Fic: "Contradictions 4: Win" (Part 3)
Jun. 1st, 2011 07:52 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.
After a couple of more days mostly spent on his own backside in the back of the wagon, Will didn’t even have the energy to protest when he and Jack were herded through a large wooden side door into what he presumed was the Parisian gaol. He glanced about, sighing at barely-glimpsed sights on the skyline, and hoped Elizabeth would be able to make it, after all. He wasn’t at all sure she’d gotten the previous message from Milliand, nor whether he’d be able to contact her from here to let her know he was in the same city. With a cold realization, it dawned on him for the first time she might not even be here, either having left to go back to London at the completion of her training studies, or having moved on to another country or city to further her education.
This was his contemplation when they were herded into a cell and their irons removed. He rubbed at his wrists, again grateful David didn’t have to see this part of things – he’d been taken into the station itself, presumably to be delivered into a temporary home until Jack and Will could prove the veracity of their story. Will paced the small stone cell, rubbing sore skin, his mind racing to work out some alternate solution.
“You’re makin’ me dizzy,” Jack finally pierced his thinking several minutes later, and Will stopped in place, pausing before turning to frown at the pirate. “Settle down, mate. What’s eatin’ ye?”
“I’m not sure how to get out of here if Elizabeth isn’t around,” he admitted in a mumble.
“What’s that?”
Will threw out his hands in a grand gesture of ignorance. “I said, I don’t know what to do next, all right? I don’t know! There – I admit it. I have absolutely no idea how to get us out-”
“All right, we don’ have t’ let th’ entirety of th’ king’s forces in on it,” Jack hissed, shushing him. “I thought you said she was here studyin’?”
“Well, she was … seven months ago, according to her father,” Will pointed out. “It’s been awhile, Jack; it was the only thing I could think of, that she might still be here. I don’t know that for sure, though; hell, I don’t even know where we are right now.”
“Vingt-et-un, la Rue du Saut,” Jack supplied in a passable French accent. Off Will’s surprised look, he jerked a thumb back toward the way they’d been marched in. “Caught it mounted on th’ side o’ th’ building.”
He had to admit he was impressed – he’d been so annoyed and cranky when they’d been transferred he hadn’t even noticed. “Do you think they’ll let me try to get a message to her now that we’re here?”
“Let’s jus’ wait an’ see if she shows up on her own, lad. No use muckin’ about with the authorities’ good mood ‘til ye have to.”
Except for the few times they had to switch the tone of their conversation to reflect something a bit more ecumenical at the onset of guards, the rest of that afternoon and night was spent discussing inconsequentials that consisted mostly of plans to continue refitting the Black Pearl. Will agreed she could use a carpenter on board, since he readily admitted such work wasn’t his strong suit, but frowned at Jack’s intimation that they’d have to raid a merchant ship of some size and quality to get one. “I never understood that,” Will shook his head. “I mean, forcing prisoners to join your crew – how do you know you can trust them?”
“You don’t,” Jack shot back, bluntly. “You put a guard on them for a while, make sure they’re doin’ their job and not tryin’ to sink your girl. And, you put th’ fear of God into them, that if they do try anythin’ that foolish, they’ll pay with their lives.”
Will sat back, regarding Jack in a new light. In his time on board, the Pearl’s crew had raided several ships, almost exclusively large merchant vessels, usually in a peaceful manner with very little loss of life; he didn’t think he’d really had to see the “pirate” side of Jack Sparrow quite yet. He realized with some trepidation – and a small thrill that rather bothered him – that this was pretty damn close to that elusive persona. Suddenly, the man’s radically-altered appearance seemed to fade away, and Will could almost swear he saw kohl returning beneath the dark eyes, the thick moustache and beard braids and beads magically appearing before him again. “You’d take a man away from his ship, his crew – his life – against his will?”
“I don’t think you’ve quite grasped yet th’ concept of pirates,” Jack replied, quite serious in his tone. “We’re not schoolmarms on a high seas field day, Will; we’re a dangerous lot not really given to adherin’ to th’ rules of king and country.”
“Yes, I know that-”
“No, I’m not sure you do.” Jack was shaking his head, and dropped his voice. “I’ve killed people, and not always ‘cause they were tryin’ to kill me first, but because they stood between me an’ their swag.”
Will was the one shaking his head now. “No … now Jack, I’ve never seen you do that-”
He interrupted again. “I didnt say I’d done it recent-like. Point is, ye need t’ be aware we’re not a benign, God-fearin’ bunch – or if we are, God and th’ noose are th’ only two things we respect, not neces’rily in that order.”
Will pursed his lips, trying to reconcile what he’d seen of Jack Sparrow in action and what he’d just been told by the man himself. “But you seem a good man,” he spoke slowly, thinking aloud.
“Aye, I’d like t’ think so. Now, that is. Weren’t always so.” Jack flicked his eyes to the side, just over Will’s shoulder at the stone wall, seemingly in deep thought.
The blacksmith parted his lips to ask for more details, but the warden chose that moment to come through, declaring curfew and quiet. Will barely paid attention to Jack tucking into his bunk, his mind fixed on the last thing the man said; it’d seemed the prelude to more of his elusive past that Will was always trying to pin down. Muttering about the unfairness of bad timing, he kept his counsel until he could no longer hear the guard’s footsteps. “Jack? Jack!” he whispered fiercely, “Oh, Jack …?”
But silence was his only answer, accompanied by deep, even breathing across the small cell. Will frowned, sighed, and resigned himself to Jack’s ability to sleep absolutely anywhere; the pirate had once explained it was a necessary skill, since one never knew where one might end up from one night to the next. Isn’t that the truth?
Hours passed without Will’s attention, as he eventually fell asleep. He was shifting to his side, unconsciously squinting against a shaft of sunlight piercing the small window in the room, when he heard footsteps, scraping, and a rustle of fabric, followed by the sweetest voice he’d ever heard in his entire life, save for his own mother. “Jessy! Jessy? Are you-” Hushed whispers, as Will’s eyes popped open, trying to decide if he were in a dream or real time. “No, see, he is awake – Jessy?”
Turning his head slightly, Will glimpsed a blurry outline just beyond the bars, a somewhat familiar hourglass shape. Sitting up, he rubbed at his eyes and blinked again, clearing the sleep away – and this time, his view was much clearer. “Li- Elizabeth?” he spoke in a hushed whisper, afraid if he said it too loud the dream bubble would shatter.
“Oh, Jess, it’s good to see you.” She was smiling, the expression lighting her delicate face, and she was practically hopping in place. “But what are you doing in here?”
“Um …” Will fished for an explanation, his mind still fogged. “They think we’re – that we’re not monks,” he managed through an unbidden yawn, cutting it off halfway through. He glanced toward Jack’s bunk, figuring he’d be able to do better if he could just wake the man.
Jack, however, was already wide awake and sitting upright, calmly regarding the young woman. “Miss Swann,” he nodded his head curtly.
Elizabeth’s posture straightened, and she settled into a non-bouncing stance as she coolly regarded the pirate; to her credit, she barely blinked at the shorn Jack. “Brother Jackson,” she inclined her head. “You’ve been well, I trust?”
“As well as one of God’s messengers can be, locked like a bird in a cage,” he replied piously, and Will fancied a small smile chased across his lips. Oddly, the expression was mirrored by Elizabeth, though it was so fleeting he nearly thought he imagined it.
“Yes, I can imagine how that must be.” The young woman turned to the guard and put on her best businesslike expression. “I can vouch for their character, Monsieur, as can my father, the governor of Port Royale, Jamaica. As I said earlier,” she explained in French; Will caught just enough parts to know it was something designed to spring them from this place, and Jack explained the rest later, as usual. The guard replied in phrases Will couldn’t understand if he tried, and Elizabeth nodded, allowing him to escort her back down the corridor.
Before leaving, she paused to glance at him once again. “I’ll make sure they let you out, don’t worry. Be patient,” she added, and Will had to smile as she swept off – she knew his rash nature far too well.
“Looks like th’ plan’s workin’ out af’er all,” Jack intoned, dragging Will’s attention away from the empty corridor. “Fancy that.”
“You thought it mightn’t?”
“I’m not the one who was pacin’ last night,” he pointed out.
“Well … I mean, I trusted Elizabeth, so long as she was still here in the city,” Will offered by way of explanation.
“I trust luck; usually works about as well.” Jack stood and stretched his arms and worked his head into different directions, popping a few small joints audibly here and there. “Wonder how long we’re gon’ have to keep up the clergy act, though?”
Will frowned. “You think we should use another disguise?”
“Unless you wan’ walk around in tha’ robe for another week or so. Me, mine itches.”
More footsteps approached, and soon three guards lined the outside of their cell. As one unlocked the bars, another gave them a slight bow and spoke in fractured English. “Many apologies, gentlemen. We did not mean to inconvenience you so long, but we have a job to do, no? As do you – I hope you can understand our intent was not malicious or scurrilous?”
“Of course not,” Jack murmured for the both of them, nodding toward the bag of victuals and skins in the corner. Will caught the gesture and picked it up, shouldering it by the strap on the side. He followed his captain out of the cell, keeping a pious stride, taking Jack’s lead in how to act as they were led to the common area. Several people were standing around speaking, or sitting as if waiting to be seen; Will caught sight of Elizabeth at a far counter, speaking with an older man who was gesturing animatedly. The two of them engaged in conversation a few minutes more; it wasn’t until she was finished and heading in their direction that Will thought to nudge Jack and ask, “What about David?”
The pirate turned to glance sidelong at him, then at Elizabeth. “Ah, you were distracted,” he spoke sotto voce, this time in perfectly unslaughtered English. “I just asked about him – they said he will be delivered to Miss Swann’s address within the next two or three days. I’d say no worse for wear and probably hungry as a stray cur, knowing that boy.” He grinned. “And no doubt eager to be in the thrall of his hero once again.”
“Would you stop that?” Will murmured, but colored at the implication – he’d never been anyone’s big brother or mentor, always admiring someone else throughout his short life, and there was an intoxication to being in the reverse position. “I’m just close to his age, is the only reason.”
“Most likely,” Jack agreed. “But it could also be that you’re a decent human being – something he’s not had much of in his growing up.”
“How would you know that?” Will countered.
Jack flicked his eyes to Elizabeth as she hurried to them, then back to Will. “Young boys don’t up and join pirate crews because their home lives are loving and wonderful,” he answered dryly. His eyes didn’t match his flippant tone, and before they were interrupted, Will had just enough time to wonder what empirical experience Jack had with such knowledge.
“I’ve a carriage outside,” Elizabeth explained, leading the way toward the front doors of the station, lifting her skirt just off the ground with one small hand, “and Mr. Shelton has a couple of suits of clothes you may borrow until you can get some tailored in the next day or two.” She paused to curtsey to the young gendarme who held the door for her, and Will had to suppress a smirk at the lovesick expression on the Frenchman’s face as his eyes followed the elegant Swann –and at how quickly it changed into a confused frown when the man took in her entourage, two scruffy, unwashed robe rats. He caught Jack giving the fellow a rather amused, pointed stare in return, and came up beside the pirate, nudging him along as Elizabeth continued speaking. “… and you’ll each have your own suite, of course. Oh!” She whirled to face them. “Is there anyone you need to get a message to?”
“As a matter of fact, I could stop by a port office,” Jack piped up.
“Oh, you can prepare a message at the house,” she shook her head. “Charles will take it for you, and unopened. He’s the soul of discretion,” she hummed.
“And how do you know that, young missy?”
“Jack!” Will caught himself scolding the man for his tone, probably meant as playful but sounding extremely ungracious.
Elizabeth, was, as ever, perfectly capable of holding her own against a mere pirate. “I believe I am entitled to my enigmas as much as you are to yours … Brother,” she icily informed Jack.
As she turned to step into the carriage, Will couldn’t help grinning at Jack. “Touché,” he chuckled.
“Thought you didn’t know any French,” Jack grumbled, deliberately stepping in front of Will and preceding him into the carriage.
*****
10 Days to Departure (More Than One Squirrel)
Instead of stepping into the enclosed carriage as a proper gentlemen, Jack gestured toward the bench seat in front. “Was locked up far too long,” he explained to the driver. “Rather like the fresh air, if you don’t mind.”
Old Charlie grinned and circled to the other side of the carriage, leaving Jack to haul himself up the side of the thing. Once balanced on half the springy seat, the pirate leaned around to wink and toss off a mock military salute to Will, and Charlie spurred the horses to motion with reins.
Will stood halfway down the stone steps of the grand house, shaking his head and laughing as Jack trundled off with the diplomat’s carriage driver. Mycroft Shelton would probably never be caught clamoring up the side of a carriage, especially not one so fine as that provided by the King himself, but Jack had absolutely no problem scaling it like his monkey namesake and making comfortable with the hired help.
“Ready to head out, Will?”
He turned and tilted his head up toward Elizabeth, pulling one of the grand double doors shut while her other hand was shoved halfway down the stem of a parasol, apparently fiddling with the spines. The catch had a tendency to stick at times, Will had learned over the past couple of days, but her deft, small fingers eventually found their mark, for the contraption soon blossomed open and a click announced it was ready to carry. He offered his hand as she descended the steps, but she just smiled and continued, her free hand clutching her skirt to hold the hem above her shoes. “I can look at that parasol later, if you like – repair it for you,” he offered.
“I just might take you up on that,” she responded, turning and offering her hand through the crook of his arm as he followed her to the street. “Cursed thing never works the way it was designed to.” She balanced the object of her annoyance against her other shoulder and gave the stem a bit of a twirl.
“Be careful what you’re calling ‘cursed,’” Will reminded her. “You know better.”
“True.” She chuckled as they walked. “Isn’t it amazing how resilient the human mind is, Will? Here I am making jokes about things that at the time scared the life out of me! I had nightmares for weeks about those … things.” Elizabeth frowned momentarily and her lips curled unpleasantly over the last word.
“You too?”
“And no wonder! Oh, it was awful, being practically thrown out into the middle of all those, in the middle of the night – I mean, I like adventure, and I will admit I might’ve over-romanticized the whole idea of pirates and danger, but nowhere in any of my childhood imaginings did I conjure anything close to that little tableau.”
“No, but you did used to tell ghost stories.”
“When?”
Will grinned as they rounded a corner at a leisurely pace, sure to keep Elizabeth to the inside and away from the carriages and horses in the street as befitted a woman – that much about socializing, he knew, at least. “Don’t tell me you don’t remember scaring the life out of me when we were about twelve, and spent that one whole night up at the graveyard?”
“Well, if I’d scared the life out of you, Mr. Turner, you could hardly be here telling me about it now, could you?” Elizabeth notched her delicate chin higher in mock haughtiness. “Besides, I don’t remember it that way; what I recall is how you had some wager with a few of the town boys about how you could spend an entire night in there with all the dead bodies and it not bother you.”
“They didn’t say I couldn’t take anyone up there with me,” he defended, recalling how he and Elizabeth had sneaked out of the mansion late that night, down a trellis, her in a pair of the manservant’s breeches hooked around her slender waist by tied-back suspenders and rolled up several times at the ankles, while he‘d followed clutching a sack of cakes and fruit pilfered from the kitchen out back. That was when Will still lived with the Swanns – in the servants’ quarters, of course, but at least he’d had his own small room.
“Do you remember the squirrel?”
“Not until you mentioned it, thanks.”
Elizabeth giggled, the clear sound of a not-quite-stifled guffaw. “Come on, Will, it’s not that bad – it was dark. We were in a cemetery; it was perfectly acceptable that something you couldn’t see or tell what it was would scare the bejesus out of you, running across your ankle right then.”
He gaped at her use of language. “Yes, I said bejesus,” she repeated, grinning. “What, are you going to turn me in to Father the next time you see him?”
“Elizabeth, the next time I see your father, it’s very likely he might try to hang me,” Will pointed out.
“Rubbish. He’d never do that to you.” She sighed. “Now, about that squirrel …”
“Your father would hang that rodent?”
“Rodent?” She regarded him with some surprise.
“That’s all they are, you know – rats with admirers. And big tails.”
“Guess that answers my question about if you still hate them. Shame, too; squirrels are such cute animals.”
“Sneaky little devils, what they are,” he mumbled.
“Says the man who beds down on a pirate ship every night,” she pointed out.
“Exactly – I know what I’m in for, with them.”
After a moment of companionable silence, Elizabeth asked, “So … how many raids have you partaken in?”
He was briefly flummoxed. “I’m not sure I ought to be answering that kind of question, especially to a citizen of the Crown himself,” Will answered haltingly, searching for each word as his mouth moved. He never thought he’d come to regard Elizabeth as the enemy in any way, but really – isn’t that what their relative positions boiled down to?
“Oh, relax, for heaven’s sake.” She nudged him a bit hard with her elbow, then straightened her gait again. “If I were going to turn you in, what would be the sense in getting you out of jail in the first place?”
“Sentimentality?” he tried.
“No, that would be turning a squirrel loose in your room,” she retorted. “Come on, tell me! I’m not going to repeat it to anyone.”
Will sighed, considering his options. Sure, he didn’t have to tell her anything – or he could make it all up – but Elizabeth had never let him down, at least not unacceptably, and had certainly never betrayed him. So he spoke about the Pearl’s journeys over the past several months, the day-to-day conversations and routines, the sparse string of large vessels Jack and most of the others had relieved of rum, supplies, food, and treasure along the way. “Don’t you board?” she interrupted.
“Only a couple of times,” he admitted. “There’s some of us who have to stay behind to guard the Pearl – keep the enemy off of it, if they try to board. And if they board, as some have, it’s our job to stop them, be it pushing them overboard, or tying them up … or disabling them.”
He fell silent, contemplating the realities of his life – though Jack was more compassionate than most pirates and always insisted children be removed from a raid scene, he didn’t tolerate nonsense or uncooperativeness, and had no problem with nicking a victim with his sword or pistol to remind them of their submissive position. So far, he’d seen Jack kill two people, both first mates who’d made lunges for him in two different raids – turning and bringing the pistol up to bear, firing, had been his instinct when he’d caught sight of each of the charging men, he’d explained to Will later. He’d not been apologetic, but neither had he crowed of the kills.
He gave Elizabeth an extremely condensed version of these mental ramblings. “I’ve never understood how pirates can feel justified taking what they’ve not earned by rights of work,” she mused. “I understand privateers do the same thing, but it’s not that I necessarily condone the use of excessive force there, either.”
“Most pirates grew up in poverty,” Will shrugged. “They don’t have an education, they don’t have a rich family to take care of them, they can’t marry up to improve their lot – it’s what they know.”
“Do you think that’s an acceptable excuse?”
“Well, I joined for the adventure, really,” Will answered without hesitation. “And to get away from the Commodore; he caught me and Jack at the Red Snapper and tried to arrest him.” He explained how Jack had warned him the Royal Navy might be after Will even after Jack was gone, to try to get information out of the blacksmith.
By this time, they’d walked several blocks and reached a small restaurant with a few benches out front near the street, toward which Elizabeth was guiding him. “Now I can understand joining for the travel and seeing new places,” she agreed. “But the rest of it – I suppose I’ll just have to continue to think on all that longer.”
Will was surprised she’d backed down from a debate, but figured if she was as hungry as he’d become since breakfast, that was most likely stealing her immediate attention. Besides, he didn’t figure he’d heard the last of it.
*****
9 Days to Departure (Hue-mor Them)
Today, they did have to use the inside of the coach, as Mr. Shelton was heading off to a luncheon meeting and had agreed to drop Will, Jack, and Elizabeth at the tailor’s along the way. Will noted her tightly pursed lips and one balled fist hidden in the side folds of her skirt, away from the diplomat’s view, as he sat across from her. She must be fit to be tied, he thought, recalling the brief but loud conversation Elizabeth and her mentor had engaged in not an hour before:
“You’ll be accompanying your friends, then, to the square.”
“But sir … I’m supposed to go with you. That meeting you have with the Under-Minister?”
“Yes, yes, I’m meeting him at the club, though. And you know they don’t allow women in there.”
“Then why meet him there?”
“The venue was his choice. I’m not exactly happy with the location-”
“Really, Mr. Shelton, this isn’t right. It’s not fair to ban me simply because I’m not the right gender – this is my work, just like it’s yours, and I certainly don’t learn very much when I can’t even go along.”
“I’m well aware this is your work – I chose you for this excursion. But this is his country, not mine – I can’t dictate all terms of every meeting, heaven knows …”
Will had listened from the adjoining parlor, pulling a book off the shelf and seating himself in case he needed to look unobtrusive and busy when they entered from the foyer. He frowned at the objections Shelton was raising, his exposure to Anamaria having taught him females were capable of things the world least considered compatible with a woman’s abilities. Coupled with how Elizabeth had comported herself after her capture and kidnapping by Barbossa’s crew, he didn’t think there was much left that a woman simply couldn’t learn. Certainly, whatever powers had granted that Elizabeth could learn this sort of trade ought to be looking to smooth her way to do so as much as possible, he thought.
In the end, however, they were in the carriage, which was pulling to a stop outside a two-story, narrow townhouse painted in ivory and dark brown. Will stepped out and turned, silently handing Elizabeth down from the interior. Jack reached over and shook Shelton’s hand, clapping him on the shoulder with his other. “Best o’ luck, mate,” he wished the man. “Here’s hoping your little heads can resolve whatever wrath the King’s managed to incur with the Gallics this time.” Sparrow winked and fairly leaped out of the carriage, reaching up to stroke the sparse, dark moustache that had begun filling in once again.
As Charlie urged the horses on, Will turned on Jack. “Little heads?” he wanted to know.
“Well, God knows none of the big ones’ll be functionin’ at that place this afternoon,” the pirate explained, glancing briefly at Elizabeth. “Which is why he didn’ want you there, darling; harder t’ conduct funny business with impressionable whelps present.”
“Captain Sparrow, if you’d please – speak plainly and explain what you mean,” she gathered herself, regarding Jack with a frown.
“Ye wish me t’ speak plainly, lass?” Jack leaned in, dropping his voice to the consistency of warm honey. “He’s either goin’ there t’ get buggered or t’ partake of some of the area’s, shall we say – more feminine entertainment, which is why he doesn’t want you there. Which is th’ main reason proper ladies aren’t allowed in most o’ those places to begin with, Miss Swann.” He drew back and regarded Elizabeth through half-lowered eyelids. “Not a question of your relative intelligence, love, so much as your relative unwillin’ness t’ part your knees.”
“Jack, really!” Will had been almost hypnotized by the man’s voice, but shook out of it at the salacious words.
“She wants th’ truth, an’ I give it to her,” Jack defended, leaning in close and nearly pointing his finger into Will’s chest. “As I always have; dishonest I may be, but not a hypocrite, t’ boot.”
The shorter man didn’t back down, his chin thrust forward slightly as if waiting for the challenge. But Will could hardly protest – he often told Jack to speak plainly, as he could wax on for hours about anything from his ship (which was admittedly fine and grand) to the last barrel of rum in the hold. He figured if he didn’t prod the man to get on with it from time to time, by the time Jack finished rhapsodizing or cursing, the rum would have evaporated and the ship would have begun listing with algae buildup. “Not terribly polite, though,” he finally settled upon.
“Not polite t’ promise a soul somethin’, either, an’ then shove her out of it, eh, mate?” Jack held up a finger, crooking it into a wag, silently beseeching the two to consider that, eyebrows lifted as he studied them, between one and the other, swiveling his head slightly.
“He’s a point, Will.” Elizabeth finally spoke; she’d been staring at Jack with annoyance, then thoughtfully, as he spun his probable yarn. “I did ask him to be honest.”
As soon as she turned to mount the steps, Will looked again to Jack. “You steal, you rob, you frighten, and now you decide to turn honest?”
“Few people worth imparting th’ truth to than those who ask, and even most o’ them don’t really wan’ know,” Jack explained, slipping back into his gentleman’s accent. “But, she asked, and knowing the girl as I do, I figured she’d be able to tell if I were feeding her tripe. Lot like you that way. Sure you two aren’t related?” he grinned.
“You know, it’s rude to speak about someone as if they’re not even there, when they’re right before you,” Elizabeth lectured back over one shoulder. “And unless you two would enjoy wandering the streets naked, you’ll hurry up; we’ve only a couple of hours until the carriage comes back ‘round, and Mr. Shelton will be wanting his clothes back.”
Nearly half an hour later, much of Jack’s good mood seemed to have fled, probably to the same tropical isle as Elizabeth’s, Will noted. Then again, perhaps not the same isle. The two were sniping at one another over – of all things – the clothes he was having made.
“Brown would be much better for him, both as a practicality and for his coloring.”
“Brown’s good for paneling – he needs some color, some splash! Green’d work much better,” Jack disagreed, hands on his hips as he faced Elizabeth.
“Darker colors bring out his eyes and are warm in the winter,” she disagreed.
“Green can be dark,” Jack pointed out.
“Not if you want to tell it’s actually green, not too dark, no,” Elizabeth countered as quickly. She was leaning forward slightly into Jack’s personal space, and for once, the pirate looked as though he’d like to relocate to the southern coast.
“Excuse me-” Will didn’t wish to be rude, but neither was he going to listen to these two the rest of the afternoon like this.
“You don’t understand subtlety,” Elizabeth kept on. “Clothes aren’t meant to scream at their audience – they’re supposed to enhance the wearer’s natural charms.”
“Well and good,” Jack gestured expansively. “I’d hardly say green’s the beginning of the Empire’s downfall, savvy?”
“First, green. What next – red? Bright yellow?”
“Um … excuse me.” Will tapped the tailor on the shoulder, and the man turned, a bit startled, from watching his other two customers’ disagreement. “Could you maybe finish measuring me, while I decide what color I want for the coat?”
“Certainly, ah … sir.” The tailor, named Rafe, seemed a bit uncertain in his accented English, head swiveling a couple of times between the pair across the room and Will himself. “Has Monsieur decided what style of coat he would like?”
“Yellow would get dirty too easily. Plus, he’s too sallow for it.” This from Jack.
“Something to about here.” Remembering the old brown coat he’d been forced to leave at the smithy months ago, Will turned sideways and leaned over, placing the side of his hand at his knee, ignoring the other two people in the room. “Something fitted, but not too much.”
“Ah, I see,” Rafe nodded, his thin head bobbing as he withdrew a length of marked twine from his pocket. “A Justaucorps will flatter you. I need some measurements. You’ll hold still, please?”
Will nodded, rolling his eyes at Elizabeth‘s, “I wasn’t being serious, Jack. For heaven’s sake …” before tuning it out again. He turned this way and that, quietly answering questions as Rafe put them forth, about breeches, long linen shirts, waistcoat, and stockings. The man disappeared briefly to find more fabric to present for perusal, and Will briefly wondered if he should remind Jack about buying clothes for David. Then again, if he and Elizabeth couldn’t agree to let a grown man such as he pick out his own suits, what would the boy have to face?
I should probably just bring him back myself while they’re busy doing something else better suited to their interests, he concluded. Like arm-wrestling.
On to Part 4 ...
After a couple of more days mostly spent on his own backside in the back of the wagon, Will didn’t even have the energy to protest when he and Jack were herded through a large wooden side door into what he presumed was the Parisian gaol. He glanced about, sighing at barely-glimpsed sights on the skyline, and hoped Elizabeth would be able to make it, after all. He wasn’t at all sure she’d gotten the previous message from Milliand, nor whether he’d be able to contact her from here to let her know he was in the same city. With a cold realization, it dawned on him for the first time she might not even be here, either having left to go back to London at the completion of her training studies, or having moved on to another country or city to further her education.
This was his contemplation when they were herded into a cell and their irons removed. He rubbed at his wrists, again grateful David didn’t have to see this part of things – he’d been taken into the station itself, presumably to be delivered into a temporary home until Jack and Will could prove the veracity of their story. Will paced the small stone cell, rubbing sore skin, his mind racing to work out some alternate solution.
“You’re makin’ me dizzy,” Jack finally pierced his thinking several minutes later, and Will stopped in place, pausing before turning to frown at the pirate. “Settle down, mate. What’s eatin’ ye?”
“I’m not sure how to get out of here if Elizabeth isn’t around,” he admitted in a mumble.
“What’s that?”
Will threw out his hands in a grand gesture of ignorance. “I said, I don’t know what to do next, all right? I don’t know! There – I admit it. I have absolutely no idea how to get us out-”
“All right, we don’ have t’ let th’ entirety of th’ king’s forces in on it,” Jack hissed, shushing him. “I thought you said she was here studyin’?”
“Well, she was … seven months ago, according to her father,” Will pointed out. “It’s been awhile, Jack; it was the only thing I could think of, that she might still be here. I don’t know that for sure, though; hell, I don’t even know where we are right now.”
“Vingt-et-un, la Rue du Saut,” Jack supplied in a passable French accent. Off Will’s surprised look, he jerked a thumb back toward the way they’d been marched in. “Caught it mounted on th’ side o’ th’ building.”
He had to admit he was impressed – he’d been so annoyed and cranky when they’d been transferred he hadn’t even noticed. “Do you think they’ll let me try to get a message to her now that we’re here?”
“Let’s jus’ wait an’ see if she shows up on her own, lad. No use muckin’ about with the authorities’ good mood ‘til ye have to.”
Except for the few times they had to switch the tone of their conversation to reflect something a bit more ecumenical at the onset of guards, the rest of that afternoon and night was spent discussing inconsequentials that consisted mostly of plans to continue refitting the Black Pearl. Will agreed she could use a carpenter on board, since he readily admitted such work wasn’t his strong suit, but frowned at Jack’s intimation that they’d have to raid a merchant ship of some size and quality to get one. “I never understood that,” Will shook his head. “I mean, forcing prisoners to join your crew – how do you know you can trust them?”
“You don’t,” Jack shot back, bluntly. “You put a guard on them for a while, make sure they’re doin’ their job and not tryin’ to sink your girl. And, you put th’ fear of God into them, that if they do try anythin’ that foolish, they’ll pay with their lives.”
Will sat back, regarding Jack in a new light. In his time on board, the Pearl’s crew had raided several ships, almost exclusively large merchant vessels, usually in a peaceful manner with very little loss of life; he didn’t think he’d really had to see the “pirate” side of Jack Sparrow quite yet. He realized with some trepidation – and a small thrill that rather bothered him – that this was pretty damn close to that elusive persona. Suddenly, the man’s radically-altered appearance seemed to fade away, and Will could almost swear he saw kohl returning beneath the dark eyes, the thick moustache and beard braids and beads magically appearing before him again. “You’d take a man away from his ship, his crew – his life – against his will?”
“I don’t think you’ve quite grasped yet th’ concept of pirates,” Jack replied, quite serious in his tone. “We’re not schoolmarms on a high seas field day, Will; we’re a dangerous lot not really given to adherin’ to th’ rules of king and country.”
“Yes, I know that-”
“No, I’m not sure you do.” Jack was shaking his head, and dropped his voice. “I’ve killed people, and not always ‘cause they were tryin’ to kill me first, but because they stood between me an’ their swag.”
Will was the one shaking his head now. “No … now Jack, I’ve never seen you do that-”
He interrupted again. “I didnt say I’d done it recent-like. Point is, ye need t’ be aware we’re not a benign, God-fearin’ bunch – or if we are, God and th’ noose are th’ only two things we respect, not neces’rily in that order.”
Will pursed his lips, trying to reconcile what he’d seen of Jack Sparrow in action and what he’d just been told by the man himself. “But you seem a good man,” he spoke slowly, thinking aloud.
“Aye, I’d like t’ think so. Now, that is. Weren’t always so.” Jack flicked his eyes to the side, just over Will’s shoulder at the stone wall, seemingly in deep thought.
The blacksmith parted his lips to ask for more details, but the warden chose that moment to come through, declaring curfew and quiet. Will barely paid attention to Jack tucking into his bunk, his mind fixed on the last thing the man said; it’d seemed the prelude to more of his elusive past that Will was always trying to pin down. Muttering about the unfairness of bad timing, he kept his counsel until he could no longer hear the guard’s footsteps. “Jack? Jack!” he whispered fiercely, “Oh, Jack …?”
But silence was his only answer, accompanied by deep, even breathing across the small cell. Will frowned, sighed, and resigned himself to Jack’s ability to sleep absolutely anywhere; the pirate had once explained it was a necessary skill, since one never knew where one might end up from one night to the next. Isn’t that the truth?
Hours passed without Will’s attention, as he eventually fell asleep. He was shifting to his side, unconsciously squinting against a shaft of sunlight piercing the small window in the room, when he heard footsteps, scraping, and a rustle of fabric, followed by the sweetest voice he’d ever heard in his entire life, save for his own mother. “Jessy! Jessy? Are you-” Hushed whispers, as Will’s eyes popped open, trying to decide if he were in a dream or real time. “No, see, he is awake – Jessy?”
Turning his head slightly, Will glimpsed a blurry outline just beyond the bars, a somewhat familiar hourglass shape. Sitting up, he rubbed at his eyes and blinked again, clearing the sleep away – and this time, his view was much clearer. “Li- Elizabeth?” he spoke in a hushed whisper, afraid if he said it too loud the dream bubble would shatter.
“Oh, Jess, it’s good to see you.” She was smiling, the expression lighting her delicate face, and she was practically hopping in place. “But what are you doing in here?”
“Um …” Will fished for an explanation, his mind still fogged. “They think we’re – that we’re not monks,” he managed through an unbidden yawn, cutting it off halfway through. He glanced toward Jack’s bunk, figuring he’d be able to do better if he could just wake the man.
Jack, however, was already wide awake and sitting upright, calmly regarding the young woman. “Miss Swann,” he nodded his head curtly.
Elizabeth’s posture straightened, and she settled into a non-bouncing stance as she coolly regarded the pirate; to her credit, she barely blinked at the shorn Jack. “Brother Jackson,” she inclined her head. “You’ve been well, I trust?”
“As well as one of God’s messengers can be, locked like a bird in a cage,” he replied piously, and Will fancied a small smile chased across his lips. Oddly, the expression was mirrored by Elizabeth, though it was so fleeting he nearly thought he imagined it.
“Yes, I can imagine how that must be.” The young woman turned to the guard and put on her best businesslike expression. “I can vouch for their character, Monsieur, as can my father, the governor of Port Royale, Jamaica. As I said earlier,” she explained in French; Will caught just enough parts to know it was something designed to spring them from this place, and Jack explained the rest later, as usual. The guard replied in phrases Will couldn’t understand if he tried, and Elizabeth nodded, allowing him to escort her back down the corridor.
Before leaving, she paused to glance at him once again. “I’ll make sure they let you out, don’t worry. Be patient,” she added, and Will had to smile as she swept off – she knew his rash nature far too well.
“Looks like th’ plan’s workin’ out af’er all,” Jack intoned, dragging Will’s attention away from the empty corridor. “Fancy that.”
“You thought it mightn’t?”
“I’m not the one who was pacin’ last night,” he pointed out.
“Well … I mean, I trusted Elizabeth, so long as she was still here in the city,” Will offered by way of explanation.
“I trust luck; usually works about as well.” Jack stood and stretched his arms and worked his head into different directions, popping a few small joints audibly here and there. “Wonder how long we’re gon’ have to keep up the clergy act, though?”
Will frowned. “You think we should use another disguise?”
“Unless you wan’ walk around in tha’ robe for another week or so. Me, mine itches.”
More footsteps approached, and soon three guards lined the outside of their cell. As one unlocked the bars, another gave them a slight bow and spoke in fractured English. “Many apologies, gentlemen. We did not mean to inconvenience you so long, but we have a job to do, no? As do you – I hope you can understand our intent was not malicious or scurrilous?”
“Of course not,” Jack murmured for the both of them, nodding toward the bag of victuals and skins in the corner. Will caught the gesture and picked it up, shouldering it by the strap on the side. He followed his captain out of the cell, keeping a pious stride, taking Jack’s lead in how to act as they were led to the common area. Several people were standing around speaking, or sitting as if waiting to be seen; Will caught sight of Elizabeth at a far counter, speaking with an older man who was gesturing animatedly. The two of them engaged in conversation a few minutes more; it wasn’t until she was finished and heading in their direction that Will thought to nudge Jack and ask, “What about David?”
The pirate turned to glance sidelong at him, then at Elizabeth. “Ah, you were distracted,” he spoke sotto voce, this time in perfectly unslaughtered English. “I just asked about him – they said he will be delivered to Miss Swann’s address within the next two or three days. I’d say no worse for wear and probably hungry as a stray cur, knowing that boy.” He grinned. “And no doubt eager to be in the thrall of his hero once again.”
“Would you stop that?” Will murmured, but colored at the implication – he’d never been anyone’s big brother or mentor, always admiring someone else throughout his short life, and there was an intoxication to being in the reverse position. “I’m just close to his age, is the only reason.”
“Most likely,” Jack agreed. “But it could also be that you’re a decent human being – something he’s not had much of in his growing up.”
“How would you know that?” Will countered.
Jack flicked his eyes to Elizabeth as she hurried to them, then back to Will. “Young boys don’t up and join pirate crews because their home lives are loving and wonderful,” he answered dryly. His eyes didn’t match his flippant tone, and before they were interrupted, Will had just enough time to wonder what empirical experience Jack had with such knowledge.
“I’ve a carriage outside,” Elizabeth explained, leading the way toward the front doors of the station, lifting her skirt just off the ground with one small hand, “and Mr. Shelton has a couple of suits of clothes you may borrow until you can get some tailored in the next day or two.” She paused to curtsey to the young gendarme who held the door for her, and Will had to suppress a smirk at the lovesick expression on the Frenchman’s face as his eyes followed the elegant Swann –and at how quickly it changed into a confused frown when the man took in her entourage, two scruffy, unwashed robe rats. He caught Jack giving the fellow a rather amused, pointed stare in return, and came up beside the pirate, nudging him along as Elizabeth continued speaking. “… and you’ll each have your own suite, of course. Oh!” She whirled to face them. “Is there anyone you need to get a message to?”
“As a matter of fact, I could stop by a port office,” Jack piped up.
“Oh, you can prepare a message at the house,” she shook her head. “Charles will take it for you, and unopened. He’s the soul of discretion,” she hummed.
“And how do you know that, young missy?”
“Jack!” Will caught himself scolding the man for his tone, probably meant as playful but sounding extremely ungracious.
Elizabeth, was, as ever, perfectly capable of holding her own against a mere pirate. “I believe I am entitled to my enigmas as much as you are to yours … Brother,” she icily informed Jack.
As she turned to step into the carriage, Will couldn’t help grinning at Jack. “Touché,” he chuckled.
“Thought you didn’t know any French,” Jack grumbled, deliberately stepping in front of Will and preceding him into the carriage.
*****
10 Days to Departure (More Than One Squirrel)
Instead of stepping into the enclosed carriage as a proper gentlemen, Jack gestured toward the bench seat in front. “Was locked up far too long,” he explained to the driver. “Rather like the fresh air, if you don’t mind.”
Old Charlie grinned and circled to the other side of the carriage, leaving Jack to haul himself up the side of the thing. Once balanced on half the springy seat, the pirate leaned around to wink and toss off a mock military salute to Will, and Charlie spurred the horses to motion with reins.
Will stood halfway down the stone steps of the grand house, shaking his head and laughing as Jack trundled off with the diplomat’s carriage driver. Mycroft Shelton would probably never be caught clamoring up the side of a carriage, especially not one so fine as that provided by the King himself, but Jack had absolutely no problem scaling it like his monkey namesake and making comfortable with the hired help.
“Ready to head out, Will?”
He turned and tilted his head up toward Elizabeth, pulling one of the grand double doors shut while her other hand was shoved halfway down the stem of a parasol, apparently fiddling with the spines. The catch had a tendency to stick at times, Will had learned over the past couple of days, but her deft, small fingers eventually found their mark, for the contraption soon blossomed open and a click announced it was ready to carry. He offered his hand as she descended the steps, but she just smiled and continued, her free hand clutching her skirt to hold the hem above her shoes. “I can look at that parasol later, if you like – repair it for you,” he offered.
“I just might take you up on that,” she responded, turning and offering her hand through the crook of his arm as he followed her to the street. “Cursed thing never works the way it was designed to.” She balanced the object of her annoyance against her other shoulder and gave the stem a bit of a twirl.
“Be careful what you’re calling ‘cursed,’” Will reminded her. “You know better.”
“True.” She chuckled as they walked. “Isn’t it amazing how resilient the human mind is, Will? Here I am making jokes about things that at the time scared the life out of me! I had nightmares for weeks about those … things.” Elizabeth frowned momentarily and her lips curled unpleasantly over the last word.
“You too?”
“And no wonder! Oh, it was awful, being practically thrown out into the middle of all those, in the middle of the night – I mean, I like adventure, and I will admit I might’ve over-romanticized the whole idea of pirates and danger, but nowhere in any of my childhood imaginings did I conjure anything close to that little tableau.”
“No, but you did used to tell ghost stories.”
“When?”
Will grinned as they rounded a corner at a leisurely pace, sure to keep Elizabeth to the inside and away from the carriages and horses in the street as befitted a woman – that much about socializing, he knew, at least. “Don’t tell me you don’t remember scaring the life out of me when we were about twelve, and spent that one whole night up at the graveyard?”
“Well, if I’d scared the life out of you, Mr. Turner, you could hardly be here telling me about it now, could you?” Elizabeth notched her delicate chin higher in mock haughtiness. “Besides, I don’t remember it that way; what I recall is how you had some wager with a few of the town boys about how you could spend an entire night in there with all the dead bodies and it not bother you.”
“They didn’t say I couldn’t take anyone up there with me,” he defended, recalling how he and Elizabeth had sneaked out of the mansion late that night, down a trellis, her in a pair of the manservant’s breeches hooked around her slender waist by tied-back suspenders and rolled up several times at the ankles, while he‘d followed clutching a sack of cakes and fruit pilfered from the kitchen out back. That was when Will still lived with the Swanns – in the servants’ quarters, of course, but at least he’d had his own small room.
“Do you remember the squirrel?”
“Not until you mentioned it, thanks.”
Elizabeth giggled, the clear sound of a not-quite-stifled guffaw. “Come on, Will, it’s not that bad – it was dark. We were in a cemetery; it was perfectly acceptable that something you couldn’t see or tell what it was would scare the bejesus out of you, running across your ankle right then.”
He gaped at her use of language. “Yes, I said bejesus,” she repeated, grinning. “What, are you going to turn me in to Father the next time you see him?”
“Elizabeth, the next time I see your father, it’s very likely he might try to hang me,” Will pointed out.
“Rubbish. He’d never do that to you.” She sighed. “Now, about that squirrel …”
“Your father would hang that rodent?”
“Rodent?” She regarded him with some surprise.
“That’s all they are, you know – rats with admirers. And big tails.”
“Guess that answers my question about if you still hate them. Shame, too; squirrels are such cute animals.”
“Sneaky little devils, what they are,” he mumbled.
“Says the man who beds down on a pirate ship every night,” she pointed out.
“Exactly – I know what I’m in for, with them.”
After a moment of companionable silence, Elizabeth asked, “So … how many raids have you partaken in?”
He was briefly flummoxed. “I’m not sure I ought to be answering that kind of question, especially to a citizen of the Crown himself,” Will answered haltingly, searching for each word as his mouth moved. He never thought he’d come to regard Elizabeth as the enemy in any way, but really – isn’t that what their relative positions boiled down to?
“Oh, relax, for heaven’s sake.” She nudged him a bit hard with her elbow, then straightened her gait again. “If I were going to turn you in, what would be the sense in getting you out of jail in the first place?”
“Sentimentality?” he tried.
“No, that would be turning a squirrel loose in your room,” she retorted. “Come on, tell me! I’m not going to repeat it to anyone.”
Will sighed, considering his options. Sure, he didn’t have to tell her anything – or he could make it all up – but Elizabeth had never let him down, at least not unacceptably, and had certainly never betrayed him. So he spoke about the Pearl’s journeys over the past several months, the day-to-day conversations and routines, the sparse string of large vessels Jack and most of the others had relieved of rum, supplies, food, and treasure along the way. “Don’t you board?” she interrupted.
“Only a couple of times,” he admitted. “There’s some of us who have to stay behind to guard the Pearl – keep the enemy off of it, if they try to board. And if they board, as some have, it’s our job to stop them, be it pushing them overboard, or tying them up … or disabling them.”
He fell silent, contemplating the realities of his life – though Jack was more compassionate than most pirates and always insisted children be removed from a raid scene, he didn’t tolerate nonsense or uncooperativeness, and had no problem with nicking a victim with his sword or pistol to remind them of their submissive position. So far, he’d seen Jack kill two people, both first mates who’d made lunges for him in two different raids – turning and bringing the pistol up to bear, firing, had been his instinct when he’d caught sight of each of the charging men, he’d explained to Will later. He’d not been apologetic, but neither had he crowed of the kills.
He gave Elizabeth an extremely condensed version of these mental ramblings. “I’ve never understood how pirates can feel justified taking what they’ve not earned by rights of work,” she mused. “I understand privateers do the same thing, but it’s not that I necessarily condone the use of excessive force there, either.”
“Most pirates grew up in poverty,” Will shrugged. “They don’t have an education, they don’t have a rich family to take care of them, they can’t marry up to improve their lot – it’s what they know.”
“Do you think that’s an acceptable excuse?”
“Well, I joined for the adventure, really,” Will answered without hesitation. “And to get away from the Commodore; he caught me and Jack at the Red Snapper and tried to arrest him.” He explained how Jack had warned him the Royal Navy might be after Will even after Jack was gone, to try to get information out of the blacksmith.
By this time, they’d walked several blocks and reached a small restaurant with a few benches out front near the street, toward which Elizabeth was guiding him. “Now I can understand joining for the travel and seeing new places,” she agreed. “But the rest of it – I suppose I’ll just have to continue to think on all that longer.”
Will was surprised she’d backed down from a debate, but figured if she was as hungry as he’d become since breakfast, that was most likely stealing her immediate attention. Besides, he didn’t figure he’d heard the last of it.
*****
9 Days to Departure (Hue-mor Them)
Today, they did have to use the inside of the coach, as Mr. Shelton was heading off to a luncheon meeting and had agreed to drop Will, Jack, and Elizabeth at the tailor’s along the way. Will noted her tightly pursed lips and one balled fist hidden in the side folds of her skirt, away from the diplomat’s view, as he sat across from her. She must be fit to be tied, he thought, recalling the brief but loud conversation Elizabeth and her mentor had engaged in not an hour before:
“You’ll be accompanying your friends, then, to the square.”
“But sir … I’m supposed to go with you. That meeting you have with the Under-Minister?”
“Yes, yes, I’m meeting him at the club, though. And you know they don’t allow women in there.”
“Then why meet him there?”
“The venue was his choice. I’m not exactly happy with the location-”
“Really, Mr. Shelton, this isn’t right. It’s not fair to ban me simply because I’m not the right gender – this is my work, just like it’s yours, and I certainly don’t learn very much when I can’t even go along.”
“I’m well aware this is your work – I chose you for this excursion. But this is his country, not mine – I can’t dictate all terms of every meeting, heaven knows …”
Will had listened from the adjoining parlor, pulling a book off the shelf and seating himself in case he needed to look unobtrusive and busy when they entered from the foyer. He frowned at the objections Shelton was raising, his exposure to Anamaria having taught him females were capable of things the world least considered compatible with a woman’s abilities. Coupled with how Elizabeth had comported herself after her capture and kidnapping by Barbossa’s crew, he didn’t think there was much left that a woman simply couldn’t learn. Certainly, whatever powers had granted that Elizabeth could learn this sort of trade ought to be looking to smooth her way to do so as much as possible, he thought.
In the end, however, they were in the carriage, which was pulling to a stop outside a two-story, narrow townhouse painted in ivory and dark brown. Will stepped out and turned, silently handing Elizabeth down from the interior. Jack reached over and shook Shelton’s hand, clapping him on the shoulder with his other. “Best o’ luck, mate,” he wished the man. “Here’s hoping your little heads can resolve whatever wrath the King’s managed to incur with the Gallics this time.” Sparrow winked and fairly leaped out of the carriage, reaching up to stroke the sparse, dark moustache that had begun filling in once again.
As Charlie urged the horses on, Will turned on Jack. “Little heads?” he wanted to know.
“Well, God knows none of the big ones’ll be functionin’ at that place this afternoon,” the pirate explained, glancing briefly at Elizabeth. “Which is why he didn’ want you there, darling; harder t’ conduct funny business with impressionable whelps present.”
“Captain Sparrow, if you’d please – speak plainly and explain what you mean,” she gathered herself, regarding Jack with a frown.
“Ye wish me t’ speak plainly, lass?” Jack leaned in, dropping his voice to the consistency of warm honey. “He’s either goin’ there t’ get buggered or t’ partake of some of the area’s, shall we say – more feminine entertainment, which is why he doesn’t want you there. Which is th’ main reason proper ladies aren’t allowed in most o’ those places to begin with, Miss Swann.” He drew back and regarded Elizabeth through half-lowered eyelids. “Not a question of your relative intelligence, love, so much as your relative unwillin’ness t’ part your knees.”
“Jack, really!” Will had been almost hypnotized by the man’s voice, but shook out of it at the salacious words.
“She wants th’ truth, an’ I give it to her,” Jack defended, leaning in close and nearly pointing his finger into Will’s chest. “As I always have; dishonest I may be, but not a hypocrite, t’ boot.”
The shorter man didn’t back down, his chin thrust forward slightly as if waiting for the challenge. But Will could hardly protest – he often told Jack to speak plainly, as he could wax on for hours about anything from his ship (which was admittedly fine and grand) to the last barrel of rum in the hold. He figured if he didn’t prod the man to get on with it from time to time, by the time Jack finished rhapsodizing or cursing, the rum would have evaporated and the ship would have begun listing with algae buildup. “Not terribly polite, though,” he finally settled upon.
“Not polite t’ promise a soul somethin’, either, an’ then shove her out of it, eh, mate?” Jack held up a finger, crooking it into a wag, silently beseeching the two to consider that, eyebrows lifted as he studied them, between one and the other, swiveling his head slightly.
“He’s a point, Will.” Elizabeth finally spoke; she’d been staring at Jack with annoyance, then thoughtfully, as he spun his probable yarn. “I did ask him to be honest.”
As soon as she turned to mount the steps, Will looked again to Jack. “You steal, you rob, you frighten, and now you decide to turn honest?”
“Few people worth imparting th’ truth to than those who ask, and even most o’ them don’t really wan’ know,” Jack explained, slipping back into his gentleman’s accent. “But, she asked, and knowing the girl as I do, I figured she’d be able to tell if I were feeding her tripe. Lot like you that way. Sure you two aren’t related?” he grinned.
“You know, it’s rude to speak about someone as if they’re not even there, when they’re right before you,” Elizabeth lectured back over one shoulder. “And unless you two would enjoy wandering the streets naked, you’ll hurry up; we’ve only a couple of hours until the carriage comes back ‘round, and Mr. Shelton will be wanting his clothes back.”
Nearly half an hour later, much of Jack’s good mood seemed to have fled, probably to the same tropical isle as Elizabeth’s, Will noted. Then again, perhaps not the same isle. The two were sniping at one another over – of all things – the clothes he was having made.
“Brown would be much better for him, both as a practicality and for his coloring.”
“Brown’s good for paneling – he needs some color, some splash! Green’d work much better,” Jack disagreed, hands on his hips as he faced Elizabeth.
“Darker colors bring out his eyes and are warm in the winter,” she disagreed.
“Green can be dark,” Jack pointed out.
“Not if you want to tell it’s actually green, not too dark, no,” Elizabeth countered as quickly. She was leaning forward slightly into Jack’s personal space, and for once, the pirate looked as though he’d like to relocate to the southern coast.
“Excuse me-” Will didn’t wish to be rude, but neither was he going to listen to these two the rest of the afternoon like this.
“You don’t understand subtlety,” Elizabeth kept on. “Clothes aren’t meant to scream at their audience – they’re supposed to enhance the wearer’s natural charms.”
“Well and good,” Jack gestured expansively. “I’d hardly say green’s the beginning of the Empire’s downfall, savvy?”
“First, green. What next – red? Bright yellow?”
“Um … excuse me.” Will tapped the tailor on the shoulder, and the man turned, a bit startled, from watching his other two customers’ disagreement. “Could you maybe finish measuring me, while I decide what color I want for the coat?”
“Certainly, ah … sir.” The tailor, named Rafe, seemed a bit uncertain in his accented English, head swiveling a couple of times between the pair across the room and Will himself. “Has Monsieur decided what style of coat he would like?”
“Yellow would get dirty too easily. Plus, he’s too sallow for it.” This from Jack.
“Something to about here.” Remembering the old brown coat he’d been forced to leave at the smithy months ago, Will turned sideways and leaned over, placing the side of his hand at his knee, ignoring the other two people in the room. “Something fitted, but not too much.”
“Ah, I see,” Rafe nodded, his thin head bobbing as he withdrew a length of marked twine from his pocket. “A Justaucorps will flatter you. I need some measurements. You’ll hold still, please?”
Will nodded, rolling his eyes at Elizabeth‘s, “I wasn’t being serious, Jack. For heaven’s sake …” before tuning it out again. He turned this way and that, quietly answering questions as Rafe put them forth, about breeches, long linen shirts, waistcoat, and stockings. The man disappeared briefly to find more fabric to present for perusal, and Will briefly wondered if he should remind Jack about buying clothes for David. Then again, if he and Elizabeth couldn’t agree to let a grown man such as he pick out his own suits, what would the boy have to face?
I should probably just bring him back myself while they’re busy doing something else better suited to their interests, he concluded. Like arm-wrestling.
On to Part 4 ...
