The Voyages of the Dawn Chaser Water of Life

by Peladon

What Jack Sparrow did now. Having found himself an ally with a ship Jack seeks Mr Gibbs and then goes in search of Aqua de Vida, with the Navy and others on his tail. Meanwhile Barbossa tried to find Jack, and his way back to himself with little success.

2. Chapter 2

The Voyages of the Dawn Chaser Voyage 2 - The water of life

Chapter 2 Hello Beastie

In which Barbossa meets people of the past and Jack dreams of old enemies.

The faces were a new addition, and in many ways they were worse than the voices. He would see them in the timbers of the deck, the weave of the canvas and the shape of the clouds on the horizon, and there seemed to be no seeing past them. Some were smiling, others crying, yet more were twisted, mouths agape and screaming soundlessly at him, and all the while the whispering taunted him with words he couldn't quite hear. But those whispered words must surely relate to the faces, names maybe, places perhaps? But none were clear enough to be sure, just loud enough to be forever there, as the faces were coming to be. Barbossa didn't know whom they were, nor why they should come to plague him, but there was no ridding himself of them. At least not for the moment.

He remembered the stories of the Dutchman and the crew who became part of the ship and he shivered. Was this the Pearl's revenge on him for bringing the curse upon her, or for taking her first and greatest love and abandoning him? Twice. For Jack's love of the ship must be a powerful thing to cause him to make such a trade with Jones, and how could the ship not return such devotion? He had done nothing to steal her love away from Sparrow, confident that she would accept him as her master simply because he willed it to be so; was this his judgement for that neglect?

The faces had first appeared as the Pearl raced her way out of the Navy's sight. He had turned towards their disappearing pursuers to be met by the sight of the first of them, a young man with red hair and blue eyes, staring at him in the outline of the now distant sails. He'd cursed with the surprise of it and turned away, scanning the decks for prying eyes, but he'd been unobserved, except for Cotton who looked at him askance; but Cotton would tell no tales, and for once the parrot was not on his shoulder.

Little Jack had been frightened by his sudden curse and had taken to the ratlines, and it had taken many long minutes and several peanuts to tempt him down. But even as the monkey settled on his shoulder he had the sudden feeling of being watched and he had looked across the decks once more to meet Raggetti's one eye watching him with a calculation that unnerved him. Barbossa knew then that the one eyed sailor and his baleful friend would have to be lost somewhere soon.

Yet Raggetti and Pintel were not the only ones that bore watching and a man needed eyes in his back to be sure that he saw the plots before they found him. To pacify his disgruntled and argumentative crew a little he'd ordered an extra ration of rum once the navy was lost, while he had retreated to the cabin and the charts to make his plans, safe from prying eyes and unwelcome questions.

They were at least two days sailing from the point where they had found Sparrow's dingy and then another two or three days from the general area of the fountain. Five days, then, five days before he could act to secure his position. But Sparrow had three days head start on them assuming he had persuaded his rescuers to follow his inclinations, and that was by no means certain for he doubted that Sparrow would tell them the truth of his interest.

"Captain?"
The voice was Marty's. Barbossa got slowly to his feet staring at the door in something he realised was close to fear, struggling to get a grip on himself he answered with roar,
"Can't a man be getting a wink or two of sleep undisturbed! What be it that ye want now?"
He crept closer to the locked doors easing the hilt of his cutlass from its scabbard as he did so.
"We need a heading Captain. Our current course will take us in sight of the guns of the fort at Port Elizabeth. Having escaped the Navy so narrowly be it your intention to sail into their arms again?"

Barbossa swallowed hard on the bile rising in his throat, he was losing his grip on his fate and his crew, though the two might yet prove to be the same. Straightening his coat and clapping his hat to his head he drew himself up to his full height and threw open the door,
"Aye matey ye be right. Tis not a time to be risking an unnecessary fight. We have treasure to seek."
He strode out onto the deck, little Jack on his shoulder,
"Mr Cotton, I have a new heading for you."

***

Jack knew that he had lost track of the days and nights, but that seemed less important than the pain that racked him, even with her evil draughts, and the dreams that plagued him. The Kracken and the locker were common visitors, as was Beckett and his brand; but there were others too, some so old he had thought that he had defeated them long ago.

There were strange creatures too, things that were no part of any mare visited him before, spiders that crawled from the bulkhead above him and fish that swum in the shadows, hovering on the edge of his vision and drifting between him and the cabin when he dared to open his eyes and look around. Not that he did that too often, for turning his head sent fireworks of agony through him.

The cabin was dim, and often the dreams would merge with the shadows of the real world to build landscapes on which danced monsters and the many versions of himself that he had come to know in the desert of Davy Jones hell. These last were some of the worst for though he ranted and railed at them they refused to quit him, instead they sat on his bed and climbed in his hair. He pulled at his braids in fury trying to dislodge them, but they hung fast to the beads, taunting him for losing the Dutchman and leaving them stranded.

There were times when Beckett joined them, sitting cross legged at the foot of the bed and smiling smugly,
"It was just business Jack, nothing personal. Freedom? What is that? If history had been written differently they would have done no less to me; or to you Jack. But you stole them from me, you betrayed my interests. I was kind to you, took an interest in you, gave you a chance to be something more than the poor wretch that you were; and yet how did you repay me? By stealing from me, Jack. It took two voyages to make good those losses, another year and more of trying to recoup what you deprived me of, another year of patronage, of hurtful kindness and of being humiliated by lesser men. All because of you Jack, all because of you."
"There're things a man can't do mate." Jack would protest each time, just as he had then.
Becket would mock him bitterly at that,
"A man, Jack? What is a man? Are you? Am I? How are we different? Miss Swann killed you did she not? Not a manly fate, would you say, to allow a chit of a spoiled girl to kill you? To allow her to sink the ship you risked so much to save. Jones must have laughed at that. Did you hear him laughing as you died Jack? Like they laughed at me, for my father, for who I wanted to be, and for trusting you. How you must hate her for that, hate her as much as I hated you. Do you understand now Jack, do you understand now what it is to hate?"

Beckett would crawl up the bed then to sit beside Jack's head; those dainty, white gentleman's hands of his stroking the ornaments amongst the sweat soaked braids. Jack could do nothing to stop him though he could smell the stench of the blood on those hands, a stench stretching back across the years, nor was it just blood, there was the smell of burning wood and of seared flesh too, of vomit and cordite and oil soaked canvas. Then Beckett would lean forward and whisper in his ear,
"Or did she do you a good turn, was that it? Allowed you to go down with your beloved Pearl like a true captain. Took the decision you couldn't make. Was that it Jack? Did she make Captain's Sparrow's decision for him when Jack couldn't do it?"
"No." Jack would protest but his other selves would laugh and shake their finger at him.

Yet these times were not the worst, for the moments of lucidity were more terrifying still, moments when he lay weak and helpless and wondered if he would die on this strange ship, never see the Pearl again, never find the fountain. At these moments he feared that he would end here in this little room, forgotten and without sight or sound of the seas.

Yet he was not alone, nor forgotten, and that was strange and frightening too. Sometimes he would awake with the terror of the dreams to find Elanor sitting by his side, watching him from the shadows with anxiety in her face. He wasn't sure whether the fear was for him or for whatever it was that he had shouted, or screamed, in his fever. The uncertainly of that produced an unaccustomed feeling of despair, there were so many things he did not wish to tell her and he could only wonder how many of them he had already betrayed.

His drifting thoughts tried for calm, 'she would only think them nightmares' he told himself, dreams fed by the fever produced by these little animals she had spoken of. And yet..... he could not be sure what this women who was being forced to accept the impossible by his presence might decide to believe. If only he could think..... If only he could guard his face and twist the words as he was used to doing, but the fever and it's companion weakness allowed him no such leverage or dignity.

There was strangeness in her care of him too, to be fevered was not unknown but to be so carefully cared for was. There was little enough to be read in her face but her hands were gentle, even when he complained as she stripped the sweat soaked shirt from him and pulled another into its place, and she did not curse him when he turned away from her potion spilling it in a great dark stain across the sheet. A new sheet was quickly produced, and when he cried out unawares with the pain of movement as she lifted him she apologised and moved him more slowly. He wasn't sure but he thought that there were times when she wiped his face and chest or held water to his parched lips, and he could vaguely recall her piling pillows behind his head and spooning soup into his mouth. No mother could have tended him more carefully. If he were honest he feared that care near as much as he feared the dreams, or rather he feared his greed for it; he could not allow her behind his guard for she had weapons enough already. Weapons! If he could get to his effects then maybe then he would not feel so unlike himself. Yet when he tried to raise himself from the bed his body refused to co-operate, his muscles turned to lead and his blood to water. If only he could think!

It was usually at this point that the dreams would claim him again.

Then suddenly the pain was waning and there were moments when he thought he had slept but not dreamt. Though when she appeared by his bed he thought that he might be dreaming, though granted it must be a dream of a different ilk.
"You look better," she said. "Ariadne says the fever has pretty much broken and from now on you can expect to start feeling stronger. It will be slow for a day or two but the worst is over."
Jack just laid back on the pillows and stared at her,
"Nasty little creatures these bloody animals, as vindictive as this ghost of yours," he said as he tried to concentrate on her face, but that was proving difficult despite the languor.
She didn't seem to notice and just smiled slightly,
"Well you fell foul of rather a lot of them at once, and they are tougher and more aggressive in my world than they are in yours. But from now on you should have no problems, not with them anyway."

He watched as she crossed to the table and picked up whatever it was that was lying there, whatever it was didn't interest him, what she was wearing, or rather not wearing, did. Her skin had always been white but he didn't recall it having this silvery sheen before, and if was her skin then he was seeing rather more of it than he had so far. He tipped his head as she turned back towards him, letting his eyes drift down towards the deck, somehow expecting that this was a dream and that he would see that she had a tail not feet. But no, she had feet, nearly bare feet with ten long, straight, toes tipped with silvered nails. They were elegant feet and he rather liked the look of them, but then he rather liked the look of what they were supporting too. It had to be a dream, there could be no reason why she would be dressed in such a fashion except in his dreams. But if it was that kind of dream then why was she dressed at all?

She came back to the bedside and reached out to grasp his arm. Now he could see that she was, in fact, dressed, but in something so tight fitting that it seemed like another skin. As she pushed his shirt sleeve up he felt the surface of it, thick and smooth against his skin, it made the hairs on his arm stand on end. While he approved of the fit he could not feel the same about the absence of fastenings, how the devil did the woman get it on and off?

Elanor saw the lazy smile drifting around his mouth and the direction of his wandering eyes and she had a good idea about the direction of his thoughts. It was unimportant, she would explain later, and his illness would prevent him from trying anything he would regret, but it seemed that the man was incorrigible, a fact to be remembered for later. For the moment he remained an invalid and she had work to do. She picked up the hypo and put it against his arm, noting that his eyes drifted down to her hands which he watched with a detached interest,
"This will help to rebuild your strength. But don't expect to be leaving that bed for another day or two, at least not for any length of time." she told him. "We should reach the location of this island of yours within the next couple of hours and I don't want to hang around there for long, so you will have to leave it to me."
She saw the confusion in his face and wondered just how much to explain, as little as possible was probably best,
"I'll take a quick look, see what can be reached, if anything can. We won't need much for the moment, the rest can stay where it is. Seems to me that the sea bed is as good as a vault, from what you've told me it's unlikely that anyone else is going to be raiding this particular piggy bank."

Jack frowned at her and wished she would talk a language he could understand, not that he thought he wanted to understand what piggy bank meant, he'd hauled Gibbs out of that sty on Tortuga too often to want any closer contact with pigs of any kind, unless they were bacon. His stomach rebelled at the thought but he struggled to sit up any way, what ever she was planning he had every intention of being a part of it.
"I'm well enough now, these little beasties of yours seem to be losing the war. Can't see how you think to get at the treasure when I've told you that the sea has swallowed it, but I'll come up on deck and you can show me what you have in mind."
He pushed the sheet back as he spoke and swung his feet over the edge of the bunk, discovering to his chagrin that his sea legs had deserted him,
"Ah!" he exclaimed as his knees refused to support him and he toppled forward.

She caught him without effort, holding him by his shoulders and slightly clear of that fascinating, shining skin, much to his regret, and looked him over, then she pushed him back towards the bunk.
"I don't think so," was all she said.
Though he peered at her closely as she eased him back onto the bunk he could see neither humour nor gloating in her face, just a detached consideration. He could not understand why such reasonable conduct should annoy him quite so much, but annoy him it did. He wanted to push her away and swagger up to her pristine white decks to direct matters, but the little beasts still had him in their jaws and it was clear, even to himself, that that was not an option that was available to him, at least not for the moment.
"I'll be back soon to tell you what I've found. Ariadne thinks that we might be able to recover something, but it remains to see if it will be enough. Until then just stay where you are, quietly if such a thing is possible for you. Just trust me."
"Now why should I do that?" the words slipped out before he could reconsider them.
However she didn't seem to take any offence,
"Why not?" was all she said.
He leant back against the pillows with more relief than he was going to let her see,
"Where would you like me to begin darlin?"
He managed something closer to his usual smile but he knew that it was still a pale attempt. She just shrugged and crossed to the door, turning back to narrow her eyes at him in one of her sharp looks,
"Darlin falls into the same category a luv Jack, and if you don't want me to take a terrible revenge when next you need medicene I'd advise you resist the temptation to use either."
But she smiled in an almost friendly way as she said it. She was gone before he could reply.

Jack settled himself more comfortably and smiled to himself,
He might yet get to like this strange woman, for all her sharp words and insultingly amused looks. He just needed to keep reminding himself that, for all her very female appearance, she was neither whore nor high toned lady but a fellow captain. Still captain or not he needed to keep an eye on her, he would have a short rest, recupe his energy and then he would go and see what she was up to.

On that promise to himself he fell asleep.

***

He awoke with the nagging thought that there was something important that he had to do, and that he had to do it now. Treasure, it was something to do with treasure, not the fountain but treasure as in silver and gold. Lots of it.

Isle De Muerta, that was it! They were anchored where the Isle de Muerta had once been, before the sea had swallowed it and its precious hoard. Elanor! She had said something about recovering some of that hoard. In which case what was he doing in bed? Bugger. He was not letting her get at the treasure, at least not on her own. Assuming that she could of course, but now his head was starting to work again he was no longer sure that she wouldn't be able to. He could not know what she, her ill tempered ghost and this strange ship might be able to do. Bugger! Why was he not on deck? Why was he not watching her?

He threw of the covering and scrambled to his feet, then sank down again quickly. Oh, that was why. Jack squinted down at his traitorous lower limbs; his head was working again so why would they not do as they were instructed. Still such weakness was meant to be overcome.

Taking more care this time he got to his feet, and stood breathing deeply. He was still wearing the shirt and breeches she had provided, or at least some very like them, but he had no boots. Very well, barefoot might not be so dignified but it wouldn't be the first time he'd trod a deck with no shoes. She might think that depriving him of footwear would keep him here but she would find that he could rise above such trifles, he was Captain Sparrow, boots or no. He was going up on deck, she needn't think that he wouldn't or that he couldn't.

Carefully he crossed the room and opened the door. There was no sign of Elanor or her ghost but the passage to the deck steps seemed longer than he recalled it. Jack drew a deep breath and began to make his was towards the door, keeping one hand on the bulkhead as he went. The stairs were nearly his undoing, and once again he found himself thinking dark thoughts about the purpose of those draughts she had poured so assidoiusly down his throat. But, though he had to stop to recruit his strength at every level, he finally made it to the deck.

It was late afternoon judging by the position of the sun and the air was hot. The sea was gentle with no sign of the towering waves that had swallowed the island so voraciously all those months, maybe years, ago. The treasure was lost, he'd stood and watched it slip forever into legend, taking his escape with it. But that was in the past whatever Elanor had in mind she couldn't reclaim what was lost, but he needed to know what she was up to all the same.

He looked around him, the decks was as white as the desert of the locker and the light was golden, it had yet to take on the red tint of sunset. All was calm and quiet, he could hear the swish of the swell against the hull, the occasional groan of the anchor chain and the creak of canvas or rope, he didn't yet know this ship well enough to be sure which it was. But there was no human sound, nor ghostly sound come to that. There was no one at the helm but his memories f his last experience kept him where he was. This ghost of hers watched everywhere, or so she said, and he was not inclined to put that to the test for the moment. The lady herself was no where to be seen.

Frowning, he looked around him, noting the pristine condition of everything with approval and, it had to be admitted, some envy. It was a very fine ship. But it had a very fine captain, a very fine, but apparently missing, captain.
"Elanor," he called out, "Where are you?" but there was no response.
"Elanor, Captain Cavendish, where are you?" he tried again. Still no reply.
He looked around him, but there was nothing to tell him where she might be. Had she gone below? But she had told him she would come down and tell him when she had done whatever it was that she had planned on doing, had she not? Why would she have lied when she had no need to do anything at all?

Jack wandered over to the rail and peered over his brows rising as he saw the small raft apparently tethered at the water line. Surely she had not taken a boat out? Or maybe she had. He scanned the ocean but could see nothing, just water as far as the eye could see. With a frown Jack stepped back towards the masts, and for the first time he wondered what would happen to him if she were lost. He did'nt know if he could sail this wonderful ship alone, or even if her ghost would let him. What, then, would he do if she were injured, or sick, as he had been, or, and this was not a nice idea, if she were killed. If the ship remained anchored here then sooner or later it would be found, which meant that he would be found, and this yardarm would be as good as any other to the navy if they found him. If other pirates found him then it was unlikely that they would just accept that he couldn't sail this ship, and they would want it which would mean they would try and persuade him to tell them how to sail it. The futile persuasion would not be pleasant. Either way he needed Elanor back.

"Elanor," he tried again, "Elanor, this isn't amusing darlin." He felt the anger rising with the fear, "where the hell are you woman?"
Still no reply and now he could feel panic stirring, in desperation he raised his voice,
"Oi, you, ghost. What's your name, Ariadne. Where is she? I need to know where she is." Still there was silence but for the sound of wind and the waves, Jack took a deep breath and tried to stay calm, "I said where is she ghost? Is she safe? Does she need help? I need to know. Savvy?"
The ghost stayed stubbornly silent.

Gritting his teeth he searched the deck from prow to stern and found nothing. With a curse he headed for the door, trying to ignore the returning headache and the weariness that was creeping up on him again. She must have gone below for some reason, he would find her and make his feelings on the matter clear!

A new sound came from behind him, a sound like a whale blowing water. Then something was on the raft, setting the edge of it knocking against the hull, he heard the scrape of rope and a strange clanking noise like manacles being released. Drawing a steadying breath and thinking longingly of sword and pistol he ran back to the rail.

His eyes widened in horror at the sight of the creature hauling itself onto the raft and he looked wildly around for a weapon, any weapon, but the tidy decks offered nothing to defend either himself or the ship. He looked back down to the raft to see the creature looking up and he was hurled back in time, back to the deck of the Pearl and the dead black eyes above a gaping mouth ringed with tentacles.

He froze as the monster began to climb towards him.