The Trouble with Women
Chapter 21
The Tables Turned
--
Eight days, it was, Jack recounted in his head, since he had last seen Vivien Brideau. Eight days of hard sailing and bad weather. Eight days of restless activity and seven nights of poor sleeping, it had been.
He'd spent most of it at the helm, watching the sea ahead for any signs of La Sangre de Mar. No sails appeared on the horizon, however, and as they sailed southward the weather steadily grew bolder. Jack realized it was the middle of winter—he hardly ever considered things such as season when he was in the Caribbean—and winters around the southern tip of Africa tended to be a bit cooler and rougher than he was used to.
Not that he couldn't handle the challenge, however.
Indeed, they had sailed into joint waters, where the Atlantic and the Indian met. A steady fog had gathered as he sailed them inland. The Cape of Good Hope was a good days sailing away, but Jack was finding it increasingly difficult to navigate when he couldn't scan the sea before him. As a result, they had slowed their speed, the crew pulling down and tweaking various sails. There wasn't much wind to go on, but Jack wasn't willing to crash his Pearl into an outcropping of rocks when it could be well avoided.
Jack glanced down at his compass and adjusted the helm slightly.
He sniffed in distaste. The air was heavy and cool. He wouldn't be surprised if a sudden storm was added to his list of troubles.
The Pearl was creaking gently as she cut through the dark waters, her ropes and wood groaning and aching. He would have to haul her ashore before long and give her a good careening, as well as minor repairs. It wasn't good to keep a ship out in the water so long while pushing her so hard.
Isn't good for the crew, either, Jack mused, his eyes picking out each of his crewmembers on deck. Most of them looked to be dozing.
He spotted Anamaria making her way toward him. Her boots clomped loudly up the set of stairs leading to the helm before stopping at his side. He cast a quizzical look at her
"Why don't you let me at the helm for a while? I notice that you're beginning to sag on your feet," she pointed out with a straight face.
Jack pretended not to hear her last remark. "Aye, I'll go topside and wake old Nob," he stated idly, fingering the small spyglass in his coat pocket.
Anamaria smirked. "I suspect he nodded off a good hour ago," she said, and took the tiller from her Captain.
Jack glanced about at his crew, noting their lethargic movements. "I suppose I could've been working them too hard," he murmured, mostly to himself.
The mulatto woman snorted. "A slave-driver you are. We'd be glad for this fog if it wasn't such a nuisance."
Again, Jack ignored her remark. He left the helm in favour for the crow's nest.
--
She was restless.
It had already been a week! One day over a week, Vivien had been told, since she had been snatched from the Black Pearl in Ambodiforaha. It didn't seem that long, of course, but longer. The days seemed to drag on like two or three, and being confined to the small cabin below decks was beginning to drive her insane! At least, though, she had somehow managed to persuade the man who delivered her meals toraise the blinds on the windows. That allowed her a view of the surrounding sea, and she had taken to sitting by the window and watching the murky swells rolls up and down, taking the ship along with them.
She found herself doing that very thing this day, a full week since she had been captured. Her mind was wandering over the events that had taken place.
A whole week.
Dare she even think it, but she was begging to wonder if Jack Sparrow was coming for her after all. Goodness knows he was a hard man to read. Had she had him confused this whole time? Had he simply given up?
No, she told herself, but then sighed.
She remembered the faces of Gibbs and Anamaria, a woman who had been quite close to being the only true friend she had ever had. She recalled Cotton, a mute sailor who had miraculously managed to train his parrot to talk for him, and Rupert, the young cabin boy. She hadn't gotten to know many of the men aboard the Pearl, and she certainly didn't know all their names, but their faces were familiar.
A fleeting image of Timms lying dead in a pool of his own blood crossed her mind, and she shuddered with the memory.
Maybe she was too much of a burden for Jack to come after. She had already cost him at least four men, she knew.
Was she worth it? Oh god, she hoped so.
Was her father's treasure worth it? When that particular thought presented itself, she forced it away hurriedly. Vivien didn't much like the thought of being valued just for her father's immense fortune. She wondered if, when Jack came, if that would be the only thought on his mind. She was useless otherwise, wasn't she?
Vivien recalled with a sudden jolt that she didn't even know where this great treasure was.
She, truthfully, wasthe one who was using Jack, and he didn't even know it. That particular revelation made her skin crawl. She forced her overactive mind to settle.
Vivien returned to staring at the dark waves. A thick grey fog had gathered over the water, and what little light there was, was fading quickly. Vivien dreaded this time of day. She hated the dark.
--
Jack reached the crow's nest with ease, scaling the rigging with years of experience and hard earned lessons under his belt. It helped too, that there wasn't the slightest bit of a breeze to knock him off balance. On the contrary, everything seemed to be still and quiet.
That was not a sign Jack necessarily liked. Who knew what rocks or reefs lay hidden in the waters surround his ship?
With one last heave, the pirate Captain pulled himself up over the side of the nest. He then regarded Thomas Nob, an elderly man with a scraggly white beard and bushy white eyebrows, as he lay huddled in a scrap of a blanket, back to the mast and boots hanging over the edge of the platform. He was snoring softly in his sleep, and Jack noticed the old man's telescope was lying discarded, ready to plunge to the deck.
Quickly, he snatched the object up before leaning over to shake Nob gently awake.
Jack's hand was shrugged off with an accompanied derisive snort. The man continued to sleep.
"Wake up, Nob…" Jack said lowly, frowning to himself.
The old man grumbled, snorting slightly. His beard shifted as he wiggled his nose irritably.
Jack stroked his braided beard for a moment before a slow grin curled on his lips. Carefully, he leaned forward and took hold of the man's shirt before attempting to rouse him again.
"Nob, I said wake up! The French bastards are attacking and they've got o'er a hundred men on horses!" he shouted loudly.
Immediately, the man shot up from his sleep and nearly catapulted himself out of the crow's nest with a feral snarl twisting his face.
"I'll kill the lot of 'em, the ruddy faces frogs!" Nob hollered, and was towed back to the safety of the platform by his captain. Then, as if suddenly realizing that he was over a hundred feet above the deck of a ship, which was in the middle of the ocean, he calmed quite quickly. Turning shakily, he met the sight of Jack's grinning face.
The old man snorted indignantly in realization. "That was awful cruel o' ye, Cap'n. Wakin' a man with such words."
It was common fact that Thomas Nob was a former man of the army who had clashed blades with many a French soldier over his younger years. He had hundreds of stories that were well known on the Pearl and nearly as entertaining as Jack's were. It was also known that he wasn't overly fond of the French, making him a terrible hypocrite when he took a liking to the jumpy Vivien during her stay onboard.
Jack grinned at the hold man and handed him his telescope. "Best not lose this, mate."
Nob took it grudgingly. "Aye, thankee Cap'n," he nodded his thanks.
"I'll take the next watch, Nob. Get on down below and into the galley. That's where most the men are," he said, and then grinned cheekily. "You're too damn old to be climbing the rigging anyway, mate."
Thomas Nob gave Jack a stern glare. "Aye, old enough to be yer pa. Best respect yer elders, we ain't as dumb as ye think."
Jack patted the man on his back as he started down the rigging. "Aye, now be gone with you. Check up on me two cabin boys while you're down below, savvy?"
"Aye, aye, Cap'n."
Nob slowly began to climb down from the rigging, and Jack watched him carefully until he was safely on deck before turning his attention to the surrounding fog.
He pulled his own spyglass from the pocket of his coat and stood up. Hooking one arm around the mast, Jack snapped it out to its full length and peered through the small hole. His vision was met with a wall of fog as far as the eye could see. There was nothing of interest. Hehuffedto himself and snapped the small compass down to size before sinking down to sit on the wooden platform.
Eight days should have been long enough to catch up to Belfast and Elaido, but maybe he had underestimated their ship. Or overestimated his own…
Face stony, Jack's dark eyes searched the fog keenly.
A wisp of fog uncurled before him suddenly, several hundred yards ahead, and the dark shape of a ship's hull slowly took form. Eyes widening, Jack scrambled with his spyglass before raising it to his eye. And there it was. He traced the patterns of dark wood with his eyes, searching for a name to place on the vessel.
La Sangre de Mar, painted ornately across the back of the ship's hull, was presented to him.
Deftly, Jack deposited the spyglass into his coat pocket before sliding over the edge of the crow's nest and climbing swiftly down the rigging.
If he could see them, he was certain they could see him. He needed to get to Anamaria and tell her to pull back so they could formulate a plan of attack.
--
"I say we load up our bloomin' cannons, arm ourselves to the teeth and give the sleeveen's a right holy show!" Fowler's voice boomed loudly in the Captain's cabin where Jack, Gibbs, Anamaria, Cotton and Fowler had gathered for a meeting. They all sat around the Captain's large table, debating suitable ways to overtake La Sangre de Mar and retrieve Vivien's Brideau.
Anamaria wasn't impressed by Fowler's idea. "Aye, and we'll send a cannon right into Vivien while we're at it! Or sink the bloody ship while she's on it!" she scowled at the men around her.
Gibbs hummed a moment before raising a finger. "We create a diversion and then blast them with our cannons!" he stated heartily. "That'll give the blighters something to remember us by!"
The mulatto woman wondered if she was the only sense in the whole room. "I'm thinking we shouldn't use any cannon fire at all."
The men stared at her with wide eyes, all except for Jack. He had hardly said a word since he had sat down.
"Are ye fluthered, little bird?" Fowler near howled.
Anamaria gave him a steely glare. "Nay, only using common sense. As I said before, using cannons will more likely end in Vivien's death than her rescue. Wood is deadly when it splinters, Irishman," she stated coolly. "Ever had a split piece o' wood imbed itself in your side?"
Mr. Cotton's parent screeched its agreement.
"She's right," Gibbs added solemnly. "We need another plan, something they won't be expecting…" He trailed off and pondered quietly.
Fowler nodded reluctantly. "Aye. I suppose they'll beon the lookout."
The table was silent. Jack seemed to be deep in thought.
Mr. Cotton's parrot squawked restlessly, hopping about on the old man's shoulder. Before anything could be done, the parrot flapped its wings experimentally and skittering across the table, knocking a lantern over with a bad landing. The candle fell and the flame was extinguished as hot wax covered the wick, and the parrot danced around nervously as several of the table's occupants attempted to catch the bird.
Mr. Cotton assumed a look of distress as the bird went on to knock over Fowler's tankard of rum before flapping down onto Jack's hat, which sat securely on his head.
Curiously, however, Jack didn't seem to notice. His eyes were fixed dazedly on the toppled lantern.
"Cap'n?" Gibbs ventured.
"That's it!" Jack shouted, startling the parrot atop his head.
"What?" Anamaria questioned him worriedly, watching the colourful bird nestle down on his hat once more.
Jack stood suddenly, making the parrot squawk in protest. "The lanterns! Extinguish all the lights on the ship. When darkness falls I want this ship to be as black as night. We'll wait until midnight before making our attack. We'll steal aboard quiet-like, none of this cannon fire and screaming bloody murder, savvy? They won't know what hit 'em!" he stated ecstatically, and the next moment froze.
Slowly, he looked up, feeling an unnatural weight settled on his head.
"And, will someone get this bloody bird off of my hat before I have it in my stew tonight!" he bellowed angrily, and his crew jumped to aid him, a chorus of "Yessirs!" filling the air.
However, Mr. Cotton's parrot took flight as Fowler lunged, hands outstretched, tripping over his fallen tankard. Both men were sent to the floor with a thud.
Anamaria looked on with a grin.
--
Night fell swiftly upon the two ships, but as it stretched on time seemed to slow to a crawling pace.
Jack watched La Sangre de Mar like a hawk, cautious for any signs of being seen. The smaller ship had anchored for the night. He supposed the Captain didn't want to risk sailing in fog at night. It was not a smart move, in Jack's opinion, when being hunted. It had, however, forced him to anchor his own ship for the night, or at least until the time was right to make a quick getaway.
All of the lights on board had been extinguished. Not even a lantern in the hold was allowed now. The Black Pearl had been plunged into darkness, and as the night wore on, the blood in Jack's veins pumped wildly. The fog has stayed faithful, cloaking the dark ship and hiding it from view.
He stood up in the crow's nest once more, this time with a bottle of rum at his side. To calm him raging nerves, of course. Jack could hardly remember a time when he's been so anxious before a battle. But then again, he didn't regularly station rescue missions.
Jack took a deep swig from the bottle before corking it and fitting his spyglass into his coat. He figured it was about time, and if all went well he was worrying about nothing.
As soon as his feet hit the deck he headed for Anamaria, who stood looking out over the water by the helm. The whole plan was nailed into his head by now. He'd gone over it long enough with himself.
"I want Roberts at the helm when we attack," he told the mulatto woman quietly as he stepped up to the helm. "If he protests, tell him they're direct orders from me."
She nodded shortly before descending the stairs to the main deck. Jack fished the spyglass from his pocket once more, keeping a close eye on the ship as the crew was roused for the nearing ambush. He glanced up where the moon hung fat above them, now just a hazy light in the fog.
It was time.
The young lad, Roberts, came to the helm a moment later, looking none too pleased. Jack, however, needed someone to steer the ship while he, Gibbs and Anamaria were gone.
He handed over the spyglass and gave him a few last-minute instructions. "I'll send up a signal when we need you-and you'll know it when you see it.I've picked ten men to stay behind, so keep them ready to weigh anchor. I want you to keep a straight course and follow from a distance. Don't let her be seen, savvy?" He lofted an eyebrow at the youth.
Roberts nodded silently.
"Good lad," Jack grinned, slapping him heartily on the back before swaggering down the steps to the main deck.
Already the boats were being lowered over the sides and crowds were forming at the railings. Sound was being kept to the minimum, but the pirates were still murmuring lowly.
Jack stepped into the middle of the deck and cleared his throat. He waited until all his men were listening before speaking.
"As you all know, this is somewhat of a rescue mission! That is, rescue what's valuable and leave what is not. And, of course, you might want to kill a few men while you're at it…" He grinned as chuckles ran through the group. "Remember, however, that Vivien Brideau is aboard that ship, so watch where you're shooting! Now get in the boats!"
The crew eagerly complied, piling into the ships rowboats and checking their weapons once they were settled. Jack positioned himself at the forward of the first ship, one foot resting on the bow and striking a pose (for the sake of appearances, of course).
The dark waters lapped gently at the sides of the boat as the men rowed smoothly up to La Sangre de Mar. It emerged suddenly from the fog, hardly as impressive at the Black Pearl. Golden lights bobbed about on it's deck, a clear beacon for someone such as Jack Sparrow.
The boats were maneuvered easily up to its sides, and several grappling hooks were readied. Fowler was managing one, and he let it swing several times over his head before letting it fly up to the ship. It caught hold of the railing, and after the Irishman tugged it several times, he handed the rope over to Jack.
The pirate Captain turned to his men and grinned, tipping his hat slightly. "See you at the top, mates."
--
Translations:
None? What's the world coming to?
-Cayenne Peppeer Powder