Fic: "Contradictions 5: Admit" (Part 2)
Jun. 1st, 2011 08:11 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.
Jack watched the two children eye each other over supper as rival siblings might beneath the tree on Christmas morn. Each was polite but distant, and Jack wondered how much that disguised a contained effort not to both leap at the same wrapped gift and wrestle it away from the other, probably accompanied by hair-pulling and squabbling.
Except the gift wasn’t a brightly-decorated box – it was Will Turner. The object of their juvenile affections sat between the boy and the girl, sacrificing adult conversation to give them equal time, not seeming to resent the assault on his senses as they flung questions and comments at him and each other.
David, who sat on Will’s left, was balanced out by Isabella – or Ivy, as the girl preferred – on his right. Her auburn hair was pulled back into a few ringlets, but being thin, several strands escaped the tight binding to float just above her head and around her ears. Jack caught her several times throughout the evening reaching up and trying to pat down the rogue strands, stopping when Will looked at her, smiling and turning her large, dark doe eyes on the man instead. Cute as it was, Jack frowned a bit each time in concern – eleven was entirely too young to be having a crush on someone nine years her senior. But he had to admire her taste. Like father, like daughter.
Only earlier that day had Will and David learned about Ivy and Esther, shortly after they departed the boat and were ensconced in their carriage toward London. Jack had said nothing, knowing he’d have to eventually tell Will the entire story behind how he’d ended up with an ex-wife and a daughter, and that it wouldn’t be complimentary to the senior Turner’s memory. Bill, you old dog, Jack thought more than once, ruefully, during the trip toward London. You son of a bitch … leaving me to deal with this, with having to tell why you liked the sea and piracy so much. As if I could understand your original motivations that well. But he knew if he didn’t tell the story himself, Will could ask Esther, and she’d explain at least part of the truth.
“Do you like horses … Mr. Turner?” Ivy tilted her face up at Will in innocent flirtation.
“I think horses are beautiful animals, but I’ve not had much experience with them,” the blacksmith answered, granting the girl a smile. Jack watched the way his daughter brightened at the way the corners of Will’s eyes crinkled agreeably, and felt a bit like sighing himself. You’re an infatuated old fool. Leave this one for the young girls and his forge, you.
“I’ve a horse,” Ivy admitted quietly. “White and brown spotted. A mare pony, that I keep at Grandmother’s estate.”
“I see,” Will indulgently nodded, his focus still on the girl, making her blush. “Where’d you get her?”
“Father gave her to me.” She flicked her gaze to Jack, and ever too briefly, identical eyes met across the table. “When I turned ten. He said Mum and Da thought I was old enough to ride,” she explained, giving her attention back to Will Turner.
“I’ve ridden horses, too,” David piped in, lest he be forgotten. “Big ones – rode a stallion once that’d been broken just two months prior!”
Ivy furrowed her brow, rather Sparrow-like, and leaned forward over her plate to cast a doubtful glance at her rival, who was giving her a So there! look. Jack glanced up at Will, who lifted his eyebrows at the pirate; Jack shrugged a shoulder and rolled his own eyes heavenward, eliciting a small, quirked grin from the smith.
“Isabella, perhaps David would like to ride Alatarial while he’s visiting?” Esther Martense interrupted from the far end of the table.
“That’s a jolly idea,” Joe, her husband, put in. He was at the other end of the table, next to David. “She’s tame, and well-behaved. Perfect for children.”
Jack covered a laugh at that; David didn’t exactly look like he was grateful to be reminded he needed a safe pony, given the story he’d just told – perhaps true, perhaps not, given his age and size – and the fact he was cabin boy on the most-feared pirate ship in the entire Caribbean. This last was not a fact shared among all at the table, since Jack used his real name here, took pains to cover his appearance, and never let on where his non-family money truly came from. Not only did he wish to escape the attention of the authorities, but he didn’t want Ivy to find out her natural father – whom she’d only met for the first time a few years earlier – was actually a notorious pirate she’d probably read about for a social studies lesson at some point.
“Jack, where will you and Mr. Turner be staying?” Esther was talking again now. “You’re welcome to make use of our hospitality, of course.”
Jack glanced toward Joe, who kept his mouth closed, but didn’t look any too thrilled about his wife’s invitation. He could hardly be blamed – not many men would tolerate the presence of their predecessor, let alone allow them to spend the night under the same roof again. But, Esther always had been polite and extended the same invitation every time – and every time, Jack turned her down. “We’ll be at the hotel, as usual,” Jack replied. “Though you’re very kind – I expect Melody’ll be glad to be shut of us,” he added, winking to the single maid the Martenses employed as the young woman happened by to bring the diners their soup. Then he caught sight of their young charge and said, “However … if you don’t mind, I’d be much obliged if you could make up a room for David? I’m afraid our suite has only two beds, and I’m sure he’d like a proper room for himself, since he’s had to share with one of us during our voyage.”
“I also imagine he’s not had much time around other people his own age, either.” Esther nodded thoughtfully.
“Exactly,” Jack agreed, remembering the eminent practicality and easygoing nature that had convinced him Esther – no raving beauty – would still be suitable marriage material so many years ago. “Yes, that’s it. I’m sure David would appreciate the hospitality, wouldn’t you?” He directed this last at the youth, who reverted once again to the polite little man Jack had first come to know on board the Pearl, nodding agreeably.
“There, then that’s quite good, young Master … I’m sorry, I don’t believe we ever asked your last name?” Joe addressed David directly, patting his lips with the linen napkin as he studied the boy, brows furrowed in query.
“Oh, yes,” Jack interrupted, as David’s eyes started to go wide. “That would be ‘Turner.’ I believe I failed to mention earlier that David is Will’s half-brother.” That earned the pirate a grin of compliance from the boy and subtly uplifted brows from his “brother.” Jack widened his eyes briefly in a Shut up! gesture before addressing Joe once again. “But for the sake of confusion, we hardly ever use it; I prefer to stay with first names in our merry little group.”
“Hmm,” Joe adjudged, glancing at Jack, then shrugging. “Well, quite right. David, we’ll be glad to have you around for a while. I know Ivy’s going to be glad to get some company her own age, eh, Pumpkin?”
Jack felt his jaw wanting to grind at the fatherly nickname – she was his daughter, his blood, and to hear another man refer to her that familiarly was more than he could momentarily bear. But when Ivy glanced dubiously at David, then grinned with a telling quirk of her lips up at Joe, Jack untensed his fingers below the table. To her, Joseph Martense was her father, having been around daily since she was very little, long before she and Jack had ever known of one another – Jackson MacLeary was some distant favorite uncle who visited every so often and bestowed presents from far, exotic lands a few times a year. Jack was her existence, but Joe was her life – and there was nothing the pirate could do to amend that at this late date.
His reaction, however, didn’t go unnoticed.
It was several hours later, as Jack leaned forward with his upper arms on the balcony railing, back bent and forehead down against the cool iron, that he caught sight of a pair of bare feet appearing a foot or so to the side of his. “It pains you to see her refer to someone else as ‘Da.’”
“Aye,” Jack admitted, nodding a bit, closing his eyes. Will wouldn’t make fun of him.
“Here – you can hardly drink in that position.” He felt something hard bump his arm, and lifted his head, turning it to catch sight of the slender sealed bottle Will offered. “I don’t normally hold with drinking to get through a problem,” he explained. “But … well, you look pretty well in need of something strong right about now. Actually, about three hours ago, to be accurate.”
Balancing his hands against the rail, Jack pushed himself upright and took the rum, ignoring the blacksmith’s knowing smile. With a quick tear of paper and twist of cork made possible by fingers strengthened through twenty-five years of hard work, he opened the libation and tilted it up, drinking deeply before holding the bottle aloft in salute toward his companion – and sighed, finally tasting the smooth burn. “Ah, th’ good stuff,” he observed.
“Yes, Jack. Legal rum.”
“Hmm, ‘magine that.” He offered it to Will, but the other man shook his head. “What’s this all about, then?”
“I believe you’ve a story to finish telling?” Off Jack’s blank expression, Will narrowed his dark eyes and pinned the older man. “Come off it; you never did finish explaining about Ivy.”
“I believe th’ lass has a bit of a crush on ye, William.”
“Being part you, I’m sure it’s a tool of distraction of some sort,” the smith dryly noted. “Out with it, Jack. You had plenty of time to tell us about her, yet you chose to wait until the very last minute, giving us just enough so we wouldn’t make fools of ourselves by not having ever heard of her … but not enough rope to hang you.. Why’ve you never mentioned her, or Esther, before? I see nothing to be ashamed of.”
Jack sighed. Will wouldn’t leave this alone until he was satisfied he’d heard answers, and the right answers, at that. The man had removed his boots, stockings, and waistcoat, and looked perfectly comfortable to settle in to listening for a matter of hours, if need be. “I didn’t wan’ tell ye because it’s not ‘zactly what you’ll wan’ hear,” he finally explained. “Involves your own da, a bit, and not favorably.”
“I’d imagined as much, somehow.” Off Jack’s surprised look, Will shook his head indulgently. “I never thought the man was a saint. An honest marine and merchant, yes – but hardly worth canonizing. He was never around enough to give me that high an opinion of him.”
“Your father was a good man,” Jack insisted, frowning.
“But not necessarily a good father.” Will crossed his arms, and in the slight breeze of the night, Jack noticed for the first time the younger man’s hair blew around a bit. It’d been two weeks since they’d both had their hair trimmed, and Will’s was already growing out noticeably. Amazing. Then again, Jack’s own mane tended to get unruly pretty quickly, too. “Or husband. So go on, Jack – I’m listening.”
For once, Sparrow kept his storytelling fairly short and to the point – for him, anyway. “Already told ye that we both turned pirate t’ keep from bein’ shot or marooned,” he began, using his free hand to gesture about as he spoke. “But twas William’s idea we do so. We argued, and he won, not me. So th’ Plucky Marlin became our new home.”
“Ah … the Pearl,” Will nodded.
“Glad t’ see you remember some o’ th’ things I told ye.” Jack took another drink. “For the next four years, though, twere th’ Marlin, white sails an’ bastard captain, and all. ‘Til we took her over, of course. Hmm … that were about fifteen years ago. Bein’ older an’ more experienced by a bit, William took over as her captain, an-“
“Wait.” Will shook his head. “You’re telling me my father was the Pearl’s captain?”
Jack froze, then nodded. “Aye?”
“You said both of you led the mutiny, that …” Will trailed off, frowning, obviously trying to remember exactly what Jack had told him so many months ago after they’d defeated Negre in that beach duel.
“And you said ye remembered your father tellin’ you about his new ship. Twas before we renamed her, actually; hadn’t thought of anythin’ suitable yet.”
“But – he visited me. You were in charge while he was gone …”
“First mate’s job, usually,” Jack nodded. “An’ when he came back from his visit with you an’ your mum, I shoved off an’ came back t’ England t’ take up a respectable life again. Tried to be a cartographer, settled down an’ married – th’ whole bit.”
“Esther,” Will said. “Is it my imagination – or is she older than you?”
“Sharp eyes. She were an ol’ maid, still livin’ with her folks. They owned th’ business I worked for.” Jack reached around and rubbed at the nape of his neck. “You’ve got t’ understand, Will, I was lookin’ to separate meself from me old life quick as I could. I figured a job, marriage, maybe a couple whelps’d do it; I was tryin’ to ignore th’ call o’ th’ sea … of th’ Pearl herself.” He swigged another generous portion of rum. “Was a lot dif’rent back then, mate. I doubt you’d’ve recognized me.
“Can’t say Esther was a mistake, though – bit on th’ plain side, but she were a good woman, an’ practical herself. She knew th’ score, but she still married me. We got along well enough, which is more ‘n you can say for some marriages. But, like a lot of other men, I didn’t stay faithful. ‘Specially not with such a shrill mistress as th’ sea.” Jack felt his eyes glaze over as he stared out into the night, remembering how he would spend some Sundays taking a carriage to the Channel, watching water lap the undersides of the docking vessels, listen to the waves caress the worn wood out to sea. “She called me, Will – called me sure as th’ gold called Barbossa’s crew to ‘Lizabeth an’ Port Royale. And I managed to ignore her as long as me heart possibly could.”
When Will said nothing, Jack blinked his eyes back into focus and turned them on the other man. The smith watched him levelly, unblinking. Finally, he asked, “What happened?”
“That damn compass.” Jack passed a hand over his face and shook his head. “Came ‘cross it when Esther’s father died, an’ we had t’ sort through his estate – what of it there was. Mostly t’ see what could be sold t’ pay off some debts and help support her mother.” His free hand automatically came up, curving to the shape of holding the small black box though it was in the bedroom bureau at the moment. “We thought it might be an historical curiosity or somethin’ antique, but it didn’t work. Esther was gon’ throw it out … but somethin’ about it drew me attention. So I kept it for many months, takin’ it out t’ look at every so often, tryin’ to see if I could fix it, make it useful.
“Well, o’ course, th’ cursed thing didn’t work – ne’er has, far as I know – at least not in th’ sense someone could use it for anything practical.” He chuckled, remembering Norrington’s droll commentary on the suitability of Jack’s piratical nature, given a compass that didn’t even point properly.
“How’d you find out it led to the Isla de Muerta?” Will wondered.
Jack’s lips quirked mysteriously. “Pearl told me.”
“Ships don’t talk.”
“And men don’ walk underwater, either, nor do they come back after bein’ stabbed an’ shot,” Jack countered dryly. When Will tightened his lips but said nothing contradictory, Jack continued. “You ever looked closely at that compass, mate?” Stepping past Will, he went inside and crossed to the bedroom, coming out two minutes later palming the object in question. “Here,” he offered it to Turner. “Have a look-see.”
The smith narrowed his eyes suspiciously – a trait that never failed to both annoy and arouse Jack simultaneously, for it bespoke an alluring intelligence behind those dark orbs – but he took the compass. Turned it in his hands, flipped it over, opened and waved it around to watch the needle remain stationery no matter which way it was held. “I already know it doesn’t work, except to point to that island,” he finally muttered.
“Look at th’ casing, Will.” He waited for the man to flip the box over and stroke the bottom lightly with a forefinger. “The wood.”
Will looked blank a moment, then frowned. “It’s like- It feels like …” He glanced back up at Jack, eyes wider.
“Aye. Made of th’ same wood as Pearl herself.” He shook his head. “They’re both older than you can imagine wood lastin’, mate. Close on two centuries, in fact. The same gods that cursed that treasure put their touch upon that ship and this compass.” He reached forth and tapped his forefinger on the small box. “Twas Pearl built t’ carry th’ treasure to th’ Isla originally, in an attempt to isolate it from the mainland.”
“How’d you learn all-“ Will sighed, still skeptical. “Right. Pearl told you. So how’d you ‘hear’ her, anyway? You were in England – she was in the Caribbean, right?”
“Distance doesn’t make that much dif’rence in this sort of thing, though William did keep more south of this coast, hirin’ himself out as a mercenary. How he got his nickname – twas said he was a poor man hauled himself up by his bootstraps t’ make money. Came to visit, when I’d been married about a year and a half – happened he was actually around for a visit t’ you an’ your mum, who didn’ live all tha’ far away, I s’pose, and he stopped off t’ see me. Oh, he’d visited the year before, asked if I’d be wantin’ to come back to join his crew. I’d be first mate ‘gain, but I turned him down, told him I was perfectly happy with me lot in life.
“Soon as he saw th’ compass, you should’ve seen his eyes – green they were, an’ wide as th’ ocean herself. He said, ‘Jack, come now, you’ve got to come ‘long – ‘tis a sign!’ Turned out he’d seen a couple drawings on board th’ Pearl, stashed ‘way in th’ main cabin, a map that ended without a clear destination and passin’ reference to a compass that only pointed one way all th’ time, that weren’t north.”
Will furrowed his brow, then relaxed. “My father’s the one who recognized the compass?”
“Aye, and convinced me t’ come back to harbor, on board, see th’ maps for meself. He figured bein’ a cartographer, I’d know what I was lookin’ at, maybe.” Another drink of rum. “So I went, an’ we figured out twas some sort o’ treasure. Well … I mean, how can a man pass up that much free gold, mate?” Jack shrugged one shoulder. “I agreed to go, with every intention of comin’ right back to settle again with Esther an’ make life easy for us.”
“What about the curse, though?”
“Aye, you don’t miss much. Since it was only a couple hundred years old, once we made it to th’ Caribbee, we heard all kinds o’ stories about cursed treasure an’ heathen gods – even found a fellow who could translate th’ gibberish on th’ maps and engravings in th’ Pearl’s hull. Gave all th’ details, right down to th’ last bone. I was only marginally superstitious, an’ William was a lot like you – didn’t believe in such nonsense. Eminently practical man, he was, which explains why he stayed pirate – wanted enough money to ensure your upbringing, education. Or tried to, anyway.” Jack lapsed into a melancholy silence as the memories overtook him once again.
“Anyway, with all th’ superstitions and stories sailors overheard when we’d make our inquiries in ports, could ne’er find anyone willin’ to sign on to go. When we finally came across Barbossa an’ his scroungy lot-“ Here, Jack paused to make a face and spit off the side of the balcony – “we were pretty desperate men, us an’ the meager crew we’d managed t’ cobble together. I wasn’ real keen on them, but William said we couldn’t afford to be choosy, since we’d stirred up interest by makin’ our intentions clear in enough places.”
“Thought you said nobody wanted to join your crew to go?”
“True enough – but that doesn’t mean those same blokes wouldn’t’ve murdered us in our sleep an’ taken th’ compass and Pearl to make a try for themselves. After all, that much gold is temptin’, and so much th’ better if you don’ have to share with ever’one else, savvy?”
“All this doesn’t explain how you ended up captain of the ship, though,” Will pointed out. “Gibbs said it was you who showed up in Tortuga with a mind to go after the treasure, the way he told it.”
Jack yawned, the drink, the night, and all its exhaustive events finally catching up with him. “I’ll be blunt with ye, lad – Pearl didn’t want William at her helm. She wanted me. She liked him well enough … but for whate’er reason, she responded better under me hands. Plus, I was th’ talker – I was th’ one who convinced Hector and th’ others to up an’ join us, so naturally they had to believe I was captain. William didn’ seem all that upset by it, though I suspect that’s because he figured he’d be rid of me after we recovered th’ treasure, an’ he’d somehow coax Pearl to take him back as her chief consort. Truth be told, I didn’ expect for me life t’ become so intertwined with th’ old girl’s, either.”
Here, Jack’s expression darkened; he’d get through this part as quickly as he could. “Barbossa committed mutiny three nights out. I stupidly gave up th’ bearings because I had little leadership experience – I didn’t know how t’ keep me mouth shut, or that I could’ve jus’ told him to go to hell an’ he couldn’t have done a damn thing for it. I didn’t have William there tellin’ me to shut up – he was belowdecks somewhere, checkin’ th’ cannons or somethin’.” Jack exhaled shakily. “When I was marooned – I was so angry, you can’t even begin to believe how so. I truly felt I could’ve killed Hector then an’ there, given the chance. I laid on that beach an’ drank and plotted and schemed for if I ever got off th’ island – I swore to meself if I made it off alive, I’d make that bastard pay for what happened t’ me. Wasn’t until later I learned what happened to William, an’ decided to include vengeance for him, as well. No honor at all … bastards.”
“They were pirates; you expected honor from them?”
Jack glared darkly at Will, watching as the younger man resisted flinching from it. “I’m not completely without a moral code. Neither are you, pirate,” he reminded the smith. “There’s nothin’ more odious in this world than a traitor, Will. A man who’ll turn on those he swears to be loyal to, he’ll turn on anythin’ and anyone. Remember that. Man like that has absolutely no conscience, no soul.”
After a few beats, Will put his hand out, and Jack grinned, passing the bottle. “What about your daughter? And Esther – didn’t you want to see her again?” the smith asked, before taking a conservative sip from the bottle and after wiping the mouth with his shirtsleeve.
“First of all, I had no inklin’ she was with child when I left London, mate.” Jack ticked off his reasons on extended fingers. “Second, as I said, I was furious with Hector. Third, Pearl called t’ me … she was miserable as I was, an’ watchin’ that man sail off with my ship made me feel like some bastard had just violated th’ woman I loved.” He shook his head ruefully. “Hell hath no fury, indeed.”
Will was holding the bottle out, regarding it curiously, after his sip – probably wondering why it was so smooth compared to the moonshine they normally had to drink, Jack mused. Eventually, the younger man raised his eyes. “You said you found out about Isabella when she was five?”
“Aye. Finally made it back home, only to find I had no home. Th’ tale had gotten out that Jackson MacLeary had been gutted and tossed overboard by pirates while in th’ Caribbee on some sort o’ business trade … and, in a way, I s’pose it’s true. I’d been declared legally dead, Esther gave birth and married Joe a year or so later so Ivy’d have a father, and I bartered my way off that island and went after Barbossa. I eventually went back a few years ago, feelin’ about two inches tall, figuring I’d a lot of explainin’ to do to Esther and her mother – turned out my biggest explanation was to a bunch o’ solicitors, how I ought t’ be able to come back from th’ dead and still remain as such so Esther wouldn’ be a bigamist.” He chuckled at the memory – humorous now, but much more painful at the time it had taken place.
Will murmured something resembling understanding, but didn’t speak for a couple of moments, assimilating everything. “There’s just more one thing – your name?”
“No choice, mate. Esther would’ve had me head if I’d told her I was off to loot with a bunch o’ pirates. So I told everyone here I was off to check into investment options, an’ by the time we made it to th’ Caribbee, I was a MacLeary no more. Haven’t really been, since.
“I used to ride out to th’ Channel Sunday mornings, sometimes, an’ just sit there starin’ at th’ water and thinkin’. I’d try to nap at th’ park at intermittent points, and there was this annoying little bird tha’ kept wakin’ me up before I was ready – noisy as hell, th’ winged bastard. Chitter and chatter and chirp constantly, he did,” he grinned.
“It must’ve been a sparrow,” Will guessed.
“Nay. Was a tern, actually. But I figured ‘Sparrow’ sounded more poetic – and the Caribbee hardly needed another Terner,” he quipped.
On to Part 3 ...
Jack watched the two children eye each other over supper as rival siblings might beneath the tree on Christmas morn. Each was polite but distant, and Jack wondered how much that disguised a contained effort not to both leap at the same wrapped gift and wrestle it away from the other, probably accompanied by hair-pulling and squabbling.
Except the gift wasn’t a brightly-decorated box – it was Will Turner. The object of their juvenile affections sat between the boy and the girl, sacrificing adult conversation to give them equal time, not seeming to resent the assault on his senses as they flung questions and comments at him and each other.
David, who sat on Will’s left, was balanced out by Isabella – or Ivy, as the girl preferred – on his right. Her auburn hair was pulled back into a few ringlets, but being thin, several strands escaped the tight binding to float just above her head and around her ears. Jack caught her several times throughout the evening reaching up and trying to pat down the rogue strands, stopping when Will looked at her, smiling and turning her large, dark doe eyes on the man instead. Cute as it was, Jack frowned a bit each time in concern – eleven was entirely too young to be having a crush on someone nine years her senior. But he had to admire her taste. Like father, like daughter.
Only earlier that day had Will and David learned about Ivy and Esther, shortly after they departed the boat and were ensconced in their carriage toward London. Jack had said nothing, knowing he’d have to eventually tell Will the entire story behind how he’d ended up with an ex-wife and a daughter, and that it wouldn’t be complimentary to the senior Turner’s memory. Bill, you old dog, Jack thought more than once, ruefully, during the trip toward London. You son of a bitch … leaving me to deal with this, with having to tell why you liked the sea and piracy so much. As if I could understand your original motivations that well. But he knew if he didn’t tell the story himself, Will could ask Esther, and she’d explain at least part of the truth.
“Do you like horses … Mr. Turner?” Ivy tilted her face up at Will in innocent flirtation.
“I think horses are beautiful animals, but I’ve not had much experience with them,” the blacksmith answered, granting the girl a smile. Jack watched the way his daughter brightened at the way the corners of Will’s eyes crinkled agreeably, and felt a bit like sighing himself. You’re an infatuated old fool. Leave this one for the young girls and his forge, you.
“I’ve a horse,” Ivy admitted quietly. “White and brown spotted. A mare pony, that I keep at Grandmother’s estate.”
“I see,” Will indulgently nodded, his focus still on the girl, making her blush. “Where’d you get her?”
“Father gave her to me.” She flicked her gaze to Jack, and ever too briefly, identical eyes met across the table. “When I turned ten. He said Mum and Da thought I was old enough to ride,” she explained, giving her attention back to Will Turner.
“I’ve ridden horses, too,” David piped in, lest he be forgotten. “Big ones – rode a stallion once that’d been broken just two months prior!”
Ivy furrowed her brow, rather Sparrow-like, and leaned forward over her plate to cast a doubtful glance at her rival, who was giving her a So there! look. Jack glanced up at Will, who lifted his eyebrows at the pirate; Jack shrugged a shoulder and rolled his own eyes heavenward, eliciting a small, quirked grin from the smith.
“Isabella, perhaps David would like to ride Alatarial while he’s visiting?” Esther Martense interrupted from the far end of the table.
“That’s a jolly idea,” Joe, her husband, put in. He was at the other end of the table, next to David. “She’s tame, and well-behaved. Perfect for children.”
Jack covered a laugh at that; David didn’t exactly look like he was grateful to be reminded he needed a safe pony, given the story he’d just told – perhaps true, perhaps not, given his age and size – and the fact he was cabin boy on the most-feared pirate ship in the entire Caribbean. This last was not a fact shared among all at the table, since Jack used his real name here, took pains to cover his appearance, and never let on where his non-family money truly came from. Not only did he wish to escape the attention of the authorities, but he didn’t want Ivy to find out her natural father – whom she’d only met for the first time a few years earlier – was actually a notorious pirate she’d probably read about for a social studies lesson at some point.
“Jack, where will you and Mr. Turner be staying?” Esther was talking again now. “You’re welcome to make use of our hospitality, of course.”
Jack glanced toward Joe, who kept his mouth closed, but didn’t look any too thrilled about his wife’s invitation. He could hardly be blamed – not many men would tolerate the presence of their predecessor, let alone allow them to spend the night under the same roof again. But, Esther always had been polite and extended the same invitation every time – and every time, Jack turned her down. “We’ll be at the hotel, as usual,” Jack replied. “Though you’re very kind – I expect Melody’ll be glad to be shut of us,” he added, winking to the single maid the Martenses employed as the young woman happened by to bring the diners their soup. Then he caught sight of their young charge and said, “However … if you don’t mind, I’d be much obliged if you could make up a room for David? I’m afraid our suite has only two beds, and I’m sure he’d like a proper room for himself, since he’s had to share with one of us during our voyage.”
“I also imagine he’s not had much time around other people his own age, either.” Esther nodded thoughtfully.
“Exactly,” Jack agreed, remembering the eminent practicality and easygoing nature that had convinced him Esther – no raving beauty – would still be suitable marriage material so many years ago. “Yes, that’s it. I’m sure David would appreciate the hospitality, wouldn’t you?” He directed this last at the youth, who reverted once again to the polite little man Jack had first come to know on board the Pearl, nodding agreeably.
“There, then that’s quite good, young Master … I’m sorry, I don’t believe we ever asked your last name?” Joe addressed David directly, patting his lips with the linen napkin as he studied the boy, brows furrowed in query.
“Oh, yes,” Jack interrupted, as David’s eyes started to go wide. “That would be ‘Turner.’ I believe I failed to mention earlier that David is Will’s half-brother.” That earned the pirate a grin of compliance from the boy and subtly uplifted brows from his “brother.” Jack widened his eyes briefly in a Shut up! gesture before addressing Joe once again. “But for the sake of confusion, we hardly ever use it; I prefer to stay with first names in our merry little group.”
“Hmm,” Joe adjudged, glancing at Jack, then shrugging. “Well, quite right. David, we’ll be glad to have you around for a while. I know Ivy’s going to be glad to get some company her own age, eh, Pumpkin?”
Jack felt his jaw wanting to grind at the fatherly nickname – she was his daughter, his blood, and to hear another man refer to her that familiarly was more than he could momentarily bear. But when Ivy glanced dubiously at David, then grinned with a telling quirk of her lips up at Joe, Jack untensed his fingers below the table. To her, Joseph Martense was her father, having been around daily since she was very little, long before she and Jack had ever known of one another – Jackson MacLeary was some distant favorite uncle who visited every so often and bestowed presents from far, exotic lands a few times a year. Jack was her existence, but Joe was her life – and there was nothing the pirate could do to amend that at this late date.
His reaction, however, didn’t go unnoticed.
It was several hours later, as Jack leaned forward with his upper arms on the balcony railing, back bent and forehead down against the cool iron, that he caught sight of a pair of bare feet appearing a foot or so to the side of his. “It pains you to see her refer to someone else as ‘Da.’”
“Aye,” Jack admitted, nodding a bit, closing his eyes. Will wouldn’t make fun of him.
“Here – you can hardly drink in that position.” He felt something hard bump his arm, and lifted his head, turning it to catch sight of the slender sealed bottle Will offered. “I don’t normally hold with drinking to get through a problem,” he explained. “But … well, you look pretty well in need of something strong right about now. Actually, about three hours ago, to be accurate.”
Balancing his hands against the rail, Jack pushed himself upright and took the rum, ignoring the blacksmith’s knowing smile. With a quick tear of paper and twist of cork made possible by fingers strengthened through twenty-five years of hard work, he opened the libation and tilted it up, drinking deeply before holding the bottle aloft in salute toward his companion – and sighed, finally tasting the smooth burn. “Ah, th’ good stuff,” he observed.
“Yes, Jack. Legal rum.”
“Hmm, ‘magine that.” He offered it to Will, but the other man shook his head. “What’s this all about, then?”
“I believe you’ve a story to finish telling?” Off Jack’s blank expression, Will narrowed his dark eyes and pinned the older man. “Come off it; you never did finish explaining about Ivy.”
“I believe th’ lass has a bit of a crush on ye, William.”
“Being part you, I’m sure it’s a tool of distraction of some sort,” the smith dryly noted. “Out with it, Jack. You had plenty of time to tell us about her, yet you chose to wait until the very last minute, giving us just enough so we wouldn’t make fools of ourselves by not having ever heard of her … but not enough rope to hang you.. Why’ve you never mentioned her, or Esther, before? I see nothing to be ashamed of.”
Jack sighed. Will wouldn’t leave this alone until he was satisfied he’d heard answers, and the right answers, at that. The man had removed his boots, stockings, and waistcoat, and looked perfectly comfortable to settle in to listening for a matter of hours, if need be. “I didn’t wan’ tell ye because it’s not ‘zactly what you’ll wan’ hear,” he finally explained. “Involves your own da, a bit, and not favorably.”
“I’d imagined as much, somehow.” Off Jack’s surprised look, Will shook his head indulgently. “I never thought the man was a saint. An honest marine and merchant, yes – but hardly worth canonizing. He was never around enough to give me that high an opinion of him.”
“Your father was a good man,” Jack insisted, frowning.
“But not necessarily a good father.” Will crossed his arms, and in the slight breeze of the night, Jack noticed for the first time the younger man’s hair blew around a bit. It’d been two weeks since they’d both had their hair trimmed, and Will’s was already growing out noticeably. Amazing. Then again, Jack’s own mane tended to get unruly pretty quickly, too. “Or husband. So go on, Jack – I’m listening.”
For once, Sparrow kept his storytelling fairly short and to the point – for him, anyway. “Already told ye that we both turned pirate t’ keep from bein’ shot or marooned,” he began, using his free hand to gesture about as he spoke. “But twas William’s idea we do so. We argued, and he won, not me. So th’ Plucky Marlin became our new home.”
“Ah … the Pearl,” Will nodded.
“Glad t’ see you remember some o’ th’ things I told ye.” Jack took another drink. “For the next four years, though, twere th’ Marlin, white sails an’ bastard captain, and all. ‘Til we took her over, of course. Hmm … that were about fifteen years ago. Bein’ older an’ more experienced by a bit, William took over as her captain, an-“
“Wait.” Will shook his head. “You’re telling me my father was the Pearl’s captain?”
Jack froze, then nodded. “Aye?”
“You said both of you led the mutiny, that …” Will trailed off, frowning, obviously trying to remember exactly what Jack had told him so many months ago after they’d defeated Negre in that beach duel.
“And you said ye remembered your father tellin’ you about his new ship. Twas before we renamed her, actually; hadn’t thought of anythin’ suitable yet.”
“But – he visited me. You were in charge while he was gone …”
“First mate’s job, usually,” Jack nodded. “An’ when he came back from his visit with you an’ your mum, I shoved off an’ came back t’ England t’ take up a respectable life again. Tried to be a cartographer, settled down an’ married – th’ whole bit.”
“Esther,” Will said. “Is it my imagination – or is she older than you?”
“Sharp eyes. She were an ol’ maid, still livin’ with her folks. They owned th’ business I worked for.” Jack reached around and rubbed at the nape of his neck. “You’ve got t’ understand, Will, I was lookin’ to separate meself from me old life quick as I could. I figured a job, marriage, maybe a couple whelps’d do it; I was tryin’ to ignore th’ call o’ th’ sea … of th’ Pearl herself.” He swigged another generous portion of rum. “Was a lot dif’rent back then, mate. I doubt you’d’ve recognized me.
“Can’t say Esther was a mistake, though – bit on th’ plain side, but she were a good woman, an’ practical herself. She knew th’ score, but she still married me. We got along well enough, which is more ‘n you can say for some marriages. But, like a lot of other men, I didn’t stay faithful. ‘Specially not with such a shrill mistress as th’ sea.” Jack felt his eyes glaze over as he stared out into the night, remembering how he would spend some Sundays taking a carriage to the Channel, watching water lap the undersides of the docking vessels, listen to the waves caress the worn wood out to sea. “She called me, Will – called me sure as th’ gold called Barbossa’s crew to ‘Lizabeth an’ Port Royale. And I managed to ignore her as long as me heart possibly could.”
When Will said nothing, Jack blinked his eyes back into focus and turned them on the other man. The smith watched him levelly, unblinking. Finally, he asked, “What happened?”
“That damn compass.” Jack passed a hand over his face and shook his head. “Came ‘cross it when Esther’s father died, an’ we had t’ sort through his estate – what of it there was. Mostly t’ see what could be sold t’ pay off some debts and help support her mother.” His free hand automatically came up, curving to the shape of holding the small black box though it was in the bedroom bureau at the moment. “We thought it might be an historical curiosity or somethin’ antique, but it didn’t work. Esther was gon’ throw it out … but somethin’ about it drew me attention. So I kept it for many months, takin’ it out t’ look at every so often, tryin’ to see if I could fix it, make it useful.
“Well, o’ course, th’ cursed thing didn’t work – ne’er has, far as I know – at least not in th’ sense someone could use it for anything practical.” He chuckled, remembering Norrington’s droll commentary on the suitability of Jack’s piratical nature, given a compass that didn’t even point properly.
“How’d you find out it led to the Isla de Muerta?” Will wondered.
Jack’s lips quirked mysteriously. “Pearl told me.”
“Ships don’t talk.”
“And men don’ walk underwater, either, nor do they come back after bein’ stabbed an’ shot,” Jack countered dryly. When Will tightened his lips but said nothing contradictory, Jack continued. “You ever looked closely at that compass, mate?” Stepping past Will, he went inside and crossed to the bedroom, coming out two minutes later palming the object in question. “Here,” he offered it to Turner. “Have a look-see.”
The smith narrowed his eyes suspiciously – a trait that never failed to both annoy and arouse Jack simultaneously, for it bespoke an alluring intelligence behind those dark orbs – but he took the compass. Turned it in his hands, flipped it over, opened and waved it around to watch the needle remain stationery no matter which way it was held. “I already know it doesn’t work, except to point to that island,” he finally muttered.
“Look at th’ casing, Will.” He waited for the man to flip the box over and stroke the bottom lightly with a forefinger. “The wood.”
Will looked blank a moment, then frowned. “It’s like- It feels like …” He glanced back up at Jack, eyes wider.
“Aye. Made of th’ same wood as Pearl herself.” He shook his head. “They’re both older than you can imagine wood lastin’, mate. Close on two centuries, in fact. The same gods that cursed that treasure put their touch upon that ship and this compass.” He reached forth and tapped his forefinger on the small box. “Twas Pearl built t’ carry th’ treasure to th’ Isla originally, in an attempt to isolate it from the mainland.”
“How’d you learn all-“ Will sighed, still skeptical. “Right. Pearl told you. So how’d you ‘hear’ her, anyway? You were in England – she was in the Caribbean, right?”
“Distance doesn’t make that much dif’rence in this sort of thing, though William did keep more south of this coast, hirin’ himself out as a mercenary. How he got his nickname – twas said he was a poor man hauled himself up by his bootstraps t’ make money. Came to visit, when I’d been married about a year and a half – happened he was actually around for a visit t’ you an’ your mum, who didn’ live all tha’ far away, I s’pose, and he stopped off t’ see me. Oh, he’d visited the year before, asked if I’d be wantin’ to come back to join his crew. I’d be first mate ‘gain, but I turned him down, told him I was perfectly happy with me lot in life.
“Soon as he saw th’ compass, you should’ve seen his eyes – green they were, an’ wide as th’ ocean herself. He said, ‘Jack, come now, you’ve got to come ‘long – ‘tis a sign!’ Turned out he’d seen a couple drawings on board th’ Pearl, stashed ‘way in th’ main cabin, a map that ended without a clear destination and passin’ reference to a compass that only pointed one way all th’ time, that weren’t north.”
Will furrowed his brow, then relaxed. “My father’s the one who recognized the compass?”
“Aye, and convinced me t’ come back to harbor, on board, see th’ maps for meself. He figured bein’ a cartographer, I’d know what I was lookin’ at, maybe.” Another drink of rum. “So I went, an’ we figured out twas some sort o’ treasure. Well … I mean, how can a man pass up that much free gold, mate?” Jack shrugged one shoulder. “I agreed to go, with every intention of comin’ right back to settle again with Esther an’ make life easy for us.”
“What about the curse, though?”
“Aye, you don’t miss much. Since it was only a couple hundred years old, once we made it to th’ Caribbee, we heard all kinds o’ stories about cursed treasure an’ heathen gods – even found a fellow who could translate th’ gibberish on th’ maps and engravings in th’ Pearl’s hull. Gave all th’ details, right down to th’ last bone. I was only marginally superstitious, an’ William was a lot like you – didn’t believe in such nonsense. Eminently practical man, he was, which explains why he stayed pirate – wanted enough money to ensure your upbringing, education. Or tried to, anyway.” Jack lapsed into a melancholy silence as the memories overtook him once again.
“Anyway, with all th’ superstitions and stories sailors overheard when we’d make our inquiries in ports, could ne’er find anyone willin’ to sign on to go. When we finally came across Barbossa an’ his scroungy lot-“ Here, Jack paused to make a face and spit off the side of the balcony – “we were pretty desperate men, us an’ the meager crew we’d managed t’ cobble together. I wasn’ real keen on them, but William said we couldn’t afford to be choosy, since we’d stirred up interest by makin’ our intentions clear in enough places.”
“Thought you said nobody wanted to join your crew to go?”
“True enough – but that doesn’t mean those same blokes wouldn’t’ve murdered us in our sleep an’ taken th’ compass and Pearl to make a try for themselves. After all, that much gold is temptin’, and so much th’ better if you don’ have to share with ever’one else, savvy?”
“All this doesn’t explain how you ended up captain of the ship, though,” Will pointed out. “Gibbs said it was you who showed up in Tortuga with a mind to go after the treasure, the way he told it.”
Jack yawned, the drink, the night, and all its exhaustive events finally catching up with him. “I’ll be blunt with ye, lad – Pearl didn’t want William at her helm. She wanted me. She liked him well enough … but for whate’er reason, she responded better under me hands. Plus, I was th’ talker – I was th’ one who convinced Hector and th’ others to up an’ join us, so naturally they had to believe I was captain. William didn’ seem all that upset by it, though I suspect that’s because he figured he’d be rid of me after we recovered th’ treasure, an’ he’d somehow coax Pearl to take him back as her chief consort. Truth be told, I didn’ expect for me life t’ become so intertwined with th’ old girl’s, either.”
Here, Jack’s expression darkened; he’d get through this part as quickly as he could. “Barbossa committed mutiny three nights out. I stupidly gave up th’ bearings because I had little leadership experience – I didn’t know how t’ keep me mouth shut, or that I could’ve jus’ told him to go to hell an’ he couldn’t have done a damn thing for it. I didn’t have William there tellin’ me to shut up – he was belowdecks somewhere, checkin’ th’ cannons or somethin’.” Jack exhaled shakily. “When I was marooned – I was so angry, you can’t even begin to believe how so. I truly felt I could’ve killed Hector then an’ there, given the chance. I laid on that beach an’ drank and plotted and schemed for if I ever got off th’ island – I swore to meself if I made it off alive, I’d make that bastard pay for what happened t’ me. Wasn’t until later I learned what happened to William, an’ decided to include vengeance for him, as well. No honor at all … bastards.”
“They were pirates; you expected honor from them?”
Jack glared darkly at Will, watching as the younger man resisted flinching from it. “I’m not completely without a moral code. Neither are you, pirate,” he reminded the smith. “There’s nothin’ more odious in this world than a traitor, Will. A man who’ll turn on those he swears to be loyal to, he’ll turn on anythin’ and anyone. Remember that. Man like that has absolutely no conscience, no soul.”
After a few beats, Will put his hand out, and Jack grinned, passing the bottle. “What about your daughter? And Esther – didn’t you want to see her again?” the smith asked, before taking a conservative sip from the bottle and after wiping the mouth with his shirtsleeve.
“First of all, I had no inklin’ she was with child when I left London, mate.” Jack ticked off his reasons on extended fingers. “Second, as I said, I was furious with Hector. Third, Pearl called t’ me … she was miserable as I was, an’ watchin’ that man sail off with my ship made me feel like some bastard had just violated th’ woman I loved.” He shook his head ruefully. “Hell hath no fury, indeed.”
Will was holding the bottle out, regarding it curiously, after his sip – probably wondering why it was so smooth compared to the moonshine they normally had to drink, Jack mused. Eventually, the younger man raised his eyes. “You said you found out about Isabella when she was five?”
“Aye. Finally made it back home, only to find I had no home. Th’ tale had gotten out that Jackson MacLeary had been gutted and tossed overboard by pirates while in th’ Caribbee on some sort o’ business trade … and, in a way, I s’pose it’s true. I’d been declared legally dead, Esther gave birth and married Joe a year or so later so Ivy’d have a father, and I bartered my way off that island and went after Barbossa. I eventually went back a few years ago, feelin’ about two inches tall, figuring I’d a lot of explainin’ to do to Esther and her mother – turned out my biggest explanation was to a bunch o’ solicitors, how I ought t’ be able to come back from th’ dead and still remain as such so Esther wouldn’ be a bigamist.” He chuckled at the memory – humorous now, but much more painful at the time it had taken place.
Will murmured something resembling understanding, but didn’t speak for a couple of moments, assimilating everything. “There’s just more one thing – your name?”
“No choice, mate. Esther would’ve had me head if I’d told her I was off to loot with a bunch o’ pirates. So I told everyone here I was off to check into investment options, an’ by the time we made it to th’ Caribbee, I was a MacLeary no more. Haven’t really been, since.
“I used to ride out to th’ Channel Sunday mornings, sometimes, an’ just sit there starin’ at th’ water and thinkin’. I’d try to nap at th’ park at intermittent points, and there was this annoying little bird tha’ kept wakin’ me up before I was ready – noisy as hell, th’ winged bastard. Chitter and chatter and chirp constantly, he did,” he grinned.
“It must’ve been a sparrow,” Will guessed.
“Nay. Was a tern, actually. But I figured ‘Sparrow’ sounded more poetic – and the Caribbee hardly needed another Terner,” he quipped.
On to Part 3 ...
