Voyage One : Everything has to start somewhere

The players

Jack Sparrow – a pirate captain and a smart man, with a taste for rum, long hair, long words and even longer plans

Elanor – a ship’s captain and a smart woman, with similar tastes - except that she’d rather have brandy

Ariadne – a ship’s ghost – well maybe – very smart but with no tastes at all

Calypso – a sea goddess with a weakness for pirates, a wicked sense of humour and no sense of fair play

The Lady – herself

Barbossa – a pirate captain and a hard man with a liking for big hats, and a fear of inescapable curses and impending doom

Various crew – all of whom who had been loved by their mothers but possibly no one since

A monkey

A parrot

Chapter 7: A compass that doesn’t point north

Jack had no idea how long he had stood under the stream of water, however long it might have been it wasn’t long enough. The warmth had eased the worst of his aches and soothed the pain in his head but it would take far longer for the sheer pleasure of its caress to pall.

But she had mentioned food too, and the steady growling of his stomach persuaded him that while this wonder would be here later the offer of food might not be, not if he kept her waiting. The nausea had retreated with the pain and a meal began to have a growing, not to say insistent, appeal. Reluctantly Jack had turned the dial and shut off the waterfall.

He studied his image in looking glass from all angles, if she wanted him clean before he sat at her table then it seemed that she had got her way; the strange lotion had done its apparent job with a thoroughness that astonished him. Looking at his own reflection he had to pinch his skin to be sure that it was his, with all traces of tar and oil and dirt removed it didn’t look like him at all. The beads and charms in his braids were similarly affected, and they shone and sparkled against the deep brown of his now soft and clean hair. The flash of the beads pleased him but the strain around his eyes, more visible now the kohl was washed away, did not, and he scowled at himself in annoyance. However accommodating the fair captain might have been to date he could not afford to show her any weakness, not until he knew who she was and how he came to be in her custody.

With a sigh he turned and look into the closet for a cloth to dry himself on, she could not have intended for him to drip water on her wondrously shiny decks, however clean that water might be. Drying proved to be a sensula pleasure too, for the cloth was a soft as the robe had been, and warm too, a far cry from the salt hardened rags that served even the captain on the Pearl. This cloth drank in the water leaving his skin dry and glowing with only a wipe or two and he was ready to go and eat in a remarkably short time.

Pulling on the robe he opened the door and stuck his head out. There was no sign of Captain Cavendish, no sign of any one at all. She must be somewhere but for the moment he was alone, and with some time on his hands.Time to gather a bit more information.

With luck he might even find that strong room she had spoken of.

The first door he found opened into a room smaller than either he had seen so far, one that held nothing but another closet and what looked to be some form of commode. Reminding himself that nothing on this ship was what he was accustomed to he edged into the little cublicle, ot was nothing more than that, and inspected it from closer quarters.
‘Yes’ he thought, ‘it looks to be a commode right enough, but what is that shiny disk on the front of it…….’
He didn’t even touch it before he found out its purpose, and he stared at the disappearing wave of water with disbelief. Well if that did what he thought it did then it explained some of the strangeness of the smell of this vessel.

He stuck his head out into the corridor again, still no sign of the lady of the ship, he edged bacck into the cublicle. There were other doors to be opened t’was true but he could take a moment or two to investigate this find further.

***

Calypso had stood in the corner and watched Jack wash himself with unexpected willingness and vigour, and she followed him as he set out explore, with a laugh on her lips, and a glint in her eye,
“Witty Jack nat know what he stepped inta, but him enjoy it aal the same. Ah Jack, pirate ya may be, and crazy even for a mortal, but fool ya nat be.”She looked back into the now empty washroom wide eyed and considering.
“But ah wonder at ya wisdom Lady.” she breathed quietly, “Tis more tan strange tis dangerous, and for mort tan Jack.”

With a frown she turned back towards the deck, where the Lady was waiting in the moonlight, skin and skirts like silver in the pale glow. For a moment the sea goddess stood and watched her, wondering what it was that she had in her mind. Not so easy to fathom that, for the full nature and ways of the Lady were unknown, even to a goddess. But her actions were rarely simple, and though she could appear cavalier in her attitudes to those she did not seem to love, and even to those she did, it was a mistake to assume that they were. Calypso had seen enough of them to know that was not necessarily the case, but also enough to know that her goals could be so distant that they were hard to discern. The Lady seemed to move across time as well as space, winding her plans around those involved in complicated dances that were as insubstantial as they were compelling; a more physical being could only wonder what purpose she was following now.

The Lady turned towards her and Calypso spoke what was on her mind.
“Tis saviour you bought for witty Jack, be truly strange Lady and it worrit me. Waas tis the only way to save him? Tis ship be dangerous and nat for it’s weapons only, te kawledge it contains does nat belang here and Witty Jack is nat the man ta pass the possibilities by lightly.”
She ran a hand down the smooth surface of the mast, her eyes brightening at the sight of the canvas stretched and perfectly balanced against the night wind.
“Her Captain, she be a witty lady ‘tis true, but she be out of time ant place and so she be at a disadvantage.”
A sudden thought occurred to her,
“Be tat the reason tat you chose her Lady? Ya waant her here for some other purpose but nat alone?”

The Lady was silent as ever but she tilted her head and her smile flashed brighter than the moon on the wave caps. For a moment the fan fluttered in her hand before she swept it up to her face as she turned to stare at the dark horizon.

Calypso’s laugh rang out in the wind,
“Ha! Sa witty Jack be put use. He be her protector as she be his. Ma compliments again Lady, somehow I doubt tat ya will give him a choice in’t it. Tis I shaall enjoy, rogue that he be.”
She turned to look towards the east,
“For ta moment there be oter things thaat neet attention.”

The Lady turned her head and gave a slight complicit smile before the two of them faded into the moonlight.

***

The passage way was still empty when Jack emerged into it once again and he began to make his way back towards the cabin trying each of the three other doors as he passed. Each of these was firmly locked and each time he cursed but was not really surprised, it was what he would have done in her place after all. From now, he reminded himself, he must assume that she would always do as he would do, if not worse. He cursed the thought, for that made matters a mite more tricky.

Yet when he arrived at the cabin it was to find her sitting on the bunk with his chart spread out before her and his compass lying by its side.

She looked up as he entered, denying him any chance of studying her unawares, and, though her slight smile was friendly enough, there was a look in her eyes as she watched him enter that set him on his guard. Even so the smell of food was compelling enough to drag his eyes to the table. She must have seen his interest because she waved her hand towards it with a wider smile,
“It’s probably not a good idea to eat too much just yet. Head injuries can be funny about that, and I wouldn’t want you throwing up without warning, but I thought you could probably do with some comfort food, so it’s thick soup and bread. Will that enough for now? I can find you some fruit or something later, if you feel up to it.”

Jack eyed her warily for a second or two, debating her response if he requested rum and reluctantly rejecting the idea, then nodded his thanks,
“Most hospitable of you Captain Cavendish.”
The food smelled better than anything he could remember eating in a while. Even so he couldn’t help wondering what, exactly, she was planning despite the friendly look, because he was sure that there was something. If he had been in her position he would have been.

Behind him he could hear her moving the chart as if unconcerned by whether he ate or not, but he wondered, not for the first time, why she was expending so much of her time and effort on someone who was, in effect, her prisoner. But it smelt so very tempting and he was extremely hungry, what could she be planning to do that would be changed by his not consuming her soup? He was weak enough already, starvation for the sake of it would serve no purpose, but perhaps that was what she expected?

Suspicion gave way to hunger at the first mouthful; the soup was hot, thick and tasty and the bread was as fine and soft as any he had ever seen. He concentrated on eating slowly, breaking the small loaf into bite sized pieces rather than tearing at it with his teeth as his ravenous stomach seemed to want him to do. The weight of it settled in his belly in a most comforting manner, and by the time he was emptying the last of the bowl he was feeling not only warm and comfortable but sleepy too.

Struggling throw the lethargy from him he turned to look at his host, but her eyes were locked on the compass now nestling in her hand. He could see a faint frown between her brows as she turned it this way and that, but she seemed to feel him looking at her and glanced up.
“I can’t see any reasons not return these to you immediately Captain Sparrow. I found the chart in your coat, it’s had a soaking but seems undamaged, this compass on the other hand………” she let the sentence tail away.
Then she rose, picked up the two items and brought them across to where he sat, setting them down amid the breadcrumbs beside the now empty bowl. He noticed how long and white her fingers were as she tapped the chart, and how very naked; he wondered why so rich a woman wore no jewelry. Most important perhaps was that she wore no wedding band. No wedding band meant no husband, which meant that her wealth was hers alone, and that was very interesting!

He looked up at her again, meeting eyes that might just understand what he was thinking, and smiled disarmingly. Those eyes narrowed slightly,
“The chart looks to be old, very old. Is it a family heirloom of some sort?” her words were phrased as question but her expression carried the look of a demand.
Jack was silent for a moment wondering how to answer her; somehow he didn’t think she was going to believe that explanation. At least not without some modification. He wished his head felt less lazy, but the words came from somewhere,
“That it is. Old, not a family heirloom,” he shrugged slightly and waved a careless hand, noticing in passing how much shinier his rings were now.
Then he frowned as he reviewed what he had just said and decided that it wasn’t enough. He indicated the chart with another careless, or so he hoped, flick of his hand.
“Well somebody’s heirloom no doubt, but I regret to say that ‘tis not mine. It was given to me as security you might say. For a loan,” better to stick to some approximation of the truth he thought.

Her brows rose,
“It looks as if it belongs in a museum! What could possibly be worth giving something like this as security?”
Something about her words rang a bell in his head but he couldn’t say what or why, so instead he focused on answering her question,
“A ship.”
He saw that stop her, and went on,
“And not just any ship, a very valuable one.”
He cocked his head and smiled,
“A life saving ship you might say.”
She thought carefully about that for a moment,
“I see. Your ship?”
Jack nodded briefly, the gesture was halted by a wave of dizziness and he struggled to command his tongue,
“My ship. Which is why you find me without a ship, or rather with a very much smaller one. The…” he gave some consideration to the next word, “loan is not yet expired. So the chart remains in my possession.”
She seemed to consider that, and then she inclined her head as if in acceptance.
“And the compass? Is that part of this security too?”
Jack stared into eyes that were both green and blue and wondered how to jump on that one. There was an intent look there that suggested that the compass too might be going a little far for belief. He wished he wasn’t so bloody tired, this was not an opponent who could be taken for granted,
“No, the compass is mine. I came by it as part of a …..complicated barter some time ago.”

She nodded slightly then reached out and picked up the item under discussion, watching as the needle swung, noticeably missing north in it’s spinning.
“This is a very odd compass.”
Her voice was calm but somehow implacable,
Jack smiled as if unconcerned, taking it from her fingers as he did so and placing it on the table, watching her out of the corner of his eyes while half watching to see where the jumping needle pointed now. He sighed noisily, and stroked the casing lightly,
“Nothing so interesting or valuable Captain Cavendish, merely broken. Shame it is too, for it must have been a fine instrument in its day.”
He raised his eyes to find her staring at him with that slight and disturbing smile pulling the corner of her mouth and he cursed silently, sharp as a blade this one and shamefully distrustful. He widened his smile and let it take on a salacious edge.
“But I have very pleasant memories of it’s past owner so I keep it.”
“For old time’s sake?”
Her voice was dry but there was appreciative amusement in her face. That worried him, but he nodded,
“For old time’s sake,” he agreed.

She stood a little back from him at that and crossed her arms in that ‘amuse me’ gesture he had noticed before,
“Indeed. Then I can only assume you are not much of a sailor Captain Sparrow,”
She laid emphasis on his title in a way that sent his blood pounding, suddenly knowing that he had just been wrong footed. He swore silently again but looked back at her wide eyed and innocent,
“ Oh.”
She tilted her head at him as if considering her words carefully, but her eyes never left his,
“It doesn’t point north, to that degree it is, as you say, broken as most compass go. However I doubt that it is, in fact, broken,” her voice took on a purring note that sent the hot rush into Jack’s blood, “Because it was never intended to point north, could never have done so, not reliably. As it was never constructed to show north it is therefore incorrect to say that it is broken because it doesn’t.”

For a moment Jack couldn’t think of what to say, and he struggled to buy thinking time,
“Oh, wasn’t it?” was the best he could manage, and he reached out and picked the compass up and watched the needle jump again, frowning as if confused at what he saw.
Captain Cavendish gave a small snort,
”No Captain Sparrow, it was not. Something I suspect you to be quite well aware of.”
Jack cursed clear eyed women everywhere and tried for an innocent tone,
“Oh. Why would I be? No use in a compass that doesn’t point north.”
He felt the amusement radiating off her and wondered what was coming now. Her smile was looking decidedly predatory to his tired mind, and the tone of her voice was no better,
“Well that would depend wouldn’t it? On whether it was north you were trying to find with it.”

Jack felt as if he had been hit in the gut, who was this woman and what had she been doing while he was confined here? What exactly was he up against here, some relation of Calypso sent to torment him? But why? He and Calypso understood each other, had made peace with each other in some undefined way. Barbossa might have to fear her but Jack hadn’t thought that he had needed to. He struggled to clear his reeling thoughts, Calypso would not chose this way either, not when she had the seas at her disposal, so, whatever she was, this woman was not her kin or summoning. But a witch of some kind for certain, she had to be. He let out his breath in a wistful sight,
“Ah. That it would.” He looked up at her as unconcerned as he could manage, “’Tis true that it’s previous owner told me that it had another purpose, but she never got round to explaining quite what that was.” He smiled at her again, “she was not a lady to be pressed on things she did not wish to discuss.”
She stared at him for a moment, then nodded as if agreeing or accepting something and a wave of relief started to run through him. He could feel sleep building behind his eyes; though the pain had returned as he ate it had faded away again now, muffled by a strange lack of feeling that seemed to be seeping through him. More than anything he wanted to lie down and sleep. But those clever eyes were still watching him and he had a sudden insight that this was far from over.

That he was right was confirmed almost immediately.

She reached out and picked up the compass but her eyes didn’t leave his face,
“But it is very interesting all the same,” her voice was full of an apparently disinterested curiosity, but that was given the lie by the intent look that had returned to her eyes, “when you hold it the needle points one way, when I hold it then it points in quite a different one. Yet nothing changes other than which of us holds it. Why would that be I wonder?”

Jack stared at her wide eyed, but she and the rest of the world seemed to be retreating away from him. He felt his eyelids sliding closed and blinked them open again, only to realise that though his eyes were seeing his head was making no sense of it. From a long way away her heard her speak and thought it was a curse. His eyes slid closed again and this time it was harder to open them. He felt her hand on his arm, then on the sash of the robe, tried to find words for something but he couldn’t quite work out what.

The world was suddenly too far away for him to care.

***

Out to the east the Navy was returning to the Caribbean.

During the reign of Lord Beckett,' there was no other word for it' Groves thought, only the company colours had been flown, but now there was no sight of those. The company flags too had been replaced by the union flag, and naval uniforms could again be seen on the docks and forts. In fact but for the faces no longer likely to be seen, and the scars of the hurriedly constructed graves, it could be as if it had never happened.

But Governor Swann was gone, dead at Mercer's hand so it was said, and so was Norrington. In time their replacements would arrive and life would settle down to the usual pattern, but something in the world had changed, something had been broken that could never be mended. Not least his own belief in the rightness of things, and in himself.

How had it all gone so wrong? Until that moment when the Black Pearl and the Dutchman had turned towards them he had been sure that they would triumph, and that in victory they would be proved to be right. When the seas were safe for the merchants and the wealth flowed across the islands then peace would follow and everyone would see the justice and virtue of the actions they had taken. But when Beckett had shown himself to be a broken straw, bested by a pirate already rumored dead, it had all turned to dust; and in the wake of their failure the uncomfortable truth of what had been done by honest men and in the law's name was laid bare. Groves stared at out at the horizon and wondered if they had all gone a little mad.

Now he saw the fear and hate, there was no other word for it, in the eyes of the citizens of the town and wondered what magnitude of damage had been done by one man’s ambitions. Yet still the pirates were out there. Only today he had heard rumor that the Black Pearl had been seen back in Caribbean waters, probably headed for Tortuga.

James Norrington had traded with Beckett to regain his honour and position and was dead, but Jack Sparrow who had been offered the same and had not, was alive, he wondered if there was a lesson he was to take from that.

***

Jack awoke to total darkness and lay for a moment in silent terror wondering where he was. He couldn’t remember the journey to the locker, or even the moments after the Kracken swallowed him, but he was pretty sure that it had involved darkness rather like this, deep and unrelieved.

And silent, unnaturally silent.

That hell of a prison had been dark too, but it had been noisy, racked with screams and shouts and pleas; sounds and sights that had haunted his dreams as he had fought to dodge Jones. Was he back there? He listened hard but the silence persisted, so it was unlikely. There had once been a prison though where the silence had been like this, broken only by his own moans and only then when he had allowed himself to remember. But that had been long ago and Beckett was dead.

Window, there should be a window. But there wasn’t, no glass at all, no sign of night or day just the overwhelming silence and the deep endless dark. He felt a sudden and overwhelming need to see the sky, to stand on the prow of the Pearl and watch it slicing the swell, to be out in the wind with the horizon huge and endless before him. In near panic he threw aside the sheet and struggled up, his bare feet slapping against the wood of the deck as he hurried to the door.

It wouldn’t open and he couldn’t find the lock. He swallowed the sob rising in his throat and rattled the handle, but nothing happened, so banged the door with his fist and went on banging; but still nothing happened and no one came. He took hold of the handle again and shook the door and still nothing happened. Finally he turned his back against it and leant there, chest heaving, staring into the darkness. His legs seemed to lose all strength and he started to slide towards the floor no longer able to decide of he was awake or asleep or somewhere else entirely.

It was then that the door moved.

It didn’t swing open but it moved sideways allowing a small glint of a lighter darkness to show. Something at the back of his mind cursed him for a fool, reminding him how it had slid open before, sometime before, though he couldn’t immediately remember when or why. Turning around his put his palms against the smooth surface and slid it sideways almost falling into the passage beyond in his haste to be out.

The passage way was narrow and dark too but not so dark and small glows of light lined the bulkhead. By their light he could just make out a door at the far end and he ran towards it with no thought for the other doors he passed on the way. This door opened onto a flight of steps leading up into more darkness, this time he didn’t care, somewhere up those stairs he knew that he would find the sea and the sky and he just wanted to get there.

It was three flights in the end, three flight of steps and then another door, and when he pushed this one open he was hit by the sound of the sea and the feel of a breeze. Without thought for what might be waiting he threw himself out and onto the deck.

For a moment he just stared at the night sky and smiled drawing in a deep lungful of salt air, suddenly the world wasn’t so strange any more.

The joy and relief didn’t last.

After a moment or two he dropped his eyes to look around him and his breath caught in his throat. He was on a ship alright but it wasn’t the Pearl.

Smooth decks, almost white in the moonlight, stretched in both directions. Whatever she was this ship was as long as the Pearl but she was wider and she sat lower in the water. Her triple masts were tall and her canvas, now neatly furled, was white, but the rigging was strange with ropes in places and at angles he didn’t expect to see them. The rails glinted strangely in the moonlight, set by small lights that in places extended across the pristine deck, and high above him he could see others flickering palely in the masts and amongst the sails. The helm was set at the far end and with a hurried look around him he set off across the expanse of wood towards it.

At every step he expected to be accosted, but the was nether sight nor sound of anyone. When he finally mounted the steps to the helm and looked back towards the below deck stair he realised that he was the only one on deck; no snoring crew, no carousing sailors, no watching Captain, no one. She might have been a ghost ship.

She was beautiful though, even in shadow of night he could see that; strange and silent and somehow threatening, but very beautiful. Dawn Chaser, that was what her captain had called her and from the cut of her he could see that she might just be of the stuff that could chase the dawn. He found himself grinning with the pleasure of looking at her, laid out there serene and powerful in the moonlight. In her own way she was every bit as lovely as the Pearl, but strange in ways that he couldn’t quite put his finger on.

Out here on deck the panic of earlier had melted away, and, though he was aware in some way that world was skewed and distorted in some way, it didn’t bother him any more than being drunk did. Beyond her shiny rails he could see the sea and above that the open expanse of the sky, and the wind was stirring his hair and stroking his face and he was back where he belonged. All he needed to be himself again was the wheel of ship beneath his fingers and there was a wheel for the holding.

He reached out laid his hand on the smooth wood of the wheel, heart lifting as he felt the curve of it fit to his hand. Then he noticed the rest and blinked. Strange looking charts, lit by some inner glow, more of those small lights and what looked to be a little windows. Jack reached a cautious finger forward to touch the glass but pulled his hand back swiftly as a sound came from behind him. High above him something was moving in the rigging, yet there was no one there.

Then came the voice, female, calm and authorative. Jack spun around, one hand still holding on to the reality that was the wheel, but he was still alone; yet the voice did not stop.
“Who are you?” he demanded. “Come out and show yourself woman, it’s impolite to talk to me when I can’t see you.”
But no one appeared, yet there was more lights amongst the canvas and more creaking of ropes and pulleys and he was sure he saw the canvas move.

Jack held on to the wheel, staring around in narrow eyed anger. He couldn’t believe this was happening to him again, between the Dutchman and the locker he’d had more than his life’s share of weirdness recently; and now, just when he thought he was free of it, the damned supernatural had found him again. Frantically he looked around him for a weapon but the sheer neatness of these decks defeated that intention, and the voice didn’t stop and more candleless lights lit the little windows near the wheel.

Words seemed to come from the fabric of the ship itself and he could see those glowing lights in the masts moving against the dark clouds. Then the words made some sort of sense and Jack stared flickering lights in horror before he ran for the hatch.

chapter 8 - Why is it gone?