Chapter 23 Stories and speculations

The digging got harder as the sun climbed in the sky pulling the temperature with it, even in the patchy shade. It had taken them more than two hours to clear enough loose rock and sand to let them wriggle under the over hang that Jack had discovered on his first trip without suffocating, for as soon as they moved it the wretched stuff slithered back to where it had just been removed from. But when they managed it the space revealed, though cramped even for one, was larger than Elanor had expected. Ariadne had warned her that the scanners were finding it hard to calibrate and here was a disturbingly practical demonstration of it, a worrying large example too. She raised her eyes and looked across the hummock that was the visible part of the island towards the ship and sent a silent prayer that they weren't getting anything else wrong on this scale.

It had taken a further three back breaking hours to open up a large enough hole to let them start any serious digging.

Mr Gibbs had been touchingly concerned about her taking a full part in this exercise but after watching her swing a pick a few times he settled into a nervous silence, the sideways looks indicating that he had now decided that she was even stranger than he had previously thought. Jack seemed unconcerned about sharing hard physical labour with a woman, but she had caught him casting more than one surreptitious glance from her direction under the curtain wall of his hair, and when he thought she wouldn't see. After a while he seemed convinced that her strength was just what he had thought it might be, and he confined his concern to pacing himself and checking occasionally, and equally surreptitiously, on Mr Gibbs. She wondered whose interests he thought he was protecting, and if he even knew.

Jack had shed his coat before they began, his sash and belts followed quickly, the ever present pistols being laid down in the shade beside her own coat, for their stocks were already becoming uncomfortably hot, and his waistcoat was folded beside them. His sword he propped up against the lip of the overhang within his reach and Elanor wondered who, or what, it was that he was expecting to fight off on such a desolate spot.

It was several more weary hours of working on hands and knees, shoulder against shoulder, before they had opened up a space large enough to allow any of them to stand. Those hours were back breaking and shoulder straining, though none of them mentioned it; dangerous too, for there was little room to swing the pick and any attempt to force the pace only increased the danger of broken skulls and gouged eyes. They took turns to rest, two of them always at work, while the third sat in the little cool shade that survived the strengthening sun. The blue sky was as hard and bright as polished lapis and no cloud appeared to soften the rays that cooked the rock around the little shore party. As the temperature rose the two working had to take regular breaks for water, though small mouthfuls was all they could usefully take, bent over as they were. Even with the Chaser so close to hand the water was too valuable to be spewed back onto hot rock by cramped bellies. Before the first half hour was over they were all drenched in sweat and powdered with sand, the gritty grains finding the way into their hair and eyes with relentless efficiency. Shirts plastered to their backs and shoulders, hands slippery and sore they struggled on.

In the black shade beneath the overhang the air was oven hot and thick with dust and sand, so resting in it did little to ease laboured breathing or stem the flow of sweat. The dust caked on their faces like a clown's makeup and rasped their throats like smoke, the smaller particles working under finger nails and into any gap in their clothing. Occasionally a larger sliver of rock would rise up with enough energy to gouge a slit in unprotected skin, the ooze of blood attracting a further caking of sand to irritate the wound. Elanor muttered a curse as another cut opened up on her forearm, 'worse than paper cuts' she thought as she ignored the sand on her tongue and licked the blood away. Jack cast her a faintly worried look and seemed about to ask her if she was alright, before a glare, more for the sand than for him, caused him to shrug slightly and turn his attention back to his shovel. She did the same, noting in passing that his shirt, now well plastered to his torso, was spotted with blood in a number of places and that the sparrow of his forearm tattoo held a red worm in its beak; she made a note to herself to make sure that both he and Mr Gibbs joined her in washing the dust off before they ventured below ground.

She had been right about Jack though, he was a man accustomed to hard physical work, and his body, though lean, even after a month or so of enjoying the Chaser's hospitality, was well honed and efficient. Moreover he swung the pick and wielded the shovel with the economical skill and expertise of someone who had done it more than once before. Had hard labour been a punishment for pirates in the eighteenth century she wondered idly as she took her turn in the shade? Somehow she had an idea they had just hung them. But he must have had some life other than the sea in the years he'd search for his ship, was there some house or farmstead waiting for him somewhere? With a wife of sorts maybe? Children even? She repressed a smile at the idea, somehow she didn't think so, at least about the wife. Children? Well she wouldn't be surprised. Though she doubted he knew them if there were. 'Was that something to be sad about?' she wondered. Probably not, if it was similar to the past of her own world then this was a hard place and such ignorance would not be an uncommon occurrence.

Her eyes flickered to a red faced Mr Gibbs as he wiped his forehead, his eyes narrowed to slits beneath sand encrusted brows, and she sighed. What future did either of these men have? Could it be any better than their past, which, from what little she knew of them, could not have been any bed of roses? She needed to remember Ariadne's warning and avoid sentimentalising something that she didn't understand, her world was harsh for many too, particularly the dispossessed, would they find Jack or Gibbs either strange or immoral?

Jack looked up at that moment and raised his eyebrows as he caught her glance,
"Something botherin' you Captain Cavendish?" he asked rather formally, taking the opportunity to wipe his sweat slicked face with the ends of his scarf.
Gibbs his bent back to his task as if unwilling to take part in whatever exchange of words was coming. Elanor smiled slightly and pushed the speculations away with a small shake of her head, this was not the time or place for such wondering, maybe there never would be one,
"Not really, I was just wondering which of us is going to ache most after this little escapade."
She got to her feet and crossed to the growing hole taking the shovel from Mr Gibbs as, in response to a flick of Jack's head, he climbed out and crossed towards the shade. For a moment she stared down at what they had achieved.
" If we are going to make a habit of this maybe I should work out some form of keep fit routine for us."
"A what?"
He looked up at her in puzzlement and she laughed, at herself more than anything else,
"Sorry, my origins are showing. In my world we don't do much in the way of hard physical work, at least people like me don't." She waved a hand at the slowly growing hole, "we would use a machine for doing things like this."
"A machine? For diggin'?"
"Mmmm, something called, a digger."
"Well there's a surprise!" he replied sarcastically. "What else would you call it?"

He pushed his shirt sleeves higher up his arm showing the extent of the tattoo, and more stone cuts,
"Pity you don't have one to hand." He cast her a suspicious look, "you don't I suppose."
"No of course not! Think I'd be doing this if I had?"
"No sayin' what you'd do."
"Well I certainly wouldn't be digging in this heat if there was any alternative. Which is why Ariadne takes over as soon as possible."
"Which is when exactly?" He said as he looked down and wielded his shovel again, tossing more loose sand and stone out of the hole.
"When we have enough uncovered for her to get the right angle." She cast him a serious look, "I don't think it's a good idea to disturb things more than we have to Jack. If this is this fountain of yours, and if that is what you think it is, then it's bad enough us knowing about it, but I'd hate to leave it uncovered for others to find."
He froze, shovel in hand, and stared at the ground with a frown,
"I know what you mean, " he said after a moment, "the heart is enough of a risk."
She nodded,
"Imagine what some people would do for this."
"I am luv," he looked up at her, narrow eyed, "and it doesn't make for a pretty picture. Good job Beckett's gone."
"There are other Beckett's Jack, plenty of them. You know that as well as I do."
He met her eyes in silence and he nodded once, then his gaze slid away to where Mr Gibbs was sat in the shade,
"Best keep that thought to ourselves though," he said quietly, and looked back towards her, his face serious, " Eh?"

She nodded in silent agreement as Jack straightened up and extended his hand to her in a careless offer of help. Elanor raised her brows but allowed him to help her jump down into the shadow of the overhang; he cast her an almost shamefaced look as she did so, which she carefully didn't see, and they both bent back to their task in silence.

***

The Intrepid put into the harbour at Port Royale with its objective of finding Jack Sparrow still unfulfilled, but in need of water and supplies; and with a wish, on its captain's, part to seek other counsel.

As they passed the sea side gibbet the sailors dipped their eyes; though no one had told them of the recent events, or what it was that they were seeking, to man they knew it was to do with a pirate. That none of them would risk being seen as disrespectful to any of that ilk, even dead ones, spoke volumes of the rumours and stories circulating and more still of their assessment of the seriousness of the business. Watching the men on deck avert their eyes from the remains of the three corpses still displayed there Hathaway wondered just what it was the crew thought they were about, and if in that strange alchemy of sailor and sea they had divined more than he knew. For they would have been told little enough. But Groves presence, not an officer of theirs, and the side trip to Tortuga, would have told them that something strange was in the wind. Hathaway couldn't help but wonder if this close mouthed approach was the right one.

Not that he could have told them much more even had he been permitted to do so, for their lordships had told him little enough,well intentionally anyways and his other source of information could not be shared with the crew. The sight of Admiral Norrington's ship at anchor in the harbour caused him to frown, why was he here? This matter? Or was it something more mundane, such as the threat of war? Hathaway sighed to himself as he watched the crew of the admiral's ship about their business on the decks; peace, uneasy as it was, could only hold so long, and the heart was just the sort of matter to set the would be empires at each other's throats again. Hathaway had seen enough of war to want no more of it if, not if it could be avoided.

It was late afternoon when he left the ship and set out towards the fort and already the wharves were thin of people, and in the market square the heat of the day had done its job of wearying people and traders were a little less pressing in their attempts to sell their wares. It was not a comfortable walk even now and his skin soon prickled with sweat in the accumulated heat of the day. The flies were out in force too, and above him the ramparts were dotted with insects basking in the stone's accumulated heat. He walked slowly, ignoring the discomfort of wig and woollen coat as best he could, his eyes on the ground but not noticing the dust, thick in the cart tracks, or the grey tiredness of crushed grass. Only when he was approaching the gate did he look up, seeing the men patrolling the walls, the canons glinting dull but threatening in their niches, the flag giving only the occasional half hearted flutter in the heavy air. It was as if Becket and his mad ambition had never been, Hathaway sighed again and wished, not for the first time, that had been the case.

Out to sea black clouds were growing, another storm was on its way.

***

Hathaway was directed to the office by a harassed looking clerk with a wig slightly askew and ink on his chin, the man then hurried back as quickly as he could to some private fastness hidden behind the scuffed, though handsomely paneled, doors at the far end of the stone flagged corridor. He couldn't be blamed for his hurried departure for the rooms, and the anti rooms too, were packed with sullen and silent people, some perched on chairs and an array of hurriedly provided stools, others propping up the walls, their sweat leaving dark marks when they moved. The air was heavy with the stink of unwashed bodies, anxiety and anger, all overlaid with a tinge of sour rum and cloves. Hathaway's brows rose as he edged passed the waiting people who had spilled out into the passage way, presumably all of these people had some grievance resulting from Beckett's actions and as yet all of them were unresolved. No surprise that their lordships were so on edge, if ever there had been conditions for an uprising then this must be it, and he did not envy the new governor or the Admiral the task they faced.

Admiral Norrington was alone in a small, but well appointed, office, and seated at the desk that would once have been his nephew's; the polished surface was awash with papers and stacks of slim bound volumes that spoke eloquently of the mess that still remained to be resolved. He seemed glad of the distraction and stood to receive the captain's salute before sinking into his chair as if weary, then he leant forward with his hands folded on the desk waving Hathaway to a chair.
"You didn't find him then?" his tone was resigned, yet tinged with anxiety.
"No sir. He wasn't in Tortuga, or if he was he wasn't being found."
Norrington looked down at his interlaced fingers with a considering frown,
"Why would he hide? Tortuga is a free port and you could do nothing against him there, and from all I've heard he is sharp enough to know this business could run very much in his favour. The king will give him a full pardon, a commission if he wants it, and as much as the crown can reasonably afford. Maybe not all the gold on the Spanish Main but certainly enough for one pirate to spend the rest of his life in more luxury than he can ever have aspired to."

"Maybe. But not necessarily a long life sir." Hathaway said dryly.
Norrington blew out his breath in a small, refined gale, shuffling slightly in his chair and looking uneasy,
"We have no reason to believe that Captain, their lordships are honourable men and if he keeps his side of the bargain then there is no reason he should not live a long and comfortable life. Devil take it man, they will even leave this Cove place alone if that's where he wants to set up residence! His own fiefdom, a fortune, all the rum he can swallow and peace to drink it in. What more could he ask?"
"True sir, " Hathaway said smoothly, he could read the other man's expression clearly enough, and some things were best not known, "but we do not know the nature of his hold over Jones, surrendering the heart may put him at risk in that quarter. " He shrugged wearily, " and then there is the Spanish."

"Aye, there is the Spanish, " Norrington sighed, "and what you say of Jones is also true."
He looked out towards the sea,
"But what else can we do?"
Hathaway looked at him with uncertainty,
"We are sure, are we sir, about Jones?"
In reply Norrington pushed a small stack of slim volumes across the desk,
"My nephew's log, Captain Hathaway, read it for yourself and see what you make of it. I'd be glad of your opinion." He raised an eyebrow, "Tea?"
Hathaway swallowed his surprise at the attention,
"Would be most welcome sir," he said calmly.
But he opened the first packet with growing trepidation.

More than an hour later, with the pot cold and the wind starting to whip the flag and rattle windows, he sat back and rubbed his eyes, daylight was starting to fade and the last minutes reading had been hard on his eyes as well as his heart.
"Does the Governor know? All of it?" he asked quietly.

Norrington was standing silently at the window staring into the distance, the same place where once his nephew had stood and watched the ships changing colours from king's flag to Beckett's, that same position where he'd watched the parade of bond servants, slaves and the poor on their way to the noose with despair and disbelief and bitter regret. The light from the window, the same one through which James had first heard the song, reflected the last rays of the sun on sea and stone and threw the Admiral's profile into sharp relief as he nodded,
"Yes he knows. He is a friend of the king and was a friend of Weatherby Swann, they were related by marriage I think. I'm not sure if that makes it better or worse, either way the story is not a pretty one. Though I suspect there is a lot my nephew never knew. Swann's diaries should be somewhere, though if the Governor has found them he hasn't said." He looked up towards the ceiling as if looking for answers in the patterns of candle smoke, " But they probably went down with Beckett."
Hathaway just nodded and Norrington waved a hand towards the paper strewn across the desk,
"So you see, unless my nephew had gone totally mad, like Beckett apparently did, Jones does indeed exist;" he sighed and looked back towards the sea, "and the world, Captain Hathaway, is changed forever." He turned and looked at the other man with sombre eyes, "Make you wonder what else exists, doesn't it?"

Hathaway rubbed his eyes again,
"It does indeed sir. It does indeed." He drew a deep breath, "Their lordships want to find Sparrow, and through him the heart," he said quietly, "Groves is charged with finding him and I am charged with aiding him to do so. But what is your role in this sir? To make sure that no one else gets to it first? Or do the Spanish already threaten war on the basis of a rumour?"
The Admiral gave a sad little smile,
"Not yet, but it can't be long, not if they give any credence to the stories. As for safeguarding the heart, well I suppose that you might say so. Sparrow is probably still somewhere within the Caribbean, we need to secure these seas, and prevent an uprising, while we find him."
Hathaway nodded,
"We thought to take the Black Pearl and draw him out that way, but so far we have been unsuccessful," he frowned, "When we get close something always seems to get in our way."
Norrington looked down and smoothed his heavily braided coat with a careful hand,
"As I said it makes you wonder what else exists. There may be players in the game of who we know nothing." He looked up and spoke quietly,"which is why you are here I suspect."

Hathaway stilled himself with an effort,
"Me sir?"
"Yes. You are the king's man, are you not?"
"I am a loyal servant of the crown if that is what you mean sir."
"It is not what I mean. Captain. Does Groves know?"
Hathaway was silent for a moment, watching the sea green eyes that watched him, all expression washed from them, knowing how much of a risk the Admiral was taking in asking the question. For a moment he was silent and then he shook his head,
"I don't know. Sir. It is possible but I cannot ask."
The admiral nodded, then he flicked a hand towards the scattered diaries,
"My nephew trusted him as you can see, he set him to watch Beckett. Not that Groves could do much about anything, other than keep a record of what happened. A record that will soon be at St James if the winds are kind, not that it is likely to change anything. Though it throws an interesting light on our quarry."
He was silent for a moment as if debating something with himself, the he reached into his coat,
"Further light may be cast by these."
He tossed a packet of papers onto the desk,
"You had best read them too. I'll send for candles, and more tea. A lot more tea."

***

Night came before they managed to dig to the point where Ariadne could take over, and with it a sudden drop in temperature and a rising wind. They built a fire of charcoal and the few dried leaves the scrub offered them; leaving it to grow in strength as Elanor chivvied the two men into the sea to wash away the grit and sand and clean the sores and small cuts that each carried from the work. With another day of digging before them they needed to be a whole and as comfortable as possible.

Mr Gibbs protested noisily and only obeyed when Jack jerked his head in the direction of the surf with obvious meaning, even so he barely scraped the stiffest dirt from his shirt and hair before heading back towards the fire. Jack went more easily than he might have done once upon a time, he appeared to be acquiring the habit of cleanliness, though it might have been simple vanity that turned his mouth down in a moue of disgust at his stiff and whitened hair. Muttering mutinously about his refusal to go grey before his time, and grumbling that Teague didn't have this much white, he repeatedly submerged himself with surprising vigour. He didn't leave the water until he had wrung all of the dust from his braids and scrubbed the sand from his beard, and only preceded Elanor up the beach by a stride or two.

Though much cooler it was still warm enough for them to sit without coats, allowing the last heat of the dying day to dry their clinging shirts as the glow of the fire grew; and though the salt water had made the wounds smart it had cleaned them well enough for her to anoint them with the slave she had brought for the purpose. Elanor was not that surprised when Mr Gibbs produced a bottle of rum but was surprised when Jack waved the bottle away and took himself to the other side of the fire, apparently settling down to a period of meditation. Gibbs cast him a quick look then, apparently satisfied, ignored him. Elanor watched him a little longer, taking in the long hair with its elaborate decoration and the rings on the fingers now still and relaxed on his knee, he really did seem to be meditating, and wondered in passing which religious traditional his parents had sprung from. Or at least which one his mother had grown up in, from what Jack had told her of his father it was likely that his religion was immaterial. She gave a mental shrug and banished the idea, it really didn't matter, instead turning her thoughts to the next day's exertions.

As the first shadow of the moon appeared Mr Gibbs put aside his rum with a small, and rather grateful, smile in her direction and appointed himself hunter gather for the evening, taking a line and net to catch supper. Elanor fed the fire with more charcoal then wandered up to the overhang to collect their discarded clothing. Jack seemed oblivious of her presence as she dropped his coat around his shoulders and she said nothing, just wandered out to the shallows to take Mr Gibbs his waistcoat, the water still warm around her ankles. For a while she stayed there, watching him cast the net with surprising delicacy and patience, listening as he explained the rights and wrongs of fishing in this way. When the catch was complete she left him to prepare them at the water edge and wandered back to the fire.

Jack was sitting there now, with his back to the glowing pile and his eyes locked on the ship out beyond the reef. She picked up the rum bottle and crossed to his side,
"We can go back for the night if you would prefer?" she said after a moment or two of watching him. Lowering herself beside him she sprawled out on the warm sand with only faint twinge or two or two to remind her of the day's hard work, but they were enough and she extended the rum bottle in Jack's direction with a faint smile, "just as long as you are offering to do the rowing."
He gave a slight twitch of the shoulders that might have been a laugh and shook his head,
"No, we'll stick to the plan. It'll be no easier tomorrow and rowing back and hauling the boat up here again seems an undesirable addition to the workload." He took a swallow of rum, "Tis a pity about this diggin' thing, the not havin' of it that is." He cast her a sideways look, "must be a strange place your world. Not much room for a man makin' his way by the strength of his back from what you say."
She stretched and shook her head as he offered her the rum bottle,
"None at all. At least not in my bit of it."
He smiled wryly,
"Must remember to tell Hector that if I ever see him again."

For a moment there was silence between them as they both watched the white pearl sheen of the ship beyond the reef. Mr Gibbs wandered up the sand with three fish in his hands and began to rake the ashes on the other side of the fire ready for cooking them. Jack took another swig of rum and held the bottle out to her again without taking his eyes of the sea.
"That's the only bottle that we have with us," she warned him as she shook her head, "at least as far as I'm aware." She smiled faintly, "of course I might be wrong about that."
Silence stretched again the Jack shifted,
"Last time I sat round a fire with a woman there was plenty of rum." He said quietly. "not much of a future o'course but plenty of rum." He grimaced in memory, "she burned it."
"She, being the late lamented Ms Swann I gather. The deceased Ms Swann." Her tone told him what she though of that assertion.

Jack turned and gave her a smirking smile,
"Aye so it was. As I recall."
He took another swig from the bottle then he stretched full length beside her, leaning on his elbow and sinking the bottle into the sand between them, keeping his hand on the neck even so.
"Of course she was somewhat less generously attired," his grin was gold in the failing light, "though that's not to say the current scenery is without interest."
Elanor mirrored his posture and smiled back,
"Oh? Which interests would those be? "
Jacks fingers stirred on the neck of the bottle for a moment and his smile froze in place, he watched her for a moment with narrowed eyes then he leaned slightly forward, one long rope of hair falling forward over his shoulder,
"Many and myriad luv," he said softly with another grin
"Really, " Elanor echoed wide eyed, "and on such a featureless scrap of land too. You are fortunate to be so easily pleased Captain Sparrow. I on the other hand am a little more...... Demanding."
His eyes opened wide at the sudden attack, for he knew it for what it was. He tipped his head back and looked at her down the line of his nose,
"Ah. I'll remember that in future shall I?"
"If you think it worthy of note Captain Sparrow."

He looked at her for another long moment then dropped his eyes to the bottle, his finger caressing down its neck to the shoulder,
"Interesting lass, young Miss Swann, very forthright, very...." he smiled wickedly in the direction of the bottle, his fingers still circling on the greasy glass, "up front."
Elanor watched him with a smile as he looked back up and sent a sultry look in her direction.
"Let me guess, " she mused, putting a finger to her lips in apparent thought, "not as up front as me though." She let her eyes drift down her own body then looked back up and matched his smile, "her having less to be up front with."
His eyes flamed with laughter and he pulled the bottle free of the sand and raised it to her in salute. She smiled back,
"Give it up Jack, it's a lost cause. I'm not the governor's daughter, you'll never manage to shock me this way."

Elanor took the bottle and drank once then handed it back,
"So tell me, did you have a hankering for this Ms Swann, despite her relative lack of up frontedness? The fact that they didn't hang you out of hand suggests you didn't lay a finger on her, regardless of her dress." She saw him frown and raised a hand in appeasement,
"Not that I'm suggesting that you would ever descend to rape."
"Thank you!" he said sarcastically and scowled at her.
She smiled and gestured at the bottle,
"But under the influence of alcohol she might have been willing. Don't tell me it didn't occur to you?"
He wriggled his feet in the sand and glared at her from under lowered brows,
"May have done. Not that I'm sayin' that I would have accepted any such drunken offer. Pirate I may be but I've never been reduced to having to ply women with strong drink to win their affections." A ghost of the grin returned, "nor anything else come to that."
She looked him over and grinned back,
"I believe you. I often despair at my own sex."
That brought a pout and she laughed,
"But tell me the truth, did it never cross your mind to. ...er. win ......Ms Swann's affections?"

Jack cast her an appraising look then another grin,
"Well.... mebbe....... occasionally. For about half an hour or so. Sometimes."
Elanor raised her brows,
"Half an hour or so? Sometimes? How long had you been at sea again?"
His grin widened,
"Well maybe an hour or so, more than sometimes." He looked down at the bottle with a blank look, "she gave me enough encouragement." He looked up at her again but his eyes were somewhere else, "Silly lass, what would she have done if I'd taken her up on it? For all she came from some high toned family William was all she had ever wanted but I doubt he would have taken her with that between them, and me, I'm not the marrying kind."
"Maybe he would nave done," she said shaken by his sudden seriousness.
He sighed, and shook his head,
"Seen it before, ends up with him scurrying back to sea and her earning her bread on her back in a dirt water hole somewhere. I'd not do that to her, for all that she was a pirate at heart."

Elanor reached out for the bottle,
"Talking of hearts, what are you going to do Jack? How long can you go on dodging them? The Chaser might stay ahead but that means giving up the Black Pearl and staying with me; do you want that? Even then they might catch us eventually and I meant what I said about not being taken."
"If they catch me I'm dead anyway. I can't give them the heart."
"Can't or won't?"
He shrugged,
"Doesn't matter does it?" looking away toward the over hang he shivered, "Maybe it depends on what's down there."

It was at that very inopportune moment that Mr Gibbs joined them with the news that the fish were ready.