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

The first storm arrived not two hours after they had found the remains of Jack’s flag. It was not of particular note other than the fact that it was not the time of year for it, but, as Barbossa kept telling himself, storms could strike at any time and only a mad man would see the hand of Calypso in all of them. ‘Or a man who had reason to fear her,’ a small voice whispered.

But he was not alone in thinking it; even as they battled the winds to reduce canvas he knew it to be the thought upper most in the crews minds, and knew too that a little more of his influence over them had just been bled away. He tried to concentrate on keeping the helm steady while the laughter cackled loudly in his head, telling himself that they would not turn on him just as long as he held his own against the sea. As the storm reached it zenith, and the Pearl bucked like a thing possessed, or as if she resented his hand on her, he thought he heard new voices in the wind, warning him that mutiny was a catching disease. As the sea washed over the decks they crowed in glee that none would save him and that he would come to know the locker again. The cold of the spray was nothing to the chills that threat produced.

Then, when the lightening was at its brightest and harshest, he thought he saw her standing at the prow; she was smiling and her painted teeth echoed the darkness of the seas below them. He squinted through the rain telling himself it was naught, just a shadow, but her outline remained there for a moment or two, and her eyes met his in a long and knowing look before her form shivered and was gone, melting into the wind.

Barbossa knew that he had been warned.

Yet it seemed that the end was not come upon him, for as she faded so the winds shifted allowing him to turn the battered Pearl towards the shelter of an unnamed island, a scrap of land that was little more than a dot on the map. The wind was full astern now and the tattered black canvas strained as if knowing that they were headed towards safety, the crew hurried to trim and balance the sheets, anxious to make best use of it. For a moment their resentment was lost in the unexpected relief and the growing hope that disaster would be averted, at least this time. Even so as the shoreline came in sight, black rocks as jagged and predatory as a hellhounds teeth, the suspicion crept back into their eyes and Barbossa wondered if even this respite was a part of Calypso’s vengeance.

But once within the shelter of the headlands the seas calmed, the winds eased still further, and the anchor found a biting point that steadied and held the ship a safe distance from the waiting rocks.
“We’ll bide here awhile gentlemen,” Barbossa said, striving to suggest without words that it had been his intention all along. “Once the storm is past we’ll go ashore and seek water, no reason to be passing up the chance given that its’ presented itself.”
Several of the crew cast him uncertain glances but it was Pintel who, as usual, spoke what many were no doubt thinking,
“With respect captain,” his tone held noting of the kind, “If we are to catch Captain Jack before he beats us to the prize then there is no time to loose. We have water enough, why should we take the chance of him finding the fountain while we tarry here? He already has a start on us so I says we move on soon as the wind eases.”

“Do ye now?” Barbossa struggled to stay calm, “and where would ye be a going to? Tis right enough that I know,” he smiled as he stressed the ‘I’ just a mite, “where he is likely to be heading, but to find the prize itself we need the chart. Which means finding Jack, and he never does anything the straight way. So there be no knowing where the finding of him will take us, and that being the way of it we take on water while there is the opportunity. Or would ye rather die o' thirst before we find those other waters we be seeking?”
Even from this distance he could see the rage building in Pintel’s eyes and wondered what the effect of running the man through on the others would be. One look at Marty’s set face, and the frown on brow of the nincompoop in a hat standing behind him, persuaded Barbossa that they might not be what he desired. He took a deep breath and waved a casual hand towards the open seas,
“Sparrow be without a ship of his own, ‘tis true that be unlikely to stop him but it will slow him down a mite,” he heard the bitterness seeping into his voice again and bit back the words, and, smiling slightly into Pintel’s glare, he found an easier tone, “but he will need time to find his way and we need to allow him that. So what say ye gentlemen, a trip ashore and some time spent studying the maps?”

For a moment they said nothing and he thought he had lost it, but Pintel just exchanged a sly look with Raggetti and then the pair walked away. Marty watched them go for a moment then looked back at Barbossa with narrowed eyes, before shrugging in apparent agreement and sauntering away too. The two he didn’t know watched him for a moment longer, as if trying to understand a puzzle, then they followed Marty.

A squall of wind swept Barbossa's hat from his head and, as he bent to retrieve it, he saw her shadow on the wet deck.
“This time Barbossa, but fa how much longer?” her voice crooned.
He straightened swiftly, ignoring the twinge in his back as he did so with the ease of long practice, and the sudden stripping of flesh from the hand that held the hat with more effort. He turned to face her with his rage already boiling, hand hovering toward the sword he knew would be of no help, readying himself for the verbal battle.

But she was already gone.

***

For a moment Jack just stood and stared at the newcomer with wide and disbelieving eyes. It had not been that long since he had lived beside another female in male dress, and so should be accustomed to the sight, but it was also true that Elizabeth Swann had never looked quite like this one did in it.

To be fair the clothes themselves were different, this woman’s dark coloured breeches were far better, and closer, fitting than those common amidst the royal navy, or the pirate fraternity, and her shirt was less voluminous. A fact made more obvious by her lack of a coat and the way the wide belt pulled the fine and brightly coloured fabric, it looked to be silk, towards the sweeping contours of the body beneath it. No attempt was being made to hide those curves, no attempt at all, and they wouldn’t have succeeded if there had been. Taller than Elizabeth, near his own height, she had a woman’s body not that of a girl. Jack, knowing himself to be, to some degree, her hostage, struggled to keep is eyes on her face; even in the circumstances that was not easy.

Not that her face made matters any more comfortable. In all his wandering he didn’t think he had ever seen a woman as beautiful as this one; so beautiful, so perfect, that it didn’t seem possible that she was real. Her skin was as white as ever Elizabeth’s had ever been, and as flawless as only someone who had never known hardship, or the pox, could be. If her ship hadn’t told him of her wealth, and somehow he already knew that this was her ship, then that skin and the long, glowing, hair would have done so. And clean, she was most unnaturally clean, so clean that it was impossible to imagine that she was ever anything else. No, he’d never seen her living like, she could have been a painting or a statute from one of the great houses, and she had aristocracy stamped in every line of her.

Jack felt his nerves tighten further at the realisation of the consequences that might follow as a result of that if she thought he had offered her any insult. Somewhere, no doubt close by, she had a family, or crew; men who would not bother with the inconvenience of the law if she told them he had assaulted her and to string him up. Certainly not when the brand was there on his forearm for all to see.

Which made his absence of clothes even more a handicap.

Yet if that was the case why was she here alone? This visit didn’t fit with the idea of an aristocratic lady any more than those clothes, or, he realised with a slight shock, the haze of colour painted on the skin around her eyes. Nor for that matter did her composure, her lack of reaction to his nakedness or the faint, challenging, and rather quizzical smile she was wearing, a look that told him she was both watching him and waiting for something.

It seemed he was faced with something of a puzzle and one he needed to solve quickly.

Yet she was a sight that he could spend any amount of time studying in any other circumstances, so beguiling that he was suddenly glad of his weakness and the pain in his head. But however prepossessing she might be it seemed likely that she was to some degree his captor, and so he could not let her appearance rob him of his wits, nor grant her too much advantage. One look at her eyes told him that would be a serious mistake.

For all her obvious wealth and breeding there was something about her that spoke of authority rather than pampered ease. Not least the lack of fear in her. Elizabeth had lived a sheltered life and yet she known fear when they first met, though she had done her best to hide it and her best had not been bad at all. Wicked and unkind tongue the girl had had shown herself to possess from the start. But Jack knew well what that shadow looked like, had seen it often enough, but it wasn’t in this woman, not at all. So, whatever else she might be, she was confident of her weapons and her authority.

Oh yes, this expensive ship was hers right enough.

Which meant that it was a duel between them and that he couldn’t afford to drop his guard so easily, not if he was to come out of the business with a whole skin. Time to take back some of the advantage, at least as much as was possible in the circumstances. Maybe his pitiful situation would prove his best defence, though those lovely eyes didn’t seem to say much of sympathy for a wounded man.

Best strike terms with her as soon as he could.

He lowered the sheet rope with a slight and careless smile and crossed in front of her to sit cross-legged, and, he hoped, obviously unconcerned, on the bunk, tossing his only means of defence down beside him and resting his hands on his knees. The move meant that if she wanted to talk to him she would have cross the threshold and in doing so would, hopefully, leave the door open.

Which was what she did, though her smile as she entered the room suggested that she had recognised the ploy. But she said nothing about it, simply propping herself against the table and studying him casually, the smile still in place. Her hands never left her belt though, and despite the absence if any obvious weapon he was sure that there was one there somewhere.

Jack smiled his most charming smile, resolutely ignoring the increase of pain that brought, and waited.

***

Elanor watched the man settle himself on the bed, saw the slight narrowing of his eyes that betrayed the pain as he did so, and wondered where to start.

Awake the man seemed to be as much of a conundrum as he had been asleep; his pallor, and the strained look around his eyes, told her he was hurting every bit as much as she expected him to be, but those same eyes were alert and watchful. Their deep colour, and the shadowing kohl, made it hard to read any expression in them but she could see but the caution from here. The smile he turned in her direction was as charming and unthreatening as any she had ever seen. Even the flash of gold and silver didn’t succeed in planting a threat in that smile, for which she gave him full marks. Whoever, and whatever, he might be it seemed clear that he had himself well in hand.

Yet his composure and apparent submission was surprising and suggested either total despair or desperation, or that the situation might not be as novel to him as it was to her; not a pleasant thought. She wasn’t sure what she had expected to face when she came down here, but some demand for explanation, for recompense, had seemed likely; this calm, restrained patience hadn’t been.

Nor had she expected him to be afraid.

Watching him settle himself she was surprised by the stillness of him, every muscle suborned to the caution she could read in his eyes, and, despite the elaborate unconcern he was at pains to show, she was reminded of something wild taken unawares and uncertain of whether to run or hide or fight. His obvious fear for his own safety, he could have intended only one use for that twisted sheet, and the pain she could see in him, also stirred her guilt. But her rational mind warned her that whatever her offences against him they did not offset the threat he might yet present; she resolved not to return those odd weapons to him just yet.

But he was no threat for the present; even in the moments since he had faced her in the doorway he had grown paler under the tan, and the hands that rested so casually on his knee still betrayed a slight tremor as if staying upright was demanding nearly more effort than he had available. The bruises were dark and obvious now, extending all the way down the right hand side of his torso and his ribs would be aching badly. He would be feeling cold too, the hatches were open and the night air was beginning to penetrate down to the cabins; a naked man, still weak from that blow to his head, could not be comfortable.

Even so she could not allow his weakened condition or guilt to lead her into taking foolish risks, while there was no need for open hostility she would need to deal with him firmly. She might be the cause of his injury but she could not let that beguile her into being too accommodating, the ground rules must be clear from the beginning. The most important of them being that she was the Chaser’s captain and that she expected the respect and obedience that went with that while he was aboard. Even so his lack of bluster inclined her to be as gentle as the situation allowed, so for that matter did self interest, there no point in raising tensions that could be avoided. He had asked the question first so she would answer it.

She indicted herself with a wave of her hand,
“Cavendish, Captain.”
She saw him nod slightly as if confirming something to himself,
“Your turn,” she prompted with an inquiring tilt of her head.
“Sparrow, Captain.” He replied with a reappearance of that intriguing smile.

For a moment there was silence between them as each studied the other in light of this new information, Elanor at least wasn’t quite sure what to make of what she saw. She’d taken more notice of his clothes than his person when she had brought him here but now she came to look at him there were some things that maybe she should have paid more attention to. Not least the greater development of the muscles in his right arm and shoulder relative to his left, as if he had been accustomed to using that blade she had found on him. His hair was dark, like his eyes, and almost to his waist, and his tan had the reddish tint that suggested it owed as much to wind as sun. His hands and feet looked toughened, as if he was used to heavy work and had often gone barefoot, and the tattoos on his arms were cruder and less well defined than was usually the case. While he appeared to be strong and healthy enough he also looked like he hadn’t had a good meal in some time.

Food. He would be hungry by now, headache or not. A meal would be a useful icebreaker, and hopefully a reassuring one. Maybe he would feel more comfortable discussing what had happened when he was fed; her grandmother had always said never to overlook the relationship between the comfort of man’s stomach and the tenor of his temper. But then her grandmother had been as odd as her parents. Not that odd meant foolish. Food would also present the opportunity to administer something to help the pain and keep him good tempered.

“Well Captain Sparrow,”
She granted the title with careful courtesy, though the little boat the Chaser had destroyed barely warranted it. Which meant that if he was truly Captain Sparrow then somewhere he had another ship, and possibly a more formidable one. A ship that might be closer to hand than anticipated given Aridane’s unusual slip up in seeing him; definitely a thought to be borne in mind, along with the considerations about how he might have misplaced it. Questions about that, however, would wait. She let her eyes flick over him again,
“Your clothes are not yet ready, so I’d better find you something to wear given that evening seems to be getting a little chilly,”
That brought a quick frown but he said nothing,
“Then a meal seems to be in order, we can discuss the situation over that. If that’s alright by you, that is?”

He now seemed thoroughly taken aback though he hid it quickly enough,
“Very gracious of you Captain Cavendish. Though I must have slept longer than I thought if it is already evening.”
The voice was warm and carefree enough but the anxiety had slid into his eyes again.
“More than twelve hours.” She replied calmly and nodded towards the bandage on his brow,
“You took a nasty crack to the head, though Ariadne says it’s not all down to that, it seems that you’ve not slept well recently.”
It was not quite a question, but it was an invitation, and he ducked it, while a strange look, both wary and desperate, flitted across his face,
“That I’ve not,” the look disappeared and the smile returned, “life has been a trifle busy of recent weeks.”
It seemed as if he expected her to say something about that, and when she didn’t he appeared to be both surprised and relieved.

Then he something else seemed to occur to him, and his earlier stillness returned in force. For a moment he paused, then, as if deciding something, he leant slightly towards her, the charms tinkling slightly as the heavy mane of his hair swung forward over his shoulders,
“Aridane, she would be one of your crew I expect?”
There was an oddly calculating look in his eyes and the tone of his voice had shifted subtly.

Elanor was taken aback not only by the question but the strangeness of his phrasing. It almost seemed as if he thought Ariadne was a person, but if he did then he could have no knowledge of who, and what, it was that he had collided with. Yet there could be few people in the world who wouldn’t know what type of ship, and captain, would be sailing these waters at the moment. Caution whispered not to tell him more than she had too,
“You might put it like that I suppose. Though I’m not sure she would if you asked her.” She let her smile widened a little, “assuming that you could.”
Let him make of that what he would.

“Ah.”
He sat back again looking at her through narrowed eyes, his shoulders tense and his face set. Then he seemed to force himself to relax, and raised his hands from his knees to rub his arms,
“You are right about the chill, Captain Cavendish, I’d not say no to a shirt and some breeches,” he inclined his head towards in apparent thanks, “as for my other effects…” he let the sentence trail off, but he watched her more closely than at any time before.

Elanor noted the expression, it resolved any doubts about the status of those effects, they were weapons and he wanted them back badly. Not surprising given his unexpected fear for his safety, but a wish she could not give into. But nor did she want him searching the ship for them, not when she was becoming increasingly aware of her own fatigue, so she let her smile widen yet further and pushed herself away from the table to stand just in front of the bunk letting her hands drift to her belt as she did so; it seemed that he understood that gesture as well as she did,
“They are quite safe,” she paused fractionally while they made eye contact, “….in the strong room. I will of course return them before you leave,” the ‘but not before’ didn’t need to be said, it was obvious from the momentary setting of his face that he understood her meaning.

He nodded still holding her eyes with his, his smile solidifying to a baring of teeth
“Of course Captain Cavendish,”
Then the smile softened again and took on a devilish edge.
“ Strong room eh? My compliments, seems ‘tis well prepared this ship of yourn. Does it have a name?”
Elanor had moved towards the door, but turned at threshold she turned to face him again,
“It does Captain Sparrow, it’s called the Dawn Chaser.”
She looked back at him, searching for some spark of recognition in his eyes, but there wasn’t any there. What she could see was appreciation, though wether for herself or the ship she couldn’t judge.
“Ah,” he said with nod of his head, “ a fine name, and she’s a fine ship I’m sure.”
“Be in no doubt about that.” Elanor responded dryly.
“And her Captain does she have any other name than Cavendish?” he looked up at her disarmingly.
Elanor fought a sudden desire to smile, he was like a small boy trying to find the location of the treats without being seen to try; then he moved and her eyes were caught by that unpleasant looking brand and she reminded herself that he was nothing of the sort. Still no need to be hostile just,if knowing her name made him feel safer why not, it was obvious he knew nothing of who she was.

But then nor was there any reason to surrender the advantage, she crossed her arms again and stared him down,
“I went first last time Captain Sparrow, your turn now.” He voice left no room for argument.
He watched her for a long moment then inclined his head graciously,
“So you did.” He looked at her steadily, “Jack, my name is Jack Sparrow. Captain Jack Sparrow.”
He said it almost defiantely as if he was afraid it might mean something to her and Elanor made a mental note to talk to Aridane about it while he was getting dressed, for the moment she just inclined her head in recognition,
“Elanor, my name is Elanor Cavendish. Captain Elanor Cavendish.”

She saw the humour spark in his eyes, but nothing more, before she turned and headed to the galley.

***

“What’s wrong with Barbossa?” Marty asked as they sat over the rum ration later that evening. “He’s behaving strange and getting stranger. Captain Jack was strange, but not like this. It’s like he’s somewhere else most of the time, not with us at all. ”
“He’s going mad,” Pintel grunted, “coming back from the dead’s not natural, done something to his mind.”
Raggetti nodded sagely,
“Eternity is bound to mark a man, Captain Barbossa is probably feeling the hand of God on his shoulder.”
Pintel shot him a sly look,
“More like the hand of Calypso. The sea witch won’t forgive him for putting her in chains.” He grinned coldly, “stupid thing to do, she hates the Pirate Lords for imprisoning her, I’ll wager Barbossa is pretty high up her list of those to be revenged on after that additional insult.”

“But Captain Jack is a Pirate Lord too, she didn’t seem to mind him.”
That was the darker of the two newcomers, the ones that Pintel had his suspicious of, the way they hung around listening to other people’s conversations weren’t natural. He leered at him,
"Aye but he’s Jack Sparrow, see, and she was trapped in female form. Captain Jack and the ladies, well that’s a sight to see.” He shook his head, “don’t know how he gets away with it, not with no more than the odd slap.”
“Aye, Captain Jack knows how to get around the ladies. It’s the charm I suppose.” Raggetti sounded despondent.
“But Captain Jack’s the one gone mad.” The fairer of the two spoke up, the one who never seemed to know what was going on, “That’s what Captain Barbossa said, that’s why we had to leave him behind. “ he looked around him, “that’s what you said. Captain Jack came back from the Locker mad.”
“Well he were nat never what you’d call normal.” Marty said thoughtfully, “but he seemed to get less odd in the last days. Still strange, but not so strange. Just Captain Jack strange rather than mad man strange.”

The fair one looked more confused than usual,
“So why did Captain Barbossa say we needed to leave him behind?” he asked.
Pintel, Raggetti and Marty exchanged looks, then leaned in closer as Pintel voted himself spokesman again,
“Well Captain Barbossa and Captain Jack were not what you might call soul mates.”
“That they weren’t” Raggetti snickered. “Not since Captain Jack shot him.”
Pintel frowned at his friend,
“Not since before then.”
The darker one of the odd two nodded,
“That’s why you left him behind last time.”
“Well yes, and then again no.” Pintel seemed to think for a moment, “See the Pearl was Captain Jack’s ship and Barbossa was his mate. But Barbossa didn’t like the way he worked, didn’t think it were profitable enough. Captain Jack was young see, and what you might call a novice as a pirate, for all that his father is Keeper of the code. Barbossa thought he’d make a better captain, but, with Captain Jack’s family connections so to speak, he couldn’t leave him alive to tell tales.”
“Dangerous connections.” Raggetti reiterated with a nod, then fell silent before Pintel’s glare,
“So when Captain Jack told us the bearings for the treasures of the Isle de Muerta, he abandoned him on a tiny island to die.”
“But he got away.” Raggetti added forgetting the glare of a moment before.
“How?” The fair one demanded.
Pintel shrugged and sent another warning glare towards Raggetti,
“No one knows. But he was always tricky were Captain Jack, even then and young as he were. He had a funny way of thinking.”
“Devious.” Raggetti chipped in quickly.
This time Pintel just nodded,
“Aye, devious. Oft times you couldn’t see why he was doing what he be doing, until what he wanted to happen just sort of..... happened. It was like he was playing that game, what do they call it….”
“Chess? Marty suggested,
“Aye that’s it! Chess. Like he was playing chess, but with people as pieces. Got it right more often than he got it wrong too, but Barbossa didn’t trust that, didn’t sit well with his view of things. So Captain Jack had to go.”

“But he came back?” The fair one asked again.
Pintel nodded,
“Aye the treasure was cursed ye see. So when Captain Jack got hold of Captain Turner, as is, old Bootstrap's son, he saw a way to get Barbossa to dance to his tune and to get the Pearl back. But Poppet, Mrs Turner as she is now, got in the way and Captain Jack he had to get them all out of it. So he shot Captain Barbossa and left him for dead.”
“Dead he were too,” Raggetti again, “until She brought him back.”
“Aye,” Pintel nodded, “she brought him back. But he was never the same man since, and he’s getting worse.”

“So why did we leave Captain Jack behind?” the fair one was still confused.
Pintel frowned at him,
“Captain Barbossa didn’t trust Captain Jack before and now he hates him. But he’s afeared of him too, and that never does anything for Captain Barbossa’s temper.”
Raggetti nodded,
“ Captain Jack he ain’t a boy any longer – see. Tricky boy is a tricky man now and that’s different.” He smirked, “Didn’t think Captain Jack had it in him to kill him but got shot for his error. Barbossa’s not so sure he could deal with him now. Not so sure that She won’t side with him if he tries to kill him.”
“So he left him behind.” Marty chipped in, and shrugged, “could have been an accident, who’s to say.”

The fair one frowned again,
“And we left him behind because….”
Pintel gave a grimace that might have been a smile,
“Barbossa is right about one thing, Jack ain’t a boy any more but he’s still tricky and he’s still got that streak of somethin' strange. Who knows what he’d do if we found the Fountain and someone else wanted it?”
Raggetti nodded again,
“Wanted the Dutchman real bad, but gave it to Turner anyways. No saying what he might do with the Fountain, not any more.” He sounded sad.
“Aye.” Marty nodded and looked at the two newcomers, “as we said Captain Jack is strange.” He took a swallow of his rum, “now we’ve got another one.” He looked across at Pintel and Ragetti, “so what do we do about it?”
The other two exchanged a sly look,
“Wait, we wait.” Pintel said. “When we find Captain Jack, or where he is, we think about it again.”
“Review our options at an appropriate time, so to speak.” Raggetti chipped in.
“Aye, at an appropriate time.” Pintel agreed with a leer. “Who knows maybe it will be Barbossa’s time to have an accident.”

chapter 6 - A wonderful trick