necks stood out starkly. Those were the cause of death.
Much of his crew were gathered around bleakly, watching as their captain inspected the two bodies. Crimp, the ship's makeshift surgeon and physician, stood by Jack as he crouched down to inspect the wounds.
His dark eyes skimmed over the gashes, noting the cleanliness of them. He glanced over at Crimp, squinting against the morning sun. "Done by a cutlass, you reckon?" he asked, already knowing the answer.
Crimp nodded almost mournfully in response. "Aye, one clean slice would have done it."
A few of the men cringed.
Sniffing in distaste, Jack stood up. "Then it would have been over fairly quick," he said, almost to himself. It was a reassurance. They had not suffered long.
Turning to the crew, Jack eyed their solemn faces. "Any man with information step forward now. If you don't, I can assure you I'll find what any of you're hiding soon enough."
None of the crew moved, and there was stillness in the air for a moment as the warm wind whipped around them, wafting the smell of death around their noses. The ship creaked in response to the dead, groaning a protest from the depths of the wooden hull.
Jack's eyes lingered on the faces of his men a moment longer before turning to Crimp. "Stitch them in, then," he ordered. "Make sure the sails are tight, then gather a few men to set them down below until we're on open ocean. They'll have a proper burial at sea, like any other respectable pirate."
Without needing to be asked, two crewmen stepped forward to aid the doctor in stitching the dead men up in the sails. He noticed Crimp already had his kit at hand, needles and thread ready. He figured everyone had been waiting for him, and he silently cursed himself for staying on shore last night. Everything could have been prevented if he hadn't been so stone drunk. No use dwelling on it, though, he told himself firmly.
The pirate Captain watched them a moment longer before turning back to his crew. He spotted Gibbs and Anamaria in the crowd and nodded to them.
"Split the men up into groups. They'll search the whole town top to bottom, and anything left to be found will be found!" he ordered loudly. "Gibbs, Anamaria, go to The Maiden's Head and find Eugene. I'm in need of any information he has. If he tries to bribe you, politely remind him who he's dealing with." Jack raised his voice again. "Get to it, ye scabrous dogs!"
Immediately, and almost eagerly, the crew dispersed, piling up the rowboats once more. Jack was left on deck with Crimp and the few men aiding him. He watched as the sails were sewn over the bodies of Timms and Labroc.
"Where were they found?" he inquired, eyes fixated on the dead men's faces.
Crimp was the one to answer. "Anamaria found Labroc just by the helm in a pool o' blood—we cleaned that up, and Timms was found in the lass's room, Miss Brideau. No one's touched nothing down there yet. Figured we should fetch you as soon as possible," he explained, not even looking up from his work, nimble fingers working the needle and thread through the fabric.
It was several seconds later when he responded sombrely. "Thank you."
Jack turned from the sight and made his way over to the latch leading down below, intent on a good look at 'the scene of the crime.' Below decks seemed almost eerie as he made his way down the steps. He passed the crew's quarters, reminiscing on the fact that tonight there would be two empty hammocks. He made a reminder to contact any of the two men's relatives when he had the time, just to let someone know (if they cared) that they were dead.
The door to Vivien's cabin was slightly ajar, and the first thing Jack noticed as he stepped into the entranceway was the ring of keys sticking out from the keyhole on the doorknob. Whomever had come aboard last night must have forced Timms to show them Vivien's room and correct key. He dislodged the keys and pocketed them.
Swallowing, face passive, Jack reached out and gently pushed the half-closed door ajar. It swung open without protest. The room was bright, sunlight streaming through the lone porthole across from the small cot. But there was blood staining the wooden floorboards, already dried. Jack doubted that it could ever be scrubbed completely from the wood.
He stepped into the room, half expecting the small Frenchwoman to shriek out in fright and come popping out of a corner, green eyes wide. No such thing happened though, even as he stepped into the centre of the room, careful to avoid the blood, of course. Rupert, the cabin boy, would be the unfortunate soul to mop that up. As best he could, anyway.
Jack stood in silence, hands propped on his hips as he slowly turned in a circle, inspecting every inch of the room for anything out of the ordinary. He was almost hoping for a ransom note telling him where Vivien was, demanding an unquestionable amount of gold in return for the meek woman. No such luck, however, as all Jack found was several books strewn across the cot, one opened as if its page was marked for later reading.
He retrieved the book with an odd frown, hesitating a moment before sitting down on the edge of the cot. He made as if to close the book, but stopped, curiosity piqued, and settled it on his lap to read the first paragraph.
Are you sure
That we are awake? It seems to me
That yet we sleep, we dream. Do not you think
The duke was here, and bid us follow him?
Snorting lightly, for it was the same book of nonsense Vivien had been reading before she had fallen asleep in his bed, Jack slapped it shut and gathered the other few books in his arms. Then, standing, he straightened the cot's covers slightly, glanced once more at the blood on the floor, and left the cabin, intent on heading to his own quarters for some serious thinking.
--
When the door to the smoky cabin finally burst open, Vivien had long ago resolved to take a nap upon the bed. She'd curled up in the middle, hands pillowing her head and back to the rest of the cabin. Of course, she didn't come close to sleeping, but she was thankful that whoever had come in didn't know that.
For a small moment the room was illuminated with the light of day, a burst of fresh air, and the sound of the ocean outside. Seconds later, the door slammed shut loudly (Vivien was hardly able to stop herself from starting), and in the distinct sound of heavy boots upon wood was heard. Someone had come to pay her a visit, it seemed.
The young woman forced her body to stay still, to regulate her breathing and keep her eyes closed tight. Heart in her throat, she listened to the footsteps as the person reached the far end of the room, avoiding the bed.
Merci, mon Dieu...
She wondered if her visitor would simply leave her be.
And there was silence save for the loud beating of Vivien's heart. She wished it would calm, for she was sure that any movements in the room would be drowned out by its pounding.
Footsteps again, slow and almost careful. The person moved cautiously, if not in a hushed manner. As if not to frighten her. But that had already been done, and the young woman tensed almost painfully on the bed, eyes snapping open to stare at the far wall in the smoky darkness. She forced herself to stay still even though her insides seemed to be trembling with fear. Her hands clutched at the fabric at her shoulder, curling into fists to stop their shaking. Eyes wide, fear and adrenaline coursing painfully through her veins, Vivien waited as the footsteps drew closer until her visitor stood at the edge of the bed. Looking down at her. She could feel eyes on her back, watching her, and her breath hitched in an effort to stay silent.
Je dors, leave me be. Je dors, she chanted mentally, biting down on her lips to keep silent.
The mattress on the bed sunk down somewhat, indicating that someone had sat down beside her. She stifled a whimper.
Vivien couldn't stop her hands from shaking, her fingers locked in the fabric of her dress, palms sweaty. I'm going to be sick! she thought to herself.
"Vivien, I know you're not asleep."
She recognized that voice! It made her want to curl in on herself and hide away where no one could find her.
Doigts. Long, spindly fingers stroked her tangled mess of hair, running along the mousy brown strands. They almost felt loving, but she knew that was not true. A shudder of revulsion ran down her spine, and Vivien jerked away wildly, finally giving into her instincts. She flailed wildly, scurrying out of her visitor's reach. With the bed between them, she stared wide eyed as the sight of Dorian Belfast greeted her. Same as ever.
"I would have thought you'd be happier to see me," he said, looking irate.
She didn't answer. Her lips were sealed shut, her breathing ragged and her eyes fixed warily on the man.
He'd been expecting and answer. "Vivien," came the warning.
Her brow furrowed as her fingers curled into the blankets on the bed. She forced herself to speak, feeling both rage and fear. "You've kidnapped me! Pourquoi?" Everything had been going quite fine aboard the Black Pearl. She was gaining freedom and friendship, her life before slowlyfading into the past. She had almost managed to forget before. She should have known that Belfast would ruin it.
At the moment, his face was stormy. He wasn't pleased. "Would you rather have stayed with them? Those pirates?" he demanded, voice suddenly harsh. "With that scum Sparrow?"
Vivien was sorely tempted to tell him that Jack was ten times the man he would ever be, but restrained herself. Her few days aboard the Pearl had obviously liberated her somewhat, but here was not the place to show that. Nonetheless, she felt she couldn't let Belfast walk all over her, or Jack for that matter.
"His name is Captain Sparrow," she retorted, holding her chin high as she squared her shoulders. What a picture she made! Hair matted and appearance dishevelled, attempting to scrounge up a bit of dignity and authority to look down upon him!
Belfast was surprised. "What?" he asked, almost in disbelief. Vivien had never had the guts to talk back to him before, so why had she started now? Then his eyes narrowed maliciously. "Oh...are you part of his crew? His whore, perhaps?" he seethed with a snarl.
Vivien's eyes widened in shock, but her chin jutted out indignantly. "Connard!" she cursed him.
Glaring, Belfast stood quickly from the bed. "Don't insult me, Vivien," he told her flatly, but wasn't surprised that she'd spoken up. What woman wouldn't? Although, he had heard stories of Jack Sparrow's reputation with women, and it wouldn't be a surprise if she'd been seduced into his bed. But it was disgusting. She was disgusting him, with the thought of Jack Sparrow being near her.
He couldn't hold back from sneering at the young woman. "Do you know why Sparrow kidnapped you? Other than to bed, you, that is?" he inquired nastily. Obviously she'd grown somewhat attached to the man. He'd have to do his best to break any trust between them if he was so keep her under her thumb. And there was no doubt in his mind that he could.
"He wants your money, Vivien, and now that you're taken from him he'll forget all about you," he told her, watching as an immediate flicker of uncertainty showing on her face. So insecure, he thought knowingly.
"You'll go back to your miserable little existence and live out the rest of your days like the waste of space you are. And no one will care," he told her cruelly, and watched with undisguised triumph as she seemed to realize he was right. Her eyes fell, avoiding him. "I'm all you have left, Vivien, so I would think it wise not to anger me." He spoke truthfully. He would never tolerate disobedience.
Vivien swallowed somewhat thickly, eyes fixed on the floor, appetite for conversation gone. She tried to convince herself he was wrong. Jack would find her, she knew he would. She knew him well enough to know that. And he realized how much she feared being near Belfast, didn't he? He wouldn't leave her with him, would he?
Belfast broke the silence in the dim room. "We're heading around the southern tip of Madagascar, just to throw any of our pursuers off. Then I'll find you a nice new island where no one will ever stumble upon you again," he said, purposefully revealing his plans. It would break her even more, to know that she would never find a way away from him.
And when the young woman didn't respond, looking forlorn, he left without a word.
--
Later that day, Jack sat in his cabin, reclined in a chair with his boots crossed atop his desk. He had finally gotten around to cleaning the mess of maps up, and had managed to dig up one showing the whole of Africa's east coast. There were four bottles of rum, each unopened and holding down a corner of the map. They were tempting, but Jack realized he needed to be somewhat sober to deal with the problem before him.
Men greater than himself (and there weren't very many) would have simply given up on the whole thing and left the Bourbon treasure and Vivien Brideau be. Not Jack Sparrow, however, as he had a certain mindset that wouldn't allow him to fail at something he'd already started. And spent half a year trying to find. That was, perhaps, when set Jack apart from most other pirates.
He always got what he wanted.
He'd attempted to find a likely place Dorian Belfast would have taken Vivien. Certainly not back to L'île du Bourbon, he'd dismissed that thought several hours before. The man hadn't proved himself a fool yet. Besides having stolen from the most infamous pirate in the Caribbean, Jack reminded himself ruefully. Disregarding that, of course, Belfast had proven himself nothing short of a sneaky little weasel. Not that Jack himself wasn't one, because he was. But now it was a matter of finding who was the cleverer of them both. He wouldn't even admit to himself that they seemed quite evenly matched now.
So Bourbon was out of the question. Belfast wouldn't bring Vivien back to that island only to have him sail back and kidnap her again (for that was what he would have done).
Now the question was where he had taken her besides back home. He wouldn't have stayed in town. That was entirely too careless. But on the island? Jack dismissed that thought too. That was cutting it close.
So where could he be if not Sainte Marie and Bourbon?
A knock sounded on his door, bringing him from his dark brooding. A permanent frown seemed to have fixed itself upon his face.
"Aye?" he asked lazily.
"It's Gibbs, Cap'n!" the older sailor's voice came through the wooden door. There was a muffled oomph, followed by another voice.
"And Anamaria! We got something of interest!"
His eyes were trained on the dark liquid in one of rum bottles before him. Blimey, he wished he could get raging drunk just about now, but it wasn't to be.
"Come in!" he called after a moment.
The door swung open squeakily, causing Jack to cringe slightly. He watched as Anamaria and Gibbs filed in, holding what looked to be a young boy between them. For a moment Jack thought him to be Rupert, the cabin boy, but he didn't recognize the child's face.
He fixed the two with a serious eye. "What's this?"
Gibbs was the one who answered. "We've got ourselves a witness, Cap'n. Says he heard some men that spoke your name, and it t'wasn't in good nature, either," he glanced down at the grubby boy in his grasp. "Tell Jack, boy," he commanded firmly.
The child seemed to be terrified out of his wits. Removing his feet from the table, Jack set them on the floor and held up a hand for the two crewmembers to back off. They let go of the boy reluctantly, eyes fixed on his small figure. He was trembling visibly.
"What's that you got to tell ol' Jack, eh?" he leaned forward on his desk inquisitively.
The gangly child blinked rapidly for a moment before speech caught up to him. "A-are you r-really C-Captain Jack Sp-Sparrow, s-sir?" he stuttered violently, instantly reminding Jack of Vivien when he had first met her.
He grinned casually at the boy. "In the flesh, son. What's your name, if you'd be so kind...?"
The boy smiled back slightly. "D-duncan, s-sir," he stammered in reply.
Clasping his fingers, Jack gazed at the boy with interest. "Call me Captain, lad. Now, care to tell me what you heard?"
Nodding jerkily, the small boy started forward towards Jack, hands wringing themselves before him. "Mister Bernard, sir-I mean Captain. H-he...he employs me off an' on, gives me little jobs. Pays me well, he does. And-and he told me to keep an ear cocked for your name, s-Captain. So's I did. An' just last night, it was, there were three men sitting in this pub on the east side of town, the Rouge Angel Cellar, it was," he started nervously, eyes darting back to Gibbs and Anamaria a moment. "And I heard your name, I did. They were cursing you, Captain, all three of them. Drinking away, they was—" Jack's gaze briefly flickered to his two mates, but they were listening as the boy continued, "—And th-then another man went and strolled up. H-he asked if they was talkin' 'bout you, Captain, and they says yes. And I stayed in a corner as they started talkin'. Then they starts on abouts his boss. He says you got something of his. And he asks the men where you are, offering them a price. And they told him, sir, gave away your location and told him you had a woman onboard. Got two 'undred guineas for it, too." Duncan halted a moment, peering at Jack, as he seemed deep in thought. "I 'eard the name Beck'em, Captain. Louie and Bardis too. The man who paid them said his name was Elaido, something like that...had a funny accent."
Figured as much, Jack told himself ruefully, mulling over the information. Those three didn't seem the kind to take punishment easy. He racked his brain for the name Elaido, next, but nothing came to mind. Feeling frustrated, he fixed the small boy with a piercing stare.
"Ye holdin' anything back?" he asked, unconsciously thickening his accent. It sometimes made larger impressions on the impressionable, he'd been told.
Duncan hesitated a moment under the superior man's eyes, then nodded. "Th-the Elaido bloke...said a B-Balfest be his employer, his boss, I think. His name, I don't remember it right, but he'd the one who's lookin' for that woman you got."
At the mention of 'Balfest,' or Belfast, rather, Jack's mood yet again worsened. He leaned back into his chair, face grim.
"Is that all, then?" he questioned the boy, who once again resembled a quivering mouse.
Duncan nodded quickly, not able to speak. He'd told the Captain all he knew, and now all he wanted was to get off this ship and collect his pay. The money he'd been offered would likely last him a whole week!
Jack mused a moment, a slender finger running along his beard. He turned back to his company, nodding to Anamaria and Gibbs. "Escort young Master Duncan to The Maiden's Head, and give Eugene my thanks. I need time to think," he told them, a dismissal if there was one.
Anamaria steered the boy from the cabin, but Gibbs remained, his face solemn. Jack, his frustration getting the better of him, cocked his head expectantly, eyebrows raised.
"What?" he demanded snappishly.
Gibbs cleared his throat before speaking. "More news, Jack. The crew searched most the town and came up with without a scrap of information. No one's seen a thing," he told his friend.
Regretting his anger the moment before, Jack sighed, deflated, and regarded his first mate wearily. "I wasn't expecting much so I can't say that's much news, Josh."
The portly man regarded him seriously. "Ye be right, Jack, but two o' the crew found a body washed up ashore not too long ago," he said.
The pirate Captain's interest piqued slightly and he arched an eyebrow at Gibbs. "Aye?" he prompted.
"T'was Beckham, Jack, with a shot twixt the eyes. He was all bloated from the waters."
When Gibbs finally exited the cabin, he left Jack in a mood darker than night itself. Not only had Vivien been kidnapped, two of his crew killed, but Belfast had been the one to do it. And he seemed to show no hesitation at killing anyone that seemed expendable or displeased him.
He couldn't help but feel a twinge of worry for the woman, and a spark of something akin to longing.
He wouldn't admit it, but his ship suddenly seemed quiet and empty without the small Frenchwoman aboard.
Sighing, he leaned back into his seat. The bottles of rum before him were tantalizing, tempting him. He resisted for moment, averting his dark eyes from the dark amber liquid within the glass. But the rum was calling, or so Jack thought, and without any further hesitation he had snatched up one of the bottles and uncorked it swiftly. He lifted it to his lips and the dark alcohol slid down his throat, trailing a burning path of satisfaction.
Jack was halfway done his second bottle with a thought struck his rum-hazed mind.
If Belfast had Vivien, why not use her to find the treasure? After having Vivien with him for a week, Belfast may as well have assumed she had already told him the location, and was now frantically trying to sail to the Caribbean to find it. He prayed the bonny Frenchwoman had enough sense left in her to think the obvious that had eluded him for some time, and had told her guardian she'd revealed the location of the treasure to him. He would easily be able to catch up to them, then.
Or maybe he was simply drunk, thinking the impossible in pursuit of a lost cause.
Either way, Jack had stumbled out from his cabin, intent on sailing the Black Pearl out of Ambodiforaha. He had a funeral to conduct for two of his friends and crewmen before he could commit himself to the chase.
--
French Translations:
Je dors – I sleep
Doigts – fingers
Pourquoi? – Why?
Connard - Jerk