Chapter 5: Professional Pirate
"This," said Kim, picking her way through the mud, "is so not what I signed up for."
It had been bad enough when Mickey had presented them with their disguises. Her initial reaction had been to reject her costume, but when even Tarzan had consented to wear breeches and a shirt she had felt unable to refuse. Kim was sure she would have died of embarrassed if any of her classmates could have seen her in that baggy, ill-fitting suit, knee boots and tri-corn hat. Sadly, she was not even the worst dressed in the League. Darkwing had gone overboard and wore both a peg leg and eye patch, which meant he kept banging into things. Kim had expected them to be spotted for outsiders straightaway but they wandered almost unnoticed through Tortuga's chaotic streets.
The island port was built beside a natural harbour, sheltered from both storms and naval attack, and as such was crowded with sailing vessels. There were tiny sloops and pinnaces, stout merchantmen, sleek frigates and, towering over all the rest, galleons bristling with cannon, their gilt decoration shining bright in the torchlight. It was a pirate haven and there was not a vice that was not eagerly catered for: drunks quaffed jars of rums in the street; knots of gamblers sat hunched over cards and dice; painted ladies hallooed passersby from alleyways, offering pleasurable company for a reasonable price. The narrow, filthy streets between the ramshackle buildings rang to the sound of roaring, quarrelling, cursing, and fighting. Through this carnival of sin, the League passed without comment or incident.
They made some enquiries of the more sober locals, asking where they might find a ship for hire. The general consensus directed them to a large tavern just off the waterfront. Its lower floor was open to the street. Inside, they could see all manner of buccaneers and scoundrels seated at small tables, drinking, smoking and gambling their ill-gotten loot away. Serving wenches slalomed between them, some trying to avoid the lecherous hands of their customers, others positively welcoming them.
"We'll split up in here," said Mickey, "Try and find a captain who looks trustworthy."
"Trustworthy? In this town?!" said Kim.
"Well… less dishonest, then," said Mickey awkwardly. He plainly did not like to speak badly of anyone, even a pirate.
The League divided into pairs: Mickey and Tarzan, Kim and Darkwing, with Basil riding on Hercules's shoulder, and began to move across the taproom. Although many captains were willing to hire their ship out, for an often extortionate fee, they would suddenly become very reticent when the League members mentioned their destination.
"Tia Dalma? Oh no! You've got the wrong ship."
"Up river? Are you mad? I ain't goin' up there, not for no money!"
"Be off with you! Don't you know it's bad luck to speak of the Voodoo Lady?"
Disheartened by yet another rejection, Kim and Darkwing purchased two tankards of grog (a vile mixture of rum and water) and retired to a dark corner of the taproom to consider their next move. While they were brooding over their drinks a stranger slid up to their table; there was no other way to describe his movements. Kim doubted that he could move normally; his every gesture seemed slick with grease and his expression was one of permanent cunning. It did not help that he was a fox, albeit one wearing a battered top hat.
"Say, friends, mind if I join you?" he said, sitting down on the bench opposite them. He did not wait for a reply but continued in the same easy, friendly manner:
"The name's Foulfellow, J. W. Foulfellow. And this is my associate and lifelong friend, Gideon."
He gestured offhand to a tattered and rather simple looking cat standing at his elbow.
"Listen, whatever you're selling…" Kim began but Foulfellow cut across her:
"You're not interested. But of course; why would you be, when you have not heard my proposal yet? You're sceptical, cynical, mistrustful, to be sure, but do not let my face put you off; an unfortunate inheritance but I assure you, the only one from my less than illustrious ancestors. After all, am I not known as 'Honest' John?"
Gideon nodded enthusiastically.
"And I promise, dear friends, that you will be most interested when you have heard what I have to say. Why, do I not bring news of the most exciting, the most thrilling enterprise to have been concocted in the whole history of your prestigious calling? It is an opportunity that Morgan himself would have given his right arm to be party to."
"No sale," said Kim, deliberately turning back to her grog.
"It is entirely your choice, of course," said Foulfellow, not in the least put out by this cold reception, "All my employer asks is that you give his offer your fullest consideration. There is to be a council, just a little informal gathering, on the Isla de Engano in three days time. Just present this to the guard," he held up a silver coin, engraved with the skull and crossbones on one face and a letter 'Z' on the other, "and tell them that 'Honest' John sent you."
Utterly out of patience, Kim snatched the coin from Foulfellow's fingers.
"Now will you leave us alone?!" she snarled, half rising out her chair.
"But of course. Good day, miss," he said, tipping his hat and vanishing into the taproom.
"What was that all about?" said Darkwing. Kim shrugged. She was considering seeking out Mickey and suggesting they try a different tavern, when someone hissed at them from above their heads.
Their table was just beneath the overhang of the second floor balcony that overlooked the taproom. Basil was hanging upside down from one of the balustrades by his tail.
"I say, I've found it!" he whispered as Kim and Darkwing drew closer.
"What, a ship?" said Kim eagerly.
"No, blast it: it. The compass!" said Basil, "That oaf Hercules was getting nowhere, so I thought I'd do a bit of snooping upstairs and, by Jove, I've found it!"
It was the work of moments for Kim and Darkwing to reach the stairs to the balcony. On the second floor there was another, smaller taproom with a corridor on the far left leading off to private rooms where clientele could retire to sleep and enjoy further entertainment.
"There," Basil whispered, hopping up onto Kim's shoulder and pointing to a far corner of the taproom. A pirate was sat there alone, his feet on the table and his hat over his face. At his belt there hung a small black compass.
"Are you sure that's the compass?" said Kim.
"Absolutely," said Basil peevishly.
"Then we shall demand that he relinquish it, in the name of justice!" Darkwing cried, puffing out his chest and striding towards the pirate.
"Wait, no!" Kim cried, diving after him.
"Sir! We would speak with you!" said Darkwing, standing before the pirate and drawing himself up to his full, if not very impressive height.
The pirate raised his hat and regarded them with hazy and unfocused eyes.
"Do I know you?" he asked, with a slight slur to his words.
"We demand…" Darkwing began
"… to buy you a drink!" Kim finished hurriedly.
The pirate considered her carefully, and then smiled with an expression of pure mischief.
"My pleasure, lass," he said, indicating that they should take a seat. Kim blushed slightly: he was the first person to recognise her for a girl and his look was making her feel uncomfortable, as if he could see right through her clothes.
"What will you have, Mister…?"
"Rum and it's captain, if you please: Captain Jack Sparrow."
While they waited for their drinks, Kim considered Sparrow from across the table. He had a very handsome face, behind the beard and moustache. His hair was woven into ragged dreadlocks and adorned with a variety of trinkets. He appeared to be very unsteady, as if he were punch drunk, but Kim could detect something indefinable, yet sharp, behind the façade: something between fierce intelligence and low cunning.
The drinks arrived. Sparrow had taken no more than a sip of his rum when he said, quite suddenly:
"So, what is that you'll be wanting of me?"
"What makes you think we want something?" said Kim.
"Lass, there's no such thing as a free drink, especially not in this town," said Sparrow, "So let's be havin' it: what is it that you want from ol' Jack? Persons rescued? Lost treasure recovered? Enemies scuttled and shiskebabed? Or perhaps…" he said, leaning in closer to Kim, "you require services of a more… intimate variety?"
"Eww… no," said Kim, edging away from Sparrow.
"Listen, buddy," said Darkwing irritably, slapping his hand on the table, "let's cut to the chase. We need your compass and we need it now!"
Sparrow's eyes widened suddenly but his movements were slow and easy as he titled his chair back.
"They're two bob down the market," he said easily, "I know a guy who can make you a real nice one; he'll carve your name and birthday on it and everything."
"Don't play dumb with me," said Darkwing, "We need your compass; your magic compass, understand?"
"Please," Kim added, "we really do need it. It's for a very important mission."
"I'm afraid I'm going to have to decline your most generous offer," said Sparrow, rising from the table, "You see, this compass has tremendous sentimental value to me; wouldn't part with it for the world."
Darkwing shot to his feet.
"We're not done here!" he cried, "We're not leaving without that compass!"
"Are you not? Well, that puts a different complexion on things entirely," Sparrow said softly.
Kim had expected Sparrow to make a move but she was still caught off guard. He moved with a speed and assurance totally belied by his woozy behaviour. He snatched up his stool and hurled it at Darkwing. With his other hand he seized his empty flagon and threw it across the balcony. It struck a bystander in the back of the head. The buccaneer turned and punched the man standing directly behind him, who staggered into a third man, which set another group of men to fighting. In a few seconds the entire second floor had descended into a roaring melee. Chairs and bottles crisscrossed in the air above them. One man was hurled bodily over the balcony by two others, shattering a table in the taproom below. A moment later and the brawl had engulfed the entire tavern.
Kim ducked to avoid a randomly hurled candlestick. When she looked up again she saw Sparrow rushing headlong towards the stairs.
"Stop him!" she shouted, spotting the rest of the League coming up the staircase, and pointing to Sparrow," Stop him! He's got the compass!"
Hercules began to plough through the mass of struggling pirates, his massive arms hurling them aside as if they were little children. Sparrow, hearing Kim's cry, span on his heel and made for the corridor. Kim and Darkwing moved to block his escape. Suddenly a gang of pirates rushed upon them from their left. Kim easily avoided their drunken blows but she could no longer reach Sparrow. With League members both in front and behind, Sparrow took the only available escape route. Slaloming easily between the brawlers, he dived straight through a window, spraying the street below with pieces of the wooden lattice.
Hercules and Tarzan made short work of clearing a path across the second floor. The tropic moon was high over Tortuga as the League gathered at the window. They could clearly see Sparrow scrambling across the sloping slate roof of the building opposite, arms flailing wildly to keep balance.
"He's heading for the docks!" said Hercules.
"Back to the stairs!" cried Darkwing.
"There's no time," said Mickey, shaking his head.
"Tarzan," he said, turning to the ape-man, "we can't let him get away. Bring him back!"
Tarzan flashed them a joyful smile. Leaping onto the sill of the window, he tore the shirt from his back. Then, with that terrible cry they had first heard echoing among the jungle trees, he leapt from the window and after Sparrow.
Tarzan did not really understand what was happening. He had not understood how travelling in that uncomfortable metal box, or walking through this stinking town dressed in uncomfortable and unfamiliar clothes was helping Sora. This, however, was simple. One animal ran, another pursued; it was the law of the jungle. He, the predator, would match his strength and cunning with that of this other man, his prey. What this man had done, or why Mickey wanted him caught, he did not know. His jungle instinct told him all he needed to know: one ran, the other pursued.
The roofs, balconies and stairways of Tortuga made an interesting landscape for his hunt. He enjoyed leaping the gaps between the buildings, sometimes only reaching the far side with a single outstretched hand. He bounced from washing line to washing line, his toes gripping the ropes as expertly as his fingers. He sprinted along the narrow peaks of the slate roofs; this proved a poor challenge to one used to traversing the slenderest of tree branches.
Sparrow, once he realised he was being pursued, proved to be fine sport. Although not as agile as Tarzan, he seemed utterly without fear, taking many desperate leaps that could easily have broken his neck. He tried to lose him by zigzagging through chimneypots or doubling back inside buildings but Tarzan was always just behind him.
Tarzan was almost upon him when they came to the waterfront. Tarzan's heart leapt when he saw the thicket of masts, yards and rigging ahead of him; it was almost a forest. Sparrow bounded from a roof and along the narrow arm of a crane. At the end he grasped a rope trailing from the yardarm of a nearby ship and swung himself into the rigging. With a whoop of delight, Tarzan followed. Here the competition was even more unequal, for although Sparrow was more familiar with a ship's rigging, there was not a man alive who could outpace Tarzan of the Apes when there was a good supply of hanging ropes to hand.
He came alongside Sparrow just as he had seized a rope that would swing him between two ships' masts. Grabbing the rope beside Sparrow's, Tarzan followed. He was about to barge into Sparrow with his shoulder and knock him from his rope when he noticed the moonlight shining on the drawn sword in Sparrow's hand. With a grunt of frustration Tarzan swung aside and followed Sparrow, now keeping abreast of him but careful not to draw too close.
The chase at last came to an end when Sparrow landed on the deck of a ship hung with black sails. He began bawling for help, rapping his sword against the ship's bell. Even as Tarzan landed cat-like on the deck beside him, the crew of pirates were emerging from below, armed and ready to fight. Tarzan's eyes swept the advancing buccaneers in an instant: even unarmed, he knew he was stronger than any single one of them. All expect for Sparrow. Their chase had taught Tarzan respect for the strange pirate captain and now that he had the opportunity to inspect him more closely he found that he was very wary of him. Something did not smell quite right about Sparrow and Tarzan was reluctant to make a move against him.
"Now matey," said Sparrow, levelling his sword at Tarzan but making no attempt to close with him, "I've no quarrel with ye: you chased me. I'm a fair, dishonest pirate, so what's say you swing off back to the shore and we'll have no more of this unpleasantness, eh?"
"I quite agree, Captain Sparrow," said a voice. The crew stared around fearfully, for there was no speaker to be seen. A dark hole, black against the night, appeared in the air. A man, very tall and broad, stepped out onto the deck beside Sparrow and Tarzan.
"And I will leave, as soon as you have surrendered that fascinating compass of yours to me," he said. He wore an opera suit, complete with cape, white gloves and cane. His collar was so high and the brim of his top hat drawn so low that his face could not be seen at all. His voice was pleasant and mellow.
"And supposing I refuse?" said Sparrow, turning his sword on the newcomer. Tarzan tensed, ready to spring, but he was still covered by a dozen swords and knew that to move meant almost certain death.
"I shall not ask again, Captain," said the man in the opera suit. He held out his hand:
"The compass, if you please."
"Mr Gibbs," said Sparrow, reaching for the pistol at his belt, "toss this lubber over the side, if you please."
Before Gibbs had even taken a step, a second figure burst from the dark portal. He moved so fast that Tarzan could barely follow his movements. Using a strange curved sword, he cut Sparrow's cutlass in two, sending the tip of the blade shivering into the foremast. Thrusting Sparrow's left hand away from his pistol, the newcomer held the point of his sword at Sparrow's throat. The pirates around him surged forward to defend their chief.
"Stay!" Sparrow cried frantically, waving his free arm at them, "Stay, damn you!"
It made a pretty tableau and for a few brief moments Tarzan was able to get a good look at the swordsman who had so easily overcome Sparrow. His clothes were dark and he wore a strange helmet, smooth and white like a skull. The visor was black and set with two large, round diamonds. His hair, what little of it could be seen poking out from the back of the helmet, was so white that it appeared to glow silver in the moonlight. The sword he carried was of a very strange design, like a giant bat's wing with a white feathered wing growing at a right angle from the tip.
Tarzan's view was then obscured as the man in the opera suit stepped between them. Reaching down, he snatched the compass from Sparrow's belt and pocketed it without ceremony.
"My thanks for your co-operation, Captain Sparrow," he said smoothly. The swordsman let Sparrow go, and then the two strangers stepped back into the dark portal, which closed behind them. The pirate crew, their leader finally released, rushed forward but could find no trace of the strangers or the mysterious portal they had left by. Nor could they find the man who had pursued their captain, for Tarzan had quietly slipped away in the confusion.
Author's note: 'Honest' John and Gideon are the two rogues who led Pinocchio astray. The man in the opera suit will remain a mystery for a little while longer...