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veronica_richSee Part 1 for disclaimers, etc.
Their voyage started well enough, with clear skies and clean sailing, and Jack trying to get used to sharing Will’s pallet while Elizabeth took over their cabin at Will’s insistence. The discomfort of the small space was worth all, however, their third morning at sea, when Jack emerged from the smithy early and straightaway ran into Elizabeth approaching to knock, presumably checking if Will was yet awake.
He finished tying his headscarf back under the fall of thick, long hair, grinning at the discomfiture that skipped across her face. “Why, Miss Swann,” he fairly purred, shaking his head to distribute the hair evenly above the knot, then straightening his sleeves, “what brings ye by on this fine mornin’?”
She stuttered for a few seconds, then snapped her mouth shut, giving him a frosty look. “Is Will around?”
“Will’s not up, yet.” Pause, with a thoughtful finger to his bottom lip. “That is, he’s not awake.”
“Oh, for the love of Zeus.” To his surprise, she started laughing. “Yes, I get it. He’s with you, he’s yours, you share a bunk. I resigned myself to that some time ago.”
“Because of me winnin’ charm.”
“No, because of Will.” He must’ve looked confused, as she sallied forth. “I saw the way you two reacted to each other back in London, and after he killed Chavaille. Will’s not a toucher. But the way he worried over you, let you fuss over him …” She shrugged, a mysterious smile on her lips. “Well.”
Jack raised his eyebrows and headed for the galley. “I assure you, he was still most interested in your fine self a’ that time.”
“I don’t doubt.” Elizabeth followed. “But I could see his attention wandering, dividing. You’re with him every day; I’m not. And, despite your fondness for that vile liquor, I’m sure you’ve charms to offer that I simply do not.” She waited until he’d greeted Maxi and let the cook put out two cups of strong tea, heavily sugared and creamed. “Besides, didn’t I tell you I expected you to look after him? I knew you would, as much in love as you are.” She lifted her cup and regarded Jack over its rim with savvy eyes.
He frowned. “Girl like you’s far too knowledgeable of improprieties for her station in life.”
“You are not the first to tell me that.” She balanced the mug in both hands, turning toward the door. “But I am two months older than Will.”
Her humming and delight at his reaction stuck with him most of the morning at the helm. He wondered anew whether he ought to be ashamed for taking up with a man just over half his age, then spent the rest of the time silently counting the ways Will outdid him in maturity, if not rationality. By the time the man himself put in an appearance, it was nearly noon and Jack had worked things out once again to justify their odd relationship. “Mornin’, love. Looks like you’re already puttin’ in a day.”
Will nodded, still rolling up a sleeve. He was without his vest, shirt half-open, hair tied back, face streaked with soot. “Had a few repairs I was able to get done before lunch.” He looked out over the lower deck. “Have you seen Elizabeth?”
“She was up here ‘til just a little while ago.” He beckoned Will closer and used the corner of his sash tail to wipe some black from the man’s cheek. “Think she must be in th’ cabin reading. Twas all Cotton could do to keep her out o’ th’ rigging.”
“I told her to wait on me for that.” Will shook his head before bussing Jack’s cheek with a kiss. “Hungry?”
“You know, always.”
“I mean actual food, Jack.”
“Got t’ be more specific-like, then.” Mischievously, Jack grabbed the front of Will’s shirt and brought him in for a proper kiss, lips and tongues and noses. “Much better,” he breathed, pulling away a full minute later, pleased to note Will stumbled from it. “Wonder what’s for lunch?”
The first gray clouds blocked the sun while everyone ate. By two o’clock, the temperature had dropped by several degrees and the wind had picked up. Jack ducked into his cabin long enough to pull on his old coat, still shrugging into it when he passed Will and Elizabeth on their way up to the deck. Will eyed him skeptically. “Cold?”
“You two’ve been stuck below for th’ past hour.” Jack clomped up on deck with them in tow, satisfied to see both shiver in the cool air. “Just a squall, I’d wager; blow over in nothin’ flat.”
As well as Jack knew the sea, he was shocked two hours later to be holding to the helm for dear life, struggling to get Pearl under control as she heaved and squealed against the course he was trying to maintain. Her prow twisted to port; he cursed. She bucked; he groused. His only comfort was he didn’t have to worry about the strumpet, as both he and Will had sent her to the cabin with strict instructions to stay put until one of them fetched her forth.
He didn’t know how much time passed during his and the crew’s struggle to keep Pearl upright, nor did he have much time to wonder why she kept listing to port, struggling beneath him in the pounding rain. Instead of working in his head, keeping him informed as usual (or, at least as he suspected she did – Jack wasn’t completely daft), it seemed the ship was concentrating as hard as her human boarders on staying to the straight path her captain had set for her.
Nature, however, was still stronger than any charmed vessel. Jack cupped his proper compass in both hands at one point, sacrificing them from the helm for only a matter of seconds as he tried to determine their course. It seemed they were heading on a northwesterly direction, which wasn’t surprising – what did shock him was the degree to which they’d been diverted off-course, if the blasted object were to be believed.
A particularly harsh scream of wind yanked the prow again, and Jack grabbed the helm to pull in the opposite direction, wondering when it would simply snap off its base and leave him no controllable rudder. He took a deep breath, nose angled down from the rain pouring off his hat, and pushed his entire body into holding the helm, resisting, fighting, swearing he could hear a crack deep somewhere in the massive black-wood wheel, the rush of the storm in his ears-
When Jack blinked, he realized the side of his nose was pressed into wet, warm wood. He contracted his fingers, feeling more timber beneath the blunt nails, and breathed out heavily, trying to get his bearings. The corner of his temple hurt like a bitch; what was that?
He moved his right leg to get his knee beneath him, only then realizing he was prostrate. It was at that point, too, that he registered the pressure on his shoulders, beneath his armpits, tugging. “Come on, get up,” a familiar voice encouraged. “You hit your head hard?”
Between his own scrabbling and large hands helping, Jack managed to get to his knees and halfway to his feet before nausea swept through his light head. “Ergh …” he muttered, swaying, automatically taking the small shuffle step that would keep him upright. “What?” The hands turned into arms around his sides, and he leaned into their body, finally discerning the voice’s owner. “Hit me head, I think.”
“Yes, I believe so.” The voice was comforting, softly chiding, and Jack sighed, closing his eyes against the brightness of the sun by pressing into Will’s wet shoulder. “Can you stand?”
Jack gave a short chuff of muffled laughter. “Think I’ll live.” He lifted his head and looked around, backing away a little. Something was odd. “When’d I fall?” He didn’t remember.
“Think it was when the storm stopped.”
That’s what’s different! Jack blinked, more alert. “It just – stopped?” For the first time, he looked directly at Will, who appeared as though he’d just swallowed a dram of unwatered rum. “Will?”
“Not exactly.” He swallowed, and Jack watched, fascinated by how the foreign emotion of fear played across the smith’s features. “You remember what I told you in that carriage? About when I was crossing from England?”
“Of course.” Will said nothing further, and Jack raised his eyebrows. “Oh, now, Will-“
“We blew off-course,” the smith interrupted, strident. “To the north?”
Jack scoffed without thinking, but tried to ignore the mixed hurt and annoyance in Will’s expression. “We didn’ blow that far to port.”
“You know that?” Will gritted his teeth and backed away from Jack. “We weren’t that far from the Bermuda course, Jack. And, everything’s the same way it was before.” He ticked off on his fingers. “There was a storm. The storm stopped once the ship was sucked into the area of the Triangle. There was no breeze, no wind at all … and no people.” He slapped a hand to his chest. “Except me! Again! And you, now.”
Rubbing at the inner corners of his eyes carefully to avoid blacking his thick fingertips, Jack counted a few breaths in silence. “Say you’re right,” he countered carefully. “Say Neptune’s got it in for ye in this partic’lar part of the ocean. I’ve never experienced such a thing. So why am I here talking to ye, then?”
“I don’t pretend to know. But nobody else is around. Everyone disappeared from deck the moment the storm stopped, just like before!”
“Calm … calm down.” Jack blinked, his headache receding as he attempted logical thought. “Maybe they all left and went below?”
“Jack, they disappeared.” Will spoke in the tone reserved for the hard-of-hearing. “Vanished; they were there, then they weren’t. I’d think nearly twenty men yelling in a storm would make a little more noise if they all scrambled for the same two exits at once, don’t you?”
Jack didn’t point out Will was the only witness to such a thing. Besides, the fact was, it was eerily quiet. The air was temperate enough, but the lack of breeze was conspicuous by its absence in the non-humidity. Too, it was the middle of the day, and there was no way that many grown men wouldn’t be making some sort of noise, even below-
“Where ye at, Jack? Hidin’, I’ll wager.”
He and Will exchanged a horrified glance. “You hear it too?” he whispered. Will nodded, apparently too surprised to answer, but Jack was glad to see his right hand automatically going to the hilt of his sword. Normally, they wouldn’t have been wearing their blades with no visible foe on the horizon, but during a storm it was a good idea to keep something large and sharp handy for wet, thick ropes.
“Where ye at, ye little peacock?”
His and Will’s heads swiveled almost in unison toward the foredeck, and Jack struggled to paste a nonchalant look on his features. Nothing about this was normal so far, and Jack Sparrow had faced so much abnormality that it disturbed him how easily he now accepted the impossible. “Hector!” he boomed in return, sliding in front of Will toward the small flight of steps. “As I live an’ breathe! And you no longer do.”
On to Part 7 ...
Their voyage started well enough, with clear skies and clean sailing, and Jack trying to get used to sharing Will’s pallet while Elizabeth took over their cabin at Will’s insistence. The discomfort of the small space was worth all, however, their third morning at sea, when Jack emerged from the smithy early and straightaway ran into Elizabeth approaching to knock, presumably checking if Will was yet awake.
He finished tying his headscarf back under the fall of thick, long hair, grinning at the discomfiture that skipped across her face. “Why, Miss Swann,” he fairly purred, shaking his head to distribute the hair evenly above the knot, then straightening his sleeves, “what brings ye by on this fine mornin’?”
She stuttered for a few seconds, then snapped her mouth shut, giving him a frosty look. “Is Will around?”
“Will’s not up, yet.” Pause, with a thoughtful finger to his bottom lip. “That is, he’s not awake.”
“Oh, for the love of Zeus.” To his surprise, she started laughing. “Yes, I get it. He’s with you, he’s yours, you share a bunk. I resigned myself to that some time ago.”
“Because of me winnin’ charm.”
“No, because of Will.” He must’ve looked confused, as she sallied forth. “I saw the way you two reacted to each other back in London, and after he killed Chavaille. Will’s not a toucher. But the way he worried over you, let you fuss over him …” She shrugged, a mysterious smile on her lips. “Well.”
Jack raised his eyebrows and headed for the galley. “I assure you, he was still most interested in your fine self a’ that time.”
“I don’t doubt.” Elizabeth followed. “But I could see his attention wandering, dividing. You’re with him every day; I’m not. And, despite your fondness for that vile liquor, I’m sure you’ve charms to offer that I simply do not.” She waited until he’d greeted Maxi and let the cook put out two cups of strong tea, heavily sugared and creamed. “Besides, didn’t I tell you I expected you to look after him? I knew you would, as much in love as you are.” She lifted her cup and regarded Jack over its rim with savvy eyes.
He frowned. “Girl like you’s far too knowledgeable of improprieties for her station in life.”
“You are not the first to tell me that.” She balanced the mug in both hands, turning toward the door. “But I am two months older than Will.”
Her humming and delight at his reaction stuck with him most of the morning at the helm. He wondered anew whether he ought to be ashamed for taking up with a man just over half his age, then spent the rest of the time silently counting the ways Will outdid him in maturity, if not rationality. By the time the man himself put in an appearance, it was nearly noon and Jack had worked things out once again to justify their odd relationship. “Mornin’, love. Looks like you’re already puttin’ in a day.”
Will nodded, still rolling up a sleeve. He was without his vest, shirt half-open, hair tied back, face streaked with soot. “Had a few repairs I was able to get done before lunch.” He looked out over the lower deck. “Have you seen Elizabeth?”
“She was up here ‘til just a little while ago.” He beckoned Will closer and used the corner of his sash tail to wipe some black from the man’s cheek. “Think she must be in th’ cabin reading. Twas all Cotton could do to keep her out o’ th’ rigging.”
“I told her to wait on me for that.” Will shook his head before bussing Jack’s cheek with a kiss. “Hungry?”
“You know, always.”
“I mean actual food, Jack.”
“Got t’ be more specific-like, then.” Mischievously, Jack grabbed the front of Will’s shirt and brought him in for a proper kiss, lips and tongues and noses. “Much better,” he breathed, pulling away a full minute later, pleased to note Will stumbled from it. “Wonder what’s for lunch?”
The first gray clouds blocked the sun while everyone ate. By two o’clock, the temperature had dropped by several degrees and the wind had picked up. Jack ducked into his cabin long enough to pull on his old coat, still shrugging into it when he passed Will and Elizabeth on their way up to the deck. Will eyed him skeptically. “Cold?”
“You two’ve been stuck below for th’ past hour.” Jack clomped up on deck with them in tow, satisfied to see both shiver in the cool air. “Just a squall, I’d wager; blow over in nothin’ flat.”
As well as Jack knew the sea, he was shocked two hours later to be holding to the helm for dear life, struggling to get Pearl under control as she heaved and squealed against the course he was trying to maintain. Her prow twisted to port; he cursed. She bucked; he groused. His only comfort was he didn’t have to worry about the strumpet, as both he and Will had sent her to the cabin with strict instructions to stay put until one of them fetched her forth.
He didn’t know how much time passed during his and the crew’s struggle to keep Pearl upright, nor did he have much time to wonder why she kept listing to port, struggling beneath him in the pounding rain. Instead of working in his head, keeping him informed as usual (or, at least as he suspected she did – Jack wasn’t completely daft), it seemed the ship was concentrating as hard as her human boarders on staying to the straight path her captain had set for her.
Nature, however, was still stronger than any charmed vessel. Jack cupped his proper compass in both hands at one point, sacrificing them from the helm for only a matter of seconds as he tried to determine their course. It seemed they were heading on a northwesterly direction, which wasn’t surprising – what did shock him was the degree to which they’d been diverted off-course, if the blasted object were to be believed.
A particularly harsh scream of wind yanked the prow again, and Jack grabbed the helm to pull in the opposite direction, wondering when it would simply snap off its base and leave him no controllable rudder. He took a deep breath, nose angled down from the rain pouring off his hat, and pushed his entire body into holding the helm, resisting, fighting, swearing he could hear a crack deep somewhere in the massive black-wood wheel, the rush of the storm in his ears-
When Jack blinked, he realized the side of his nose was pressed into wet, warm wood. He contracted his fingers, feeling more timber beneath the blunt nails, and breathed out heavily, trying to get his bearings. The corner of his temple hurt like a bitch; what was that?
He moved his right leg to get his knee beneath him, only then realizing he was prostrate. It was at that point, too, that he registered the pressure on his shoulders, beneath his armpits, tugging. “Come on, get up,” a familiar voice encouraged. “You hit your head hard?”
Between his own scrabbling and large hands helping, Jack managed to get to his knees and halfway to his feet before nausea swept through his light head. “Ergh …” he muttered, swaying, automatically taking the small shuffle step that would keep him upright. “What?” The hands turned into arms around his sides, and he leaned into their body, finally discerning the voice’s owner. “Hit me head, I think.”
“Yes, I believe so.” The voice was comforting, softly chiding, and Jack sighed, closing his eyes against the brightness of the sun by pressing into Will’s wet shoulder. “Can you stand?”
Jack gave a short chuff of muffled laughter. “Think I’ll live.” He lifted his head and looked around, backing away a little. Something was odd. “When’d I fall?” He didn’t remember.
“Think it was when the storm stopped.”
That’s what’s different! Jack blinked, more alert. “It just – stopped?” For the first time, he looked directly at Will, who appeared as though he’d just swallowed a dram of unwatered rum. “Will?”
“Not exactly.” He swallowed, and Jack watched, fascinated by how the foreign emotion of fear played across the smith’s features. “You remember what I told you in that carriage? About when I was crossing from England?”
“Of course.” Will said nothing further, and Jack raised his eyebrows. “Oh, now, Will-“
“We blew off-course,” the smith interrupted, strident. “To the north?”
Jack scoffed without thinking, but tried to ignore the mixed hurt and annoyance in Will’s expression. “We didn’ blow that far to port.”
“You know that?” Will gritted his teeth and backed away from Jack. “We weren’t that far from the Bermuda course, Jack. And, everything’s the same way it was before.” He ticked off on his fingers. “There was a storm. The storm stopped once the ship was sucked into the area of the Triangle. There was no breeze, no wind at all … and no people.” He slapped a hand to his chest. “Except me! Again! And you, now.”
Rubbing at the inner corners of his eyes carefully to avoid blacking his thick fingertips, Jack counted a few breaths in silence. “Say you’re right,” he countered carefully. “Say Neptune’s got it in for ye in this partic’lar part of the ocean. I’ve never experienced such a thing. So why am I here talking to ye, then?”
“I don’t pretend to know. But nobody else is around. Everyone disappeared from deck the moment the storm stopped, just like before!”
“Calm … calm down.” Jack blinked, his headache receding as he attempted logical thought. “Maybe they all left and went below?”
“Jack, they disappeared.” Will spoke in the tone reserved for the hard-of-hearing. “Vanished; they were there, then they weren’t. I’d think nearly twenty men yelling in a storm would make a little more noise if they all scrambled for the same two exits at once, don’t you?”
Jack didn’t point out Will was the only witness to such a thing. Besides, the fact was, it was eerily quiet. The air was temperate enough, but the lack of breeze was conspicuous by its absence in the non-humidity. Too, it was the middle of the day, and there was no way that many grown men wouldn’t be making some sort of noise, even below-
“Where ye at, Jack? Hidin’, I’ll wager.”
He and Will exchanged a horrified glance. “You hear it too?” he whispered. Will nodded, apparently too surprised to answer, but Jack was glad to see his right hand automatically going to the hilt of his sword. Normally, they wouldn’t have been wearing their blades with no visible foe on the horizon, but during a storm it was a good idea to keep something large and sharp handy for wet, thick ropes.
“Where ye at, ye little peacock?”
His and Will’s heads swiveled almost in unison toward the foredeck, and Jack struggled to paste a nonchalant look on his features. Nothing about this was normal so far, and Jack Sparrow had faced so much abnormality that it disturbed him how easily he now accepted the impossible. “Hector!” he boomed in return, sliding in front of Will toward the small flight of steps. “As I live an’ breathe! And you no longer do.”
On to Part 7 ...
