Fic: "Contradictions 3: Lose" (Part 4)
Jun. 1st, 2011 06:43 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
veronica_richThis is a continuation of a POTC fic. See Part 1 for disclaimers, etc.
“Sparrow!”
The object of the jovial demand swiveled his head just enough to glance back over one shoulder. “Francois!” he called back in similar tone.
“Been lookin’ all over th’ ship for ye,” the Spanish captain chided.
“Well, tha’ seems a bit overwrought, now, mate, seein’ as I’ve been standin’ right here th’ whole time,” Jack pointed out reasonably, turning to face the taller pirate. “Ain’t I, Lappers?”
The young pirate manning the helm swallowed and nodded quickly, sparing a nervous glance toward his own captain and a more friendly look at Sparrow. Jack grinned, silently blessing his ability to make friends anywhere – at least until they got to the point of slapping him, that was. Harder to kill or aid in the killing of a man you liked, was his philosophy, and since the underlings ended up doing most of the work for just about any villain, it paid to be nice to those bottom-dwellers.
Francois frowned momentarily – Jack could’ve sworn it was in consternation – but it cleared and he threw a companionable arm around the shorter man’s shoulders. “Some lunch, Sparrow; come on, ‘fore it gets cold. Cook’s got a nasty ‘nough temper wit’out me asking ‘im to reheat it all.”
Jack continued grinning, though it was tighter now. Elias was not-so-subtly giving him the message he could squash Jack like a grape whenever he chose, if the iron grip of his forearm was any indication. “If ye crush me throat, I won’ be able t’ sample your culinary delights,” he pointed out in reasonable tone. “And it’ll leave quite th’ mess for Cook t’ have to scrape up.”
Elias only laughed. Jack imagined he might’ve loosened his grip somewhat, but couldn’t confirm it as he followed along toward the captain’s war room. “You’re an awfully friendly chap,” he noted, trying to squirm away without it seeming so obvious. “What brings ye out toward th’ Caribee anyway, mate? Never said.” Jack knew very well they weren’t headed on toward Jamaica, but instead, back toward the Continent. He’d eventually formulated the hypothesis that, despite his ragged dress, Francois was indeed probably a privateer, albeit one who operated quite far outside the law on the seas where nobody could check his activity, and was heading back to his ruler with the French prize under the guise of some legal respectability.
Which meant Jack and his entourage, not being Spanish, would likely be turned over as international prisoners with no mercy. The one thing anyone could say about Captain Jack Sparrow was that he was at least egalitarian in angering organized authority wherever he found it.
“Why, same as you, I s’pose.” Elias removed his arm, giving Jack’s back a hearty smack before gesturing into the room, already laid out with a modest repast. “Opportunity, riches, treasure, trade ships – all th’ good things in this life.”
“Ye forgot rum.”
“Nay, I’d never forget rum, Captain. Be unseemly.” To prove his point, Elias shoved at him an entire slender bottle of rum, rather than simply a goblet. The larger man hefted his own bulbous bottle with a cheeky grin. “Sit, eat. Not often I have guests worthy of me own title and table.”
The good thing about being a prisoner is it rather removes the worry about being poisoned en route, Sparrow reflected as he reclined into a chair. Comfortable; he liked the way the French outfitted themselves. “One thing I’m not too clear on’s why’d ye sit in th’ bloody ocean and wait to be attacked, anyway?” he asked, uncorking his bottle slowly, chin dipped, eyes slyly on Francois.
“First, you tell me why you attacked.” Elias jabbed an accusing finger in his direction. “Th’ Jack Sparrow I heard ‘bout is certainly no fool, an’ yet it was stupid.”
“Perhaps you think so; I saw a calculated risk. Or do ye think you’re th’ only one with a claim t’ lay on Gallic treasure?” No way was he going to admit he’d faced another mutiny, no matter how small – the only thing worse at sea than a captain who occasionally resorted to foolish strategy was one who’d lost control of his crew and ship.
“Seems from what I heard that ye’d be a mite sick o’ treasure for awhile, given th’ last time I hear your vessel struck out for gold.”
“Tha’s a bit like sayin’ ye quit th’ rum because of one hangover.” Jack leaned forward on the edge of his seat, inspecting the food briefly, then reached for a leg of fowl and a hunk of bread. “Pirate who doesn’t go after booty’s kind of th’ image of counterproductivity, isn’t he?”
Elias was quiet a bit. Then: “Word is ye shot Barbossa an’ got all his pirates hanged.”
Jack glanced up from tearing a bite away from the bird. Chewing contemplatively, he swallowed, chased it with a long swallow of rum, then cleared his throat. “Old word, indeed. If you’re tryin’ to make small talk, I’m sure we can find more pleasant topics an‘ newer news, mate.”
But the other captain would not be put off. Dark eyes glittering, his lips curved up into a positively wicked smile. “So how slow’d you make the ol’ bastard die?”
Sparrow refrained from frowning at the unseemly question, recalling something Francois had said three days earlier about knowing of his verbosity firsthand from Hector Barbossa. “Not a nice way t’ talk about a friend,” he tested.
“Makes ye think he was friend?”
“Oh, I don’ know – enemies don’t usually sit ‘round chewin’ th’ fat ‘bout other pirates. Leastways I don’t, when I have one at th’ end of me sword.”
Elias shrugged. “We crossed paths.”
“Uh-huh. I once crossed paths with th’ king of England, but we didn’t gossip over tea. Unless ye count a quick benediction,” Jack put in, eyes lighting with the clerical memory as he resisted a chuckle. “Just how close were you an’ Hector, anyway?”
“I could ask th’ same about you, Jack.”
The smaller man shrugged through another succulent bite of fowl. “Was a kid,” he spoke through the mouthful, then concentrated on getting rid of it expediently. “He didn’t like bein’ so much older and havin’ to take orders, so he took advantage of me stupidity and mutinied. I knew th’ man all of six days. He helped me an’ William gather a crew … which, in retrospect, wasn’t th’ best use of his talents on me behalf,” Jack reflected.
“William – not that boy blacksmith?”
“Nay. ‘Twas his da.” Jack tore off a bite of bread and popped it into his mouth, unconcerned about spilling his life story before a stranger, especially since this part of it was pretty much all public legend anyway.
“I see. Speakin’ of th’ blacksmith – what’s his story? Raised ‘im for his father, did ye?”
Again, Jack nonchalantly shook his head, though he was mindful of treading into a murkier quagmire now; the less a potential enemy knew about you, the better. “Just joined me crew few months back. Said he’d heard o’ me from his mum.” Let Elias be the one to contradict him, if he’d heard more about Barbossa’s defeat than Jack’s role in it.
Elias nodded, stroking his chin. Jack noted he still hadn’t eaten. “So he’s no ties t‘ anyone, is that it, then?”
Something in the other captain’s tone put Jack even more on guard. “Wouldn’t say that,” he answered carefully. He allowed a small upward curve to one corner of his lips and lifted his eyebrows meaningfully.
“Ah … so it is like that.” Elias chuckled. “Should’ve known ye wouldn’ be able t’ resist such a comely lad, then.”
Jack gave a lazy shrug of his shoulder and stroked his moustache with his forefingers. Far better this crew think he had a claim on Will than for any of them to try to establish one of their own through more forceful means. “He suits me purposes.”
“And th’ boy?”
“Will’s brother. Half-brother, actually.” The lie formed itself easily enough.
“Two for one? Well, well-”
Shaking his head, Jack put up a hand, waving it a bit at the wrist. “Look, mate, I like ‘em strappin’, but not young enough for th’ strap. I‘d presume th‘ same of you an‘ your crew.” He tilted his chin down a bit to level a more intense stare into Francois’s dark eyes as he leaned back again in his chair. “Savvy?”
“Tastes … vary, Captain. I certainly can’t be held responsible for th’ proclivities of me crew.”
“Then I’d say you’re not much of a captain then, now are ye?” He spoke quietly, but summoned up his best tone of command. “’S one thing to have your ship swiped out from under ye in the dead of night, Francie; quite another t’ oversee th’ systematic rape of little boys.”
Francois‘s face tightened. “You’d do well, Sparrow, to remember you are my guest aboard this vessel, y’ see?”
“Aye. Guest.” Jack’s eyes hardened but never altered expression, his fingers steepled together at chest level.
“I’m certainly not holdin’ ye here, Captain. You and your faithful crew are free to leave anytime ye’d like … so long as it’s wit’out th’ benefit o’ rowboats.” Francois grinned unpleasantly. “Mebbe ye can rope together a couple sharks an’ ride ‘em to shore somewhere.”
A well-timed commotion out on deck saved Jack from having to deliver a rather nasty comeback, and several seconds later, someone rattled at the door. “Sir! There’s been a killin’!” the crewman called, finally pushing it open to burst in. He swept large eyes over Jack before settling on his captain. “It’s th’ blacksmith!”
It took no time whatsoever for Jack to go from reclining in his chair several feet away to backing the young messenger up into a wall, knobby fingers clutched at his throat just beneath his chin. Jack absently noted the man’s Adam’s apple bobbing nervously as he growled, “What about the blacksmith?”
“H-He’s not dead!” the man managed to choke out. “He’s done th’ killin’!”
With a final narrowing of his dark eyes, Jack jerked his hand away and glanced over at Francois, then pushed past the crewman out of the war room. He stopped a few steps beyond the doorway, looking about, and then stalked toward the knot of men gathered around the mast, wondering what the hell Will had gotten himself into this time while alternately sighing inwardly with relief he was not the one deceased. Scares like that weren’t good at Jack’s age.
“But he was protecting me!” came a familiar, squeaky tenor somewhere in the midst of pirates. “Don’t kill him, please! It was me!”
That damn fucking nobility. Every goddamn time. Jack shook his head, a lot of Will’s immediate peril suddenly explained by David’s pleas before Jack himself even knew the finer details. “Out of my way!” the captain demanded, shoving someone in his way aside. “Move aside! MOVE!”
One apparently didn’t like Jack’s tone and turned on him. “Wot th’ hell you-” His eyes bugged out, his bravado apparently shriveling as Jack’s hand was at his throat, the sharp point of a recently-hidden dagger near to piercing the tender flesh.
“Son, you’re testing me patience,” Jack gritted at the crewman, leaning into his face, his moustache nearly brushing the fellow‘s chin. “Unless you’d like to be wearin’ this, step aside an’ tell your buddies to move, too.”
“There’s no need for threats, Captain Sparrow.” Francois’s voice, loud and calm, was right behind him. “We’ll find out what’s going on soon enough. AVAST!” he raised his voice on the end command. “Where be th’ smith?”
“’Ere, Cap’n.” Jack withdrew his blade and shoved his crewman away, turning toward it. He’d penetrated the crowd far enough that when the people immediately surrounding Will moved away at Francois’s order, Jack could see Turner at the mast, his arms behind him – presumably tied around the column of wood – and David in front of him, shaking his head wildly and blinking, still pleading for nearby pirates to leave Will alone. The reason Will himself wasn’t speaking became evident as soon as Jack spotted the gag between his lips. Boy, is this familiar, he reflected, namely to balance out the mixture of fear and the first stirrings of rage somewhere inside.
“Now what’s going on?” the Spanish captain demanded, in English.
“He killed Knuckler!” a rather fat pirate charged, coming to a furious stop before Francois. “Run ‘im through with his sword!”
“Did you see it?”
“Saw it wit’ me own eyes! He warn’ doin’ nothing, an-”
“That’s not true!” David piped up, the fear in his eyes momentarily replaced by a glaring fury. “He was trying to hurt Will!”
Jack cocked his head and met Will’s eyes over the gag – they were neither as frightened nor as angry as they should have been, merely darting here and there trying to take in everything. He rolled them, and Jack blinked in surprise; Will was being dismissive of this witch hunt?
“What, exactly, was he doing?” Francois directed this question at David, and everyone’s eyes turned on the boy, who seemed suddenly smaller than his actual spare frame.
“He – h-he was in the f-forge, and he-” David paused and swallowed, shutting his eyes tightly and shaking his head.
Jack had an idea. “Here, boy, tell me, then.” He crossed the few steps between himself and David and lowered himself to one knee, gesturing at his own ear. When David shook his head still, his large blue eyes blinking with unshed tears, Jack reached up and put a hand on his back. “Jus’ whisper it t’ me, savvy? Nobody else’ll hear it, and I’ll tell them for ye.” He flicked his eyes meaningfully toward Will, then back to David, widening his eyes as he spoke again, slowly, trying to convey the order to acquiesce without saying as much. “You want them to let your brother go, don’t you?”
David’s eyes widened, then softened in comprehension. Quick lad. He leaned in and whispered, then. “That m-man came in the forge while we were working and … and he said things about me that made Mr. Turner angry, and said if Mr. Turner didn‘t listen t-to him, he‘d do things to me. Then he got behind – he moved behind h-him, and he …” The boy trailed off, and Jack pulled away, seeing the confusion in the blue eyes. Suddenly, the pirate understood what David’s mind was still too inexperienced to grasp, and he stood, abruptly wheeling on Francois.
“Seems your crewman wasn’ quite satisfied with whatever he’s gettin’ elsewhere, and decided to attack my men,” Jack pronounced deliberately, eyes narrowing. “Your guests, Captain.”
“He’s lying!” Jack caught the fat pirate’s movement in his peripheral vision, lunging at David; instead, he met with Jack’s unmoving form as the captain took two swift steps back and wedged himself firmly between the enraged man and the scared boy. “He didn’ do no such thing!”
“What, exactly, did Mr. Turner do?” Francois directed to the crew at large, before nodding at the man standing nearest Will, who’d answered when the captain had asked where the smith was. “Zeke?”
“Ran ‘im through with his sword, sir.”
“How?”
“Near as we can figger, through th’ gut from in fron’. Knuckler was standin’ behind ‘im, an’ he-” Here, Zeke paused to raise a skinny finger toward Will, “he stabbed behind ‘im, ran Knuckler clean through.”
Jack had to suppress his laugh at the mental image put together from Zeke‘s and David‘s accounts. Trust Will to be able to do his work and dispatch an enemy sneaking up behind him, at the same time. He sobered quickly enough when he realized what it must’ve taken to rouse Will to that point – the smith was a relatively peaceful man, not given to indiscriminate injury or killing. “Sounds like defense,” he told the other captain. “You should untie him.”
Francois sighed. “As I was tellin’ ye earlier, you’re hardly in a position to be givin’ me orders aboard me own ship, Sparrow.” The crew nodded in agreement, scowling in Jack’s general direction.
Realizing that a bit of diplomacy was in order, Jack briefly closed his eyes and nodded toward the other captain, placing his palms together briefly, beseechingly. “Apologies, Elias … but he was tryin’ to protect his brother. Surely the Spanish Crown doesn’t endorse th’ buggerin’ of little boys on their vessels, do they, now?”
Jack’s lips quirked just slightly at the position he’d deliberately put Francois into. It didn’t matter if every pirate on board secretly got off on raping children – to admit to doing or fostering such a thing aloud, even in such uncouth company, was worse than the insinuation of fucking one’s own mother. Sorry, Mum, he winced inwardly, imagining how his dam might’ve taken such a comment had she still been alive.
“As I was saying,” Francois finally continued, glaring at Jack, then around at his crew, “this is my ship, and I give the orders. And my orders apparently weren’t clear enough: Our guests are not to be harmed in any fashion. Nor is my crew to be used for target practice,” he aimed at the gagged Will Turner. “You have a problem, it comes t’ me or Zeke.”
“Or me,” Jack quietly put in, maintaining his stationary position, one hand crossed in front of his other arm, gripping its wrist. He flicked his dark-rimmed eyes neutrally at Francois, who only growled.
“Release him, and back to work. Enough of this foolishness!” Elias pointed at Will. “You – go below an’ get rid o’ that body. Throw it o’er.” With that, he wheeled and headed back to his war room, presumably to grab a bite of his own lunch. Jack safely assumed his own meal was over.
Within two minutes, Will was unbound and licking at his dry lips in an effort to regain some of the moisture leeched out by the dirty gag, as the crew dispersed to their individual stations. “Pah,” the smith spat a couple of times, while rubbing at the rope marks on his wrists. “Wonder where that thing’s been.”
David practically threw himself against the smith and snaked his arms around the man’s midsection. “I’m sorry,” he shook his head against Will’s sternum, where his head burrowed.
“For what?” Will patted his back comfortingly. “You didn’t do anything.”
“You wouldn’t’ve stabbed him if-”
“David.” Jack interrupted the proceedings. “Not your fault, boy. Mr. Turner doesn’ always think things through before he acts.” Jack expected the glare Will leveled at him over the boy’s head, but continued. “Honest men do some stupid things, sometimes.”
The boy blinked up at Jack. “But you say you’re dishonest.”
“Which means I’m not given t’ doin’ stupid things.” He sighed, frustrated he couldn’t put into words his relief that this little drama was over with – or his increasing worry that this wasn’t the end of it, after all. He couldn’t watch after the two of them every moment. Still … today was one day. “C’mon, I’ll head back to th’ forge with you two.” He dropped his voice. “We may as well take an inventory, see what we’ll need t’ secure for when we get off this boat.”
“We hardly need a caretaker, Jack.” This from Will, who was still looking adorably defiant.
“Maybe not,” the captain nodded in agreement, deliberately borrowing from a comment of Will‘s three days ago. “But sometimes watchin’ your back is me job, comprendé?”
The brow furrow disappeared, and the dark eyes widened a fraction, much of the challenge dissipating. “All right,” Will nodded, one arm still around David’s back. “This way.”
On to Part 5 ...
“Sparrow!”
The object of the jovial demand swiveled his head just enough to glance back over one shoulder. “Francois!” he called back in similar tone.
“Been lookin’ all over th’ ship for ye,” the Spanish captain chided.
“Well, tha’ seems a bit overwrought, now, mate, seein’ as I’ve been standin’ right here th’ whole time,” Jack pointed out reasonably, turning to face the taller pirate. “Ain’t I, Lappers?”
The young pirate manning the helm swallowed and nodded quickly, sparing a nervous glance toward his own captain and a more friendly look at Sparrow. Jack grinned, silently blessing his ability to make friends anywhere – at least until they got to the point of slapping him, that was. Harder to kill or aid in the killing of a man you liked, was his philosophy, and since the underlings ended up doing most of the work for just about any villain, it paid to be nice to those bottom-dwellers.
Francois frowned momentarily – Jack could’ve sworn it was in consternation – but it cleared and he threw a companionable arm around the shorter man’s shoulders. “Some lunch, Sparrow; come on, ‘fore it gets cold. Cook’s got a nasty ‘nough temper wit’out me asking ‘im to reheat it all.”
Jack continued grinning, though it was tighter now. Elias was not-so-subtly giving him the message he could squash Jack like a grape whenever he chose, if the iron grip of his forearm was any indication. “If ye crush me throat, I won’ be able t’ sample your culinary delights,” he pointed out in reasonable tone. “And it’ll leave quite th’ mess for Cook t’ have to scrape up.”
Elias only laughed. Jack imagined he might’ve loosened his grip somewhat, but couldn’t confirm it as he followed along toward the captain’s war room. “You’re an awfully friendly chap,” he noted, trying to squirm away without it seeming so obvious. “What brings ye out toward th’ Caribee anyway, mate? Never said.” Jack knew very well they weren’t headed on toward Jamaica, but instead, back toward the Continent. He’d eventually formulated the hypothesis that, despite his ragged dress, Francois was indeed probably a privateer, albeit one who operated quite far outside the law on the seas where nobody could check his activity, and was heading back to his ruler with the French prize under the guise of some legal respectability.
Which meant Jack and his entourage, not being Spanish, would likely be turned over as international prisoners with no mercy. The one thing anyone could say about Captain Jack Sparrow was that he was at least egalitarian in angering organized authority wherever he found it.
“Why, same as you, I s’pose.” Elias removed his arm, giving Jack’s back a hearty smack before gesturing into the room, already laid out with a modest repast. “Opportunity, riches, treasure, trade ships – all th’ good things in this life.”
“Ye forgot rum.”
“Nay, I’d never forget rum, Captain. Be unseemly.” To prove his point, Elias shoved at him an entire slender bottle of rum, rather than simply a goblet. The larger man hefted his own bulbous bottle with a cheeky grin. “Sit, eat. Not often I have guests worthy of me own title and table.”
The good thing about being a prisoner is it rather removes the worry about being poisoned en route, Sparrow reflected as he reclined into a chair. Comfortable; he liked the way the French outfitted themselves. “One thing I’m not too clear on’s why’d ye sit in th’ bloody ocean and wait to be attacked, anyway?” he asked, uncorking his bottle slowly, chin dipped, eyes slyly on Francois.
“First, you tell me why you attacked.” Elias jabbed an accusing finger in his direction. “Th’ Jack Sparrow I heard ‘bout is certainly no fool, an’ yet it was stupid.”
“Perhaps you think so; I saw a calculated risk. Or do ye think you’re th’ only one with a claim t’ lay on Gallic treasure?” No way was he going to admit he’d faced another mutiny, no matter how small – the only thing worse at sea than a captain who occasionally resorted to foolish strategy was one who’d lost control of his crew and ship.
“Seems from what I heard that ye’d be a mite sick o’ treasure for awhile, given th’ last time I hear your vessel struck out for gold.”
“Tha’s a bit like sayin’ ye quit th’ rum because of one hangover.” Jack leaned forward on the edge of his seat, inspecting the food briefly, then reached for a leg of fowl and a hunk of bread. “Pirate who doesn’t go after booty’s kind of th’ image of counterproductivity, isn’t he?”
Elias was quiet a bit. Then: “Word is ye shot Barbossa an’ got all his pirates hanged.”
Jack glanced up from tearing a bite away from the bird. Chewing contemplatively, he swallowed, chased it with a long swallow of rum, then cleared his throat. “Old word, indeed. If you’re tryin’ to make small talk, I’m sure we can find more pleasant topics an‘ newer news, mate.”
But the other captain would not be put off. Dark eyes glittering, his lips curved up into a positively wicked smile. “So how slow’d you make the ol’ bastard die?”
Sparrow refrained from frowning at the unseemly question, recalling something Francois had said three days earlier about knowing of his verbosity firsthand from Hector Barbossa. “Not a nice way t’ talk about a friend,” he tested.
“Makes ye think he was friend?”
“Oh, I don’ know – enemies don’t usually sit ‘round chewin’ th’ fat ‘bout other pirates. Leastways I don’t, when I have one at th’ end of me sword.”
Elias shrugged. “We crossed paths.”
“Uh-huh. I once crossed paths with th’ king of England, but we didn’t gossip over tea. Unless ye count a quick benediction,” Jack put in, eyes lighting with the clerical memory as he resisted a chuckle. “Just how close were you an’ Hector, anyway?”
“I could ask th’ same about you, Jack.”
The smaller man shrugged through another succulent bite of fowl. “Was a kid,” he spoke through the mouthful, then concentrated on getting rid of it expediently. “He didn’t like bein’ so much older and havin’ to take orders, so he took advantage of me stupidity and mutinied. I knew th’ man all of six days. He helped me an’ William gather a crew … which, in retrospect, wasn’t th’ best use of his talents on me behalf,” Jack reflected.
“William – not that boy blacksmith?”
“Nay. ‘Twas his da.” Jack tore off a bite of bread and popped it into his mouth, unconcerned about spilling his life story before a stranger, especially since this part of it was pretty much all public legend anyway.
“I see. Speakin’ of th’ blacksmith – what’s his story? Raised ‘im for his father, did ye?”
Again, Jack nonchalantly shook his head, though he was mindful of treading into a murkier quagmire now; the less a potential enemy knew about you, the better. “Just joined me crew few months back. Said he’d heard o’ me from his mum.” Let Elias be the one to contradict him, if he’d heard more about Barbossa’s defeat than Jack’s role in it.
Elias nodded, stroking his chin. Jack noted he still hadn’t eaten. “So he’s no ties t‘ anyone, is that it, then?”
Something in the other captain’s tone put Jack even more on guard. “Wouldn’t say that,” he answered carefully. He allowed a small upward curve to one corner of his lips and lifted his eyebrows meaningfully.
“Ah … so it is like that.” Elias chuckled. “Should’ve known ye wouldn’ be able t’ resist such a comely lad, then.”
Jack gave a lazy shrug of his shoulder and stroked his moustache with his forefingers. Far better this crew think he had a claim on Will than for any of them to try to establish one of their own through more forceful means. “He suits me purposes.”
“And th’ boy?”
“Will’s brother. Half-brother, actually.” The lie formed itself easily enough.
“Two for one? Well, well-”
Shaking his head, Jack put up a hand, waving it a bit at the wrist. “Look, mate, I like ‘em strappin’, but not young enough for th’ strap. I‘d presume th‘ same of you an‘ your crew.” He tilted his chin down a bit to level a more intense stare into Francois’s dark eyes as he leaned back again in his chair. “Savvy?”
“Tastes … vary, Captain. I certainly can’t be held responsible for th’ proclivities of me crew.”
“Then I’d say you’re not much of a captain then, now are ye?” He spoke quietly, but summoned up his best tone of command. “’S one thing to have your ship swiped out from under ye in the dead of night, Francie; quite another t’ oversee th’ systematic rape of little boys.”
Francois‘s face tightened. “You’d do well, Sparrow, to remember you are my guest aboard this vessel, y’ see?”
“Aye. Guest.” Jack’s eyes hardened but never altered expression, his fingers steepled together at chest level.
“I’m certainly not holdin’ ye here, Captain. You and your faithful crew are free to leave anytime ye’d like … so long as it’s wit’out th’ benefit o’ rowboats.” Francois grinned unpleasantly. “Mebbe ye can rope together a couple sharks an’ ride ‘em to shore somewhere.”
A well-timed commotion out on deck saved Jack from having to deliver a rather nasty comeback, and several seconds later, someone rattled at the door. “Sir! There’s been a killin’!” the crewman called, finally pushing it open to burst in. He swept large eyes over Jack before settling on his captain. “It’s th’ blacksmith!”
It took no time whatsoever for Jack to go from reclining in his chair several feet away to backing the young messenger up into a wall, knobby fingers clutched at his throat just beneath his chin. Jack absently noted the man’s Adam’s apple bobbing nervously as he growled, “What about the blacksmith?”
“H-He’s not dead!” the man managed to choke out. “He’s done th’ killin’!”
With a final narrowing of his dark eyes, Jack jerked his hand away and glanced over at Francois, then pushed past the crewman out of the war room. He stopped a few steps beyond the doorway, looking about, and then stalked toward the knot of men gathered around the mast, wondering what the hell Will had gotten himself into this time while alternately sighing inwardly with relief he was not the one deceased. Scares like that weren’t good at Jack’s age.
“But he was protecting me!” came a familiar, squeaky tenor somewhere in the midst of pirates. “Don’t kill him, please! It was me!”
That damn fucking nobility. Every goddamn time. Jack shook his head, a lot of Will’s immediate peril suddenly explained by David’s pleas before Jack himself even knew the finer details. “Out of my way!” the captain demanded, shoving someone in his way aside. “Move aside! MOVE!”
One apparently didn’t like Jack’s tone and turned on him. “Wot th’ hell you-” His eyes bugged out, his bravado apparently shriveling as Jack’s hand was at his throat, the sharp point of a recently-hidden dagger near to piercing the tender flesh.
“Son, you’re testing me patience,” Jack gritted at the crewman, leaning into his face, his moustache nearly brushing the fellow‘s chin. “Unless you’d like to be wearin’ this, step aside an’ tell your buddies to move, too.”
“There’s no need for threats, Captain Sparrow.” Francois’s voice, loud and calm, was right behind him. “We’ll find out what’s going on soon enough. AVAST!” he raised his voice on the end command. “Where be th’ smith?”
“’Ere, Cap’n.” Jack withdrew his blade and shoved his crewman away, turning toward it. He’d penetrated the crowd far enough that when the people immediately surrounding Will moved away at Francois’s order, Jack could see Turner at the mast, his arms behind him – presumably tied around the column of wood – and David in front of him, shaking his head wildly and blinking, still pleading for nearby pirates to leave Will alone. The reason Will himself wasn’t speaking became evident as soon as Jack spotted the gag between his lips. Boy, is this familiar, he reflected, namely to balance out the mixture of fear and the first stirrings of rage somewhere inside.
“Now what’s going on?” the Spanish captain demanded, in English.
“He killed Knuckler!” a rather fat pirate charged, coming to a furious stop before Francois. “Run ‘im through with his sword!”
“Did you see it?”
“Saw it wit’ me own eyes! He warn’ doin’ nothing, an-”
“That’s not true!” David piped up, the fear in his eyes momentarily replaced by a glaring fury. “He was trying to hurt Will!”
Jack cocked his head and met Will’s eyes over the gag – they were neither as frightened nor as angry as they should have been, merely darting here and there trying to take in everything. He rolled them, and Jack blinked in surprise; Will was being dismissive of this witch hunt?
“What, exactly, was he doing?” Francois directed this question at David, and everyone’s eyes turned on the boy, who seemed suddenly smaller than his actual spare frame.
“He – h-he was in the f-forge, and he-” David paused and swallowed, shutting his eyes tightly and shaking his head.
Jack had an idea. “Here, boy, tell me, then.” He crossed the few steps between himself and David and lowered himself to one knee, gesturing at his own ear. When David shook his head still, his large blue eyes blinking with unshed tears, Jack reached up and put a hand on his back. “Jus’ whisper it t’ me, savvy? Nobody else’ll hear it, and I’ll tell them for ye.” He flicked his eyes meaningfully toward Will, then back to David, widening his eyes as he spoke again, slowly, trying to convey the order to acquiesce without saying as much. “You want them to let your brother go, don’t you?”
David’s eyes widened, then softened in comprehension. Quick lad. He leaned in and whispered, then. “That m-man came in the forge while we were working and … and he said things about me that made Mr. Turner angry, and said if Mr. Turner didn‘t listen t-to him, he‘d do things to me. Then he got behind – he moved behind h-him, and he …” The boy trailed off, and Jack pulled away, seeing the confusion in the blue eyes. Suddenly, the pirate understood what David’s mind was still too inexperienced to grasp, and he stood, abruptly wheeling on Francois.
“Seems your crewman wasn’ quite satisfied with whatever he’s gettin’ elsewhere, and decided to attack my men,” Jack pronounced deliberately, eyes narrowing. “Your guests, Captain.”
“He’s lying!” Jack caught the fat pirate’s movement in his peripheral vision, lunging at David; instead, he met with Jack’s unmoving form as the captain took two swift steps back and wedged himself firmly between the enraged man and the scared boy. “He didn’ do no such thing!”
“What, exactly, did Mr. Turner do?” Francois directed to the crew at large, before nodding at the man standing nearest Will, who’d answered when the captain had asked where the smith was. “Zeke?”
“Ran ‘im through with his sword, sir.”
“How?”
“Near as we can figger, through th’ gut from in fron’. Knuckler was standin’ behind ‘im, an’ he-” Here, Zeke paused to raise a skinny finger toward Will, “he stabbed behind ‘im, ran Knuckler clean through.”
Jack had to suppress his laugh at the mental image put together from Zeke‘s and David‘s accounts. Trust Will to be able to do his work and dispatch an enemy sneaking up behind him, at the same time. He sobered quickly enough when he realized what it must’ve taken to rouse Will to that point – the smith was a relatively peaceful man, not given to indiscriminate injury or killing. “Sounds like defense,” he told the other captain. “You should untie him.”
Francois sighed. “As I was tellin’ ye earlier, you’re hardly in a position to be givin’ me orders aboard me own ship, Sparrow.” The crew nodded in agreement, scowling in Jack’s general direction.
Realizing that a bit of diplomacy was in order, Jack briefly closed his eyes and nodded toward the other captain, placing his palms together briefly, beseechingly. “Apologies, Elias … but he was tryin’ to protect his brother. Surely the Spanish Crown doesn’t endorse th’ buggerin’ of little boys on their vessels, do they, now?”
Jack’s lips quirked just slightly at the position he’d deliberately put Francois into. It didn’t matter if every pirate on board secretly got off on raping children – to admit to doing or fostering such a thing aloud, even in such uncouth company, was worse than the insinuation of fucking one’s own mother. Sorry, Mum, he winced inwardly, imagining how his dam might’ve taken such a comment had she still been alive.
“As I was saying,” Francois finally continued, glaring at Jack, then around at his crew, “this is my ship, and I give the orders. And my orders apparently weren’t clear enough: Our guests are not to be harmed in any fashion. Nor is my crew to be used for target practice,” he aimed at the gagged Will Turner. “You have a problem, it comes t’ me or Zeke.”
“Or me,” Jack quietly put in, maintaining his stationary position, one hand crossed in front of his other arm, gripping its wrist. He flicked his dark-rimmed eyes neutrally at Francois, who only growled.
“Release him, and back to work. Enough of this foolishness!” Elias pointed at Will. “You – go below an’ get rid o’ that body. Throw it o’er.” With that, he wheeled and headed back to his war room, presumably to grab a bite of his own lunch. Jack safely assumed his own meal was over.
Within two minutes, Will was unbound and licking at his dry lips in an effort to regain some of the moisture leeched out by the dirty gag, as the crew dispersed to their individual stations. “Pah,” the smith spat a couple of times, while rubbing at the rope marks on his wrists. “Wonder where that thing’s been.”
David practically threw himself against the smith and snaked his arms around the man’s midsection. “I’m sorry,” he shook his head against Will’s sternum, where his head burrowed.
“For what?” Will patted his back comfortingly. “You didn’t do anything.”
“You wouldn’t’ve stabbed him if-”
“David.” Jack interrupted the proceedings. “Not your fault, boy. Mr. Turner doesn’ always think things through before he acts.” Jack expected the glare Will leveled at him over the boy’s head, but continued. “Honest men do some stupid things, sometimes.”
The boy blinked up at Jack. “But you say you’re dishonest.”
“Which means I’m not given t’ doin’ stupid things.” He sighed, frustrated he couldn’t put into words his relief that this little drama was over with – or his increasing worry that this wasn’t the end of it, after all. He couldn’t watch after the two of them every moment. Still … today was one day. “C’mon, I’ll head back to th’ forge with you two.” He dropped his voice. “We may as well take an inventory, see what we’ll need t’ secure for when we get off this boat.”
“We hardly need a caretaker, Jack.” This from Will, who was still looking adorably defiant.
“Maybe not,” the captain nodded in agreement, deliberately borrowing from a comment of Will‘s three days ago. “But sometimes watchin’ your back is me job, comprendé?”
The brow furrow disappeared, and the dark eyes widened a fraction, much of the challenge dissipating. “All right,” Will nodded, one arm still around David’s back. “This way.”
On to Part 5 ...
