Chapter Twenty-One
Desperate
Miranda found herself in a dress she would never wear if the circumstances were different. The neckline was cut lower than she thought possible and the shoulder straps, in contrast to the bodice, were far too loose to rest over her collar bone and instead fell wantonly over her shoulders. Her hair she piled high on her head with a few stray tendrils curled about her face and neck. The lipstick was a bit red for her taste, but she thought, whatever Jack had in mind, it probably couldn't hurt.
The room she'd rented for the night provided her several luxuries she'd been living without, and after a long bath, a good night's rest, and a square meal, Miranda felt like a new (albeit whorish) woman in her new clothes and cosmetics. Glancing at herself one last time in the mirror, she picked up her bag full of gold, rum, and matches. It wasn't quite large enough to fit everything, and the neck and cork of the bottle stuck out rather obviously.
She set out for the town hall from the inn feeling rather silly dressed as she was carrying what looked like a purse full of spirits. She noticed black smoke curling up from somewhere in the center of the town, and she didn't think much of it until she continued on her path and realized she was headed straight for it.
The town hall was consumed in flames. Great tongues of orange licked out of the windows, blackening the brick and setting the wooden detailing afire. Somewhere from the belly of building a muffled explosion coughed fire onto the cobbled streets below and Miranda ducked, hurrying back a few steps to several other by-passers that had stopped to watch. Some of the onlookers gasped, pointing at something. Miranda followed their fingers and saw a figure come barreling around the corner of the building. The high-kneed run could mean it was only one man.
"Jack!" Miranda cried in alarm. He neared her, still running, and she noticed his hands were still chained together. She saw his eyes leap to her face, and then to her purse. He seized her wrist with both his hands and continued running. Jerked into a run, she followed him and he let go of her to run faster.
"What are we doing?" She called to him.
"Running!" was the only answer she got. She glanced back and saw a dozen uniformed men round the corner of the town hall and begin to pursue them. A jolt of fear ran through her as she realized that regardless of how little she'd actually done, she was now guilty by association for running with the offending party.
Jack was no longer in front of her. She looked wildly to her side and saw him just as he took a second turn down another street. She checked her pace and followed, now understanding that he was trying to lose the men rather than outrun them.
The narrow street opened up to a deserted courtyard with a large well in the center. A brilliant blue macaw sat on the overhanging rod, but fluttered away indignantly as they approached.
Jack halted abruptly, and Miranda slammed into him before she could stop herself. Jack caught her momentum and pushed her into the well.
"Tuck your legs!" he suggested, but Miranda was too blinded with fury to listen as she fell, finally hitting the water with a hard slap. Her legs and back went momentarily numb, and then began to throb. Before she could scream her anger at him he fell on top of her and sent her under.
Finding she could touch the bottom of the well with her feet, Miranda kicked back to the surface and began coughing to get the water from her lungs. Jack shoved his palm to her mouth to muffle the noise as he looked up at the circle of sky above. His hand reeked of oil, smoke, and a hint of alcohol.
"Why are we here?" Miranda hissed once she caught her breath.
Jack looked at her and seemed to take her in for a moment. Miranda felt suddenly very aware of her bedraggled hairstyle and her makeup with must now be running down her cheeks. And of course, the indecent dress.
"Very nice, love." He murmured, flicking his eyes back up the sky. "I'll take some of that rum now." Before Miranda could even react, Jack slipped the bottle from her sack, ripped the cork out with his teeth, and took a long drink. He wiped his mouth with his wet sleeve, and offered the bottle back.
"No, thank you. You drink enough for the both of us." Miranda glared at him, to which he returned, but with exaggerated contempt.
"Why did you even ask for my help if you were just going to set fire to the whole thing?" She demanded.
"Now that was not part of the plan," Jack admitted, taking another swig.
"And why did you have me dress like this and bring matches?"
"The matches were supposed to be a bargaining tool." His eyes sunk past her gaze and stopped momentarily before returning back to her face. "And the view?" He smirked. "That's just for me, love."
"You filthy-"
"Ah, ah!" Jack caught her words with a grin. "I just saved you from a mass of not exceptionally pleasant guards and this is how you thank me?"
"You pushed me into a well and expect me to thank you?"
"Don't worry, love, we'll get out," he promised.
/\
Jack was right, but it wasn't until dark that a lantern was held over and a voice called down, "Cap'tin?"
Miranda looked up and saw a silhouette leaning over the well.
"Aye, Master Gibbs. Get Marty and Cotton and get us out of here." Jack shouted easily. Miranda glared at him. "Now what?" he demanded.
"First you tell me to help you escape, only to do it yourself. Then you tell me to figure out how to get us off the island once you're on the run, and now suddenly you have help. You have a ship, too, don't you?"
"Maybe."
Miranda sighed with frustration. "Why did you even ask for my help?"
"Haven't you ever heard of a back-up plan, darling?"
Before Miranda could argue more, a rope splashed into the water between them. They both snatched it up at the same time. Jack seemed to think for a moment, then let go as he swept into a dripping bow. "Ladies first."
When Miranda was drawn from the well she looked at the men who held the rope and noticed the oldest of the three had on his shoulder a very familiar-looking blue macaw. The men looked at her curiously, but she ignored their stares as she wrung the water from her dress.
"A little help, gentlemen!" Jack's voice cried from the well, and the men snapped back into action.
Once Jack was standing in the courtyard with them, he spun around to Miranda and smiled cheekily. "'Ta, love. It was a privilege to be in your fine company again."
Miranda felt herself flush with rage as she watched the men turn their backs on her and begin to walk away.
"Jack Sparrow, you will not take one more step." Her voice was hard with her anger, but level. Jack froze, one foot in the air. He stepped back and spun around.
"Miss me already?"
"You agreed to help me. Now, I fulfilled my part of the bargain, and it's time you do the same."
"Yes, but you didn't actually help me, did you?" Jack sauntered towards her, swinging his hands in gesticulation.
"I did all I could considering the thing I was supposed to help you escape from was on fire."
"Yes, but in all reality, all you really did today was follow me, question me, and argue with me. I don't need that kind of attitude on my ship."
Miranda wanted to scream in frustration, but she tried to stay calm. She unslung her bag from her shoulder as she said, "I guess there really is only one language you pirates understand." With that, she threw the bag to the ground. Gold coins spilled out and rolled towards the men. One hit Jack's left boot, and he bent forward to pick it up. He examined it for a moment, and then smiled at her.
"Welcome aboard, love."
There was very little debate when Jack and his crew found out Miranda would be bringing with her a coffin, and the only reason she could imagine was that the crew was used to Jack's reasoning, which often tended to be a bit deranged.
As the she followed them to the harbor she glanced at the ship, and her body went cold. The rotten, tattered sails fluttered in the night breeze, and she could hear the familiar creaking of the wood from the beach. The ship bell clanged in the wind and pierced her soul. She dropped the handle and fell heavily to her knees, her eyes hot with tears.
With her blurred vision she saw Jack turn back and look at her. She blinked hard and rose to her feet. He may be helping her, but she would be damned if she let him see her cry. She stood shakily and felt her legs moving even though her mind was being pulled like the tide was pulled the shore.
/\
"How many?" Miranda slammed her fist on the table at the tavern. Her blood felt cold as it seemed to drain from her extremities. Barbossa looked at her hand impassively, and his eyes worked their way up her arm to her face.
"Thought ye'd be a bit more pleased." His voice was low and hard. Some time earlier, Miranda would have sensed his tone and dropped the subject, but tonight she was too livid to care.
"I have to leave right now," she warned him. "And don't you follow me." She felt the eyes of the men as she left the room in a haze of grief and anger. She knew his nature like the back of her hand, why did this consistency hurt her so with every new example?
As she walked down the crowded street she felt a bony hand grab at her shoulder. She turned to see the moonlit, ragged face of Barbossa, his eyes gleaming deep in their sockets.
"I told you not to follow me." She felt tears swell at her eyes and her throat thicken.
"Ye left me no choice, Miss Farthin'." He pulled her into an alley to avoid the stairs of those passing by.
"How many?" Despite her anger, she felt her chin quivering and was thankful for the darkness. The moon slipped behind the clouds and Barbossa was once again flesh.
"We get closer every day to reversin' the curse. We gained seven more coins this afternoon and-"
"No." Miranda felt the word shake with her suppressed tears and fury. "I don't give a damn how many coins you recovered if you killed to get them. How many men did you kill today?"
"The deed is done, what good be a number?"
Miranda slipped her shoulder from his grasp and and began walking away. He didn't follow this time.
She made her way out of town and down the path leading to the docks. When she could see the ocean and hear the waves ripping the shore, she strayed from the path and climbed up on a nearby rock. She curled her knees to her chest and watched the water. In the distance she heard the bell of the Pearl ring clearly from a strong evening gale. She ducked her head and finally let the tears flow.
Footsteps drew near her, and she looked up to see Barbossa watching her from the path. He glanced at the sea, and then back at her. With a heavy sigh, he approached and leaned against the rock. Nothing was said for several moments. The bell rang out again in one clear peal, and then faded away.
"We see things differently," Barbossa began quietly. "An' I can be as stubborn and narrow-minded as the biggest fool there ever be. But the way I see it," he paused, and Miranda felt his eyes fall on her, but she looked straight ahead. "Every coin brings me one step closer to you, an' I'd do anythin' to feel yer warmth against me."
"Even kill," Miranda supplied tonelessly, not looking at him.
"Even kill," he agreed. "M'randa, we be pirates. It's what we do. An' if I be rememberin' correctly, you once said you'd tolerate it."
"Don't use my own words against me," Miranda snapped, finally turning to look at him. During the whole conversation she'd pictured clearly in her mind his face as he spoke, but now that she saw him, she found she'd been wrong.
Instead of the stubborn eyes and the clenched jaw as she'd imagined, his eyes had an intensity she couldn't explain and his mouth was slack in his silence. A sliver of moonlight ate away his left hand resting at his side against the rock. She felt her own hard expression soften slightly, and she looked back out the Pearl. She sighed.
"I did."
She felt his hand brush her hair off her shoulder and lightly grazed the back of her neck. His palm rested there for a moment, and then his full strength emerged in his grip. He redirected her head to face him and caught the small of her back with his other hand. In a moment she was pressed tightly to him and his lips were on hers.
It was not a romantic kiss; Miranda found herself on her back with the rock uncomfortably jabbing her spine as Barbossa's hands clutched almost desperately to her. Even as the moon broke through the clouds and she felt his features rot and desiccate against hers, she knew she had never had a more passionate kiss.
The ship bell rang out clearly into the night
/\
The distant ring of the ship's bell filled Miranda's heart with an emptiness and pain as she looked up to see not Barbossa, but Jack Sparrow looking curiously at her.
"You got a problem with the Pearl, love?"
"I-" Miranda's head swam in confusion from his question. "Wait, what?"
Jack cocked his head as he looked at her. "You kept asking 'how many' and then started repeating 'rot and decay.'" He paused, clearly examining her expression of confusion. "You don't remember, do you?"
The cold fear Miranda had suppressed bobbed to the surface, but she ignored it. "I must have been lost in thought," she supplied. "I've been on this ship before."
"Let me guess: Barbossa's captive?" Jack yanked Miranda to her feet and chivalrously lifted the rope handle of the coffin and began towing it towards the gangway.
"Allow me to put your womanish fears to rest, love," he called back to her as she followed him onto the ship. "That man is dead." He smiled engagingly, his head tilted to one side. "I shot him m'self."
Miranda stood rooted to the deck at these words. Her blood went cold but her mind seemed almost feverishly hot. She vaguely saw the men running about her getting ready for cast-off, but couldn't process anything. She hardly heard the snap of the rope and the frantic cries of the pirates around her as one shouted, "Rogue boom! Heave to port, men!"
The heavy beam swung across the deck and connected solidly with Miranda's head. Explosions of light erupted behind her now-streaming eyes, and she crumpled to the floor.