Never had a bunk been so inviting, well not an empty one anyway. He had barely been aware of his surroundings when Captain Elanor had helped him onto the bed, did something to the little sun in the bulkhead and left him to darkness.

Sleep came quickly and the dreams it brought were vivid, too vivid in the end and he awoke with a start, throwing himself to the floor in panic convinced that he was being nibbled to death by crabs. For a moment he lay in the gloom and wondered where he was; then slowly memory, and the aches, returned, and with a groan and a curse he dragged himself up from the floor and back onto the comfort of the bunk. The nibbling seemed to be nothing more than the movement of the strange, soft, fabric of the shirt she had given him against his skin, but the fear was slow to drain away.

For a while he lay and listened to his own heartbeat, trying to imagine that he could also hear the lapping of the waves against the hull, reminding himself that above him was a deck and sails and the sea, not the arid sands of the locker, nor yet a scaffold and noose, so his situation could have been worse. Though it could also have been better. Without sight of the sky there was no way of judging how long he had slept but his eyes still felt gritty as if it hadn’t been long enough. He was tired, sore and too sober to be comfortable in the circumstances. He moaned quietly to himself, turning onto his side and pulling the pillow around his head, rum, he wanted rum he decided, but it seemed unlikely that he was going to get any, or anything else come to that, liquor appeared to be another necessity, like sailors, missing from this ship. Now his head was starting to ache again

As he lay and waited for sleep to return Jack considered what she had told him about herself, the ship and the ghost. Not a lot now he came to review it, but on balance he thought that what she had said was nothing less than the truth, though certainly not all of it. He had seen no sign of other crew yet the canvas was perfectly trimmed and balanced and the decks were as clean as if they had been scrubbed by an army; so somewhere there must be others and if they were hiding there would be a reason for it. What that reason might be was not clear for the moment, but it could mean that she still intended him some form of harm, despite the fact that she had, so far, confined herself to mild threats.

That thought brought back her words about this Ariadne. Whatever, and whosoever, this female ghost was it obviously paid him to tread carefully around her. Particularly if it was true that he wouldn’t see her coming, and for the moment it seemed safest to assume that it was the truth, given that Captain Elanor was yet to be caught out in a lie. But he had meant it when he had said that he wished her no harm. Harming her, even threatening her, would not be wise while he knew so little of the ship, even if he had been so inclined, and he had to admit to himself that at the present moment in time he wasn’t. She, however, might be less restrained if provoked.

‘What have I done to deserve this’ he thought sleepily, ‘seems wherever I turn I'm hip deep in bloodthirsty madams, I lose one and here is another to take her place.’
But this one had something he was lacking, a ship, and, haunted though it might be, it was also as strong and fast as any he had ever seen. Not that he had ever seen anything like it, and he still hadn’t worked out quite how a ship of this size could be sailed with a crew small enough to be hidden. Useful trick however it was managed, but it made him wonder just what kind of vessel it was that he had been hauled aboard. Were there other ghosts crewing it through the long nights, and if so what was their story and what part did they play in hers? He shuddered at the thought and wondered if he really wanted to know. Just when he had hoped that he was done with things not of this world, at least until he was one himself, he was suddenly in the middle of another supernatural event.

But perhaps he could live with a ghost if it would take him where he wanted to go, and, with a bit of effort and a lot of his legendary charm, he might be able to persuade this captain that a trip to find the fountain would be of benefit to all concerned. Then again she was no ordinary woman it must be remembered, this one was the captain of a ship, a large ship, and so far she had seemed more resistant to said charm than was desirable. Rather like Anamaria now he thought about it. Jack turned over and chewed on his lip as he stared up into the darkness, pity that, on all fronts. But with a little patience who knew what might be achieved?

He let his mind wander to some of the things that could be achieved with patience, which might be achieved with patience… that might be explored with patience…

He was smiling when sleep returned.

***

The trip ashore had been uneventful except for the dafter of the two new crew falling into the pool, and the ensuing arguments about who was going to haul him out. That he didn’t swim was not unusual for a pirate but still Pintel had set it as a black mark against him and spent the trek back to the boats muttering about what he might have done to water and casting black looks in the hapless, and woebegone, crewman’s direction. Of course the wet breeches were in part to blame for the resentment but, as all hands were needed to help haul the water back, someone had to be sent in to pull him out and his friend had seemed no better equipped to deal with the situation than the one who had fallen in. Marty had just rolled his eyes, content that no one was going to ask him to join in the rescue, and Raggetti had endured the soaking with a forlorn silence, leaving Pintel to be angry for the both of them.

By the time they made the boats the sun was high and hot and the steam was rising in a steady stream from the wetter members of the party. The anchored Pearl shimmered like a mirage in the offshore haze.

As they hauled the barrels up to the Pearl's deck he could see the captain standing in almost the same position he had been when they had left, the monkey sat on the rail beside him hunched and unhappy. Marty hadn’t known Barbossa in the curse days, well other than the few glimpses he’d caught of him between being captured and being locked in the brig, but the man’s posture told him all he needed to know. Barbossa was near rigid with fear.

Marty had sought out Nils as soon as the others were back aboard,
“Has the captain moved while we’ve been a away?”
The man shrugged and then shook his head,
“Na. He jast stood there, nat sure what he be watching but it’s nathing anyone else cant see.”
Marty looked back towards Barbossa and nodded slowly,
“He’s looking for her,” he said.
“Her?”
“Calypso. He’s afeared she will sneak up on him and send him back to wherever she took him from.”
Nils gave him a startled look,
“Will she?”
“She might. Who knows what she’ll do. She was angry, and maybe she expected the Pearl to go down with the Dutchman. Now captain Jack is gone she may decide to try again.”
“Then why did we leave captain Jack behind?”
Marty shrugged,
“Made sense when Barbossa explained it but now…….?”

“So whaat are we going to do?”
“Hope the captain is wrong and that she leaves us alone. Until…..”
“Until whaat?”
Marty shot him a sideways glance,
“We need to do something else.”

***

Jack had slept deeply once sleep returned. He dreamt again but this time the dreams had been pleasant, more than pleasant, and he was glad that her opening of the door awoke him before she shook him; if it hadn’t they might have found themselves at embarrassing cross purposes and there was little doubt in his mind that he would have come out the worse of the confusion. But the years of needing to wake quickly rescued him from the possible consequences and he was prepared for it by the time her hand had touched his shoulder. He contented himself with a deep sigh and looking sleepily, and hopefully disarmingly, up at her. The gesture did not appear to move her in any way and the second sigh was one of genuine regret, she was a pleasant sight to awaken too after all. Though he noticed that she seemed pale and tired as if her sleep too had been disturbed.

She had dropped something onto his legs and turned away almost as soon as he opened his eyes, heading back to the still open door as if other, more important, business called to her.
“Make what use you want of the ship’s facilities, you know where things are and everything you need is there. Your own shirt will be better for another hour or two in the sun but this should fit, leave the dirty one on the bunk for now. I’ll be back to show you to the galley when I’ve finished my business with Ariadne.”
Then she was gone.

Jack stared dumbly at her vanishing back, rendered speechless more by her use of the word dirty in relation to his shirt than anything else. He turned over and stared at the new one in astonishment before carefully examined the one he was still wearing to see if he had bled on it in the night, he hadn’t and the whiteness of it seemed dazzling to him. What kind of place did she come from that she expected to him to want to change a shirt worn for no more than a few hours, and most of those asleep?

But he had found himself more than willing to make use of that wonderful hot waterfall given the bruises he had added to his collection in the fall from the bunk, in the end he’d dallied too long and he had been caught at a disadvantage, shirt over his head, when she returned. He had glowered at her, wondering if she had done it deliberately, but she had seemed unaware of his sulk, though her prodding of the gash in his head might have been her revenge.

Whatever her longer term intensions regarding him it seemed that she intended to administer succour for his current hurts, for she had removed the bandage, wiped the wound with a little cloth taken from a small package she brought with her, then replaced the dressing and bandage with a gentle care that seemed at odds with her steely manner. That done she had explored the bruises on his face with careful fingers, then, without asking permission, she pulled his shirt up to inspect those on his chest, sighing a little at the sight of them. He had ventured a knowing smile at her, but found it wasted for she seemed to be lost in her own thoughts.

To his great surprise Jack found himself tolerating the mauling in silence, just watching her face as she probed his ribs, unsure whether the frown between her eyes was for his injury or something else. He wished he knew what was going through her mind as she prodded and poked him, because whatever it was it didn’t seem to give her much joy. He did his best to keep the discomfort from his face, unwilling to let her see how much it hurt for fear that she might use it against him. For a moment he wished that she was like Elizabeth whose every emotion had been clear to see and easy to read.

Something was making her uncomfortable to be sure, but he didn’t think it hadn’t anything to do with his person; he’d never come across a respectable woman so unconcerned by naked flesh. He felt a return of his earlier unease; whatever it was that set her more than comely face in such forbidding lines might yet have a bearing on his ultimate fate. It seemed from her care of him that she was set on keeping him alive, no plans to sell his body to the authorities for the handsome price on his deceased head then; but there were those who would prefer to purchase him alive, and that was not a pleasant thought at all. Yet somehow he didn’t think such betrayal figured in her current plans, for it to have done so she would need to know who he was and he rather thought that she didn’t. Nor did she seem to understand the significance of the brand on his wrist, and that was very interesting.

Elanor had been surprised at his silence while she examined him; she had expected some show of pain, probably an exaggerated one, aimed at wringing some recompense from her. Yet he sat in stoical silence, staring solemnly at her and not even wincing when her fingers probed the rib that Ariadne had identified as cracked. But the tension in his shoulders and the sudden rise of his chest as her fingers found the sore spots betrayed his pain. With the kohl gone from his eyes he looked more vulnerable and the twitching of the muscles as he suppressed a wince was easier to read, but the dark chocolate stare was giving away as little as he could manage. She was surprised by a momentary urge to brush the mass of braided hair from his face, as if he were a brave child rather than a grown man who wandered around with a sword and pistol strung around him. And a shrunken head, she must not forget the shrunken head, Aridane had been emphatic that that was what dangled from his scabbard; who for goodness sake wandered around wearing a shrunken head!

But if Ariadne’s speculations were right then there would be nothing childlike about him and she was suddenly glad both of certain aspects of her own history and of the tasar in her belt. Yet this very dangerous man, and it seemed likely he was that, was perhaps the only link to home, and she could not allow herself to lose sight of the fact that she might need him every bit as much as he might need her.

Ariadne had been adamant that there was no point in trying to decide whether this was hallucination or some distortion of reality as no amount of hypothesis testing was going to prove it one way or another. She had no choice but to behave as if it were real until some evidence to the contrary arose, even then it was hard to see what she could do but go with events as if they were. So Jack Sparrow, whoever and whatever he was, was both her key to what had happened and her only buffer against a world that would be alien to her. She just couldn’t help feeling that it would be better if he didn’t know that. Yet she couldn’t see a way that she could manage to hide it and still get the information that she so desperately needed.

Finally satisfied she had turned away from him and picked up the discarded shirt,
“They must hurt. I’ll find you some more painkillers when you have had something to eat.”
Jack looked at her sideways, wondering what painkillers were, and whether the word kill was in any way meaningful.
“Kind of you Captain Cavendish but I’m well enough,” he replied as politely as his anxiety allowed, “I’ve had worse.”
She turned and regarded him narrowly at that,
“Have you? What a very adventurous life you must lead. But there is no point in suffering pain for the sake of it,” she looked at him closely as if struck by a novel idea, “not unless your religion requires it.”
He smiled slightly at that and shook his head,
“Religion and I are barely on nodding terms,” the smile widened, “unless business requires it of course.”
A wary look was her response to that,
“Business? What business would that be?” she said.
He waved a hand vaguely,
“I am a man of many and varied interests luv.”
“Such as lending ships and borrowing ancient artefacts?” the wariness was joined by suspicion, “what do your interests add up to Captain Sparrow.”He tilted his head and pouted slightly while he considered that, then he shot her a look that could only be described as devilish,
“I’m an adventurer you might say,” his hands fluttered as if indicating something, “a seeker of valuable trifles.”
He registered her raised brows and his smile took on a slightly mocking air,
“Some of the adventures being more profitable than others.”
She seemed to consider that for a moment then returned the smile,
“And what would others call you?”
The surprise that brought was real enough and the smile died, his face taking on a set look,
“Very good,” he said softly then his gaze drifted down to his wrist, the edge of the brand just visible below the sleeve. The look in his eyes was hard, “Does it matter?”

She saw the look and the slightly bitter twist to his mouth and decided that Ariadne’s hypothesis was almost certainly right, even though she could find no record of him, but perhaps not the whole story.
“Not for the moment, that will wait," she got to her feet and picked up the discarded shirt, "but breakfast shouldn’t.”

***

They had set sail as the sun reached its highest point.

Barbossa had dragged himself from his reverie long enough to get them underway but as the sails swelled and the island shoreline sank into the distance silence had fallen upon him again. He had only roused himself when the monkeys begging reminded him that the little creature needed feeding, then he had settled himself close to the helm and fed it fruit and the endless supply of nuts that none of the crew could remember bringing aboard. While he fed the monkey he smiled and crooned to it but seemed oblivious to the crew, the ship or the sea. When it had eaten its fill and hopped up onto his shoulder his eyes took on that frowning, yet far away, look again, and, though he stayed where he was, he resumed his staring out to sea.

He remained that way even when the first cry of ‘sail’ went up.

For a while the crew did nothing just gathered at the rail with the tension stretching while they waited to see what manner of ship it was and whether it was prey or predator. Barbossa neither turned his head nor spoke a word, not even when the second ship was sited. Once they knew they were Navy vessels there was no time to be lost.

As before it was Pintel who grasped the nettle, with Raggetti at his heels he approached Barbossa carefully,
“The crew was wondering what you wanted us to do sir?”
That caught the captain’s attention, though he seemed a little confused about the reason for the approach.
“Were ye now?”
“Aye sir. Two ships together, Navy it seems. What do we do? Run or fight?”
Raggetti dipped his head and squinted up at his captain with a mix of nervousness and sly challenge,
“Not likely to be carrying anything of value to us captain,” he ventured.
Pintel nodded his agreement,
“Aye that likely be the case captain. Plenty of time to tweak the Navy’s nose when we’ve found that treasure you mentioned.”
Raggetti gave his comrade an approving look, and nudged his arm
“Aye, from a position of strength so to speak.”
Pintel grinned unpleasantly,
“Like before,” he added.
Raggetti nodded and giggled.

The sound seemed to wake something in Barbossa, the far away look faded and he roared at them,
“Scurvy dogs!” he reached for his sword, “I’ll not be having cowards aboard my ship. Run from a fight would ye? “ He raised his voice, “Mr Cotton steer a course towards those ships, the rest of ye to stations and prepare to engage.”
Pintel and Raggetti stared at him in shock as Marty came up behind them,
“Captain there’s two of them” he said urgently, “and at this distance they’ll have plenty of time to prepare and manoeuvre once they see us coming. They’ll catch us between them and crack us like a nut.”
“Aye like we did the Endeavour” Raggetti added.
Barbossa grinned and shook his head,
“Nay, I’ve a move or two up me sleeve. A fight is what we needs mateys, clear our heads and remind them that the sea has no master, no more do we.”

Marty regarded him with wide eyes for a moment before trading looks with the other two,
“A fight would be a fine thing,” Pintel said with a grimace, “but maybe this ain’t the one to pick? Two of them and the Pearl still needing repairs. There be better odds another time captain.”
Barbossa scowled and drew his sword a little from its scabbard.
“Ye be starting to sound like Jack Sparrow Mr Pintel, perhaps ye no longer have the stomach to sail with me? Be that it, ye lost your nerve?”
Rage was written in Pintel’s face but Raggetti’s hand came up to grasp his arm, stopping him from stepping nearer to the sneering captain,
“No sir,” he ground out, “but the odds are not good.”
Barbossa took a step closer,
“Odds? With her against us they’ll never be better than they are now. Time to fight is now matey, show her that we won’t dance to her tune.”

The three crew men goggled at him then exchanged a nervous look,
“No reason to think she is behind it,” Marty said slowly looking back to his captain, “with Beckett gone stood to reason that the Navy would coe back.”
Raggetti nodded and chipped in,
“ Take up where Norrington left off they will,” he cast a nervous look towards the approaching sails, “sail in convoy most like, may be more of them over the horizon.”
Pintel took up the argument sounding as earnest as he could,
“Might be what she wants captain. Lulls us like, then when we can’t run lets more of them loose on us.”

That seemed to get through to Barbossa and with a glare towards the horizon he pushed his sword back into his scabbard and nodded,
“Ay that she might, t’would be like her right enough.”
As they waited to see what his decision would be another cry of ‘sail’ came from above. Barbossa’s mouth stretched in a snarl as he pulled out his spyglass and levelled it towards the distant sails; after a moment or two he shut it with a snap,
“Perfidious witch,” he spat, “but she’ll not find us so easy. Come about Mr Cotton and take a heading away from her trap. The rest of you shift your carcases and show them a clean pair of heels.”With a roll of his eyes Marty led the other two back to the deck

As Pintel and Raggetti hurried to their stations the two marines approached him with hesitant curiosity,
“What was all that about?” the darker one asked.
Marty looked back at Barbossa for a moment then shrugged,
“Seems like the chickens be coming home to roost for our captain.”
“Chickens, what’s chickens got to do with it?” the fairer one asked.
Marty suppressed a sigh and wished whole heartedly for Gibbs,
“They shit a lot and it looks like we’re up to our necks in it!”
The darker one looked at the fairer one and wriggled his eyebrows,
“I think he means we’re in trouble.”

Marty nodded and looked towards Pintel and Raggetti,
“More than that. I’ve no taste for mutiny, tis against the Code, but unless you want one of that mad pair as captain you’d better pray that we find Captain Jack quickly.”

***

The trip to the galley had involved a short walk along another passageway, past several ostentatiously closed and locked doors, to a room full of things whose purpose he couldn’t imagine and didn’t think he wanted to. But she had fed him, porridge she called it served with some sort of preserved fruit, and hungry though he was he had watched it warily until she had started on her own bowl. If she noticed she said nothing. Now she was sitting on the other side of the table her discarded plate pushed to one side and a cup of what she called coffee, but which didn’t correspond to any beverage he had encountered under the name, clasped between her hands. .

“I think it’s time that we laid our cards on the table.”

Jack raised his eyes from the bowl in front of him and stared at her uneasily, wondering if, somehow, she knew about his thoughts of the night. He wasn’t sure what she meant but, on balance, he didn’t think it was anything that he wanted to hear. In his experience such remarks usually led to him crossing blades with someone, or running away from the need to do so. At the moment he felt ill equipped to do either.
“Cards? What cards might those be?” he asked as innocently as he could manage.
‘Why,’ he wondered, ‘did he feel guilty when he was the innocent party? At least as far as he was aware he was.’

She stared back at him, the frown she had been wearing for the last ten minutes deepening,
“How you came to be where you were, how I came to be where I was.” She gave a twisted smile, “and most importantly, I suppose, the consequences of that juxtaposition.”
She took another swallow of coffee, carefully not looking at him,
“and where we go from here.”
Jack blinked at her,
“Go? Where were you planning on going? You must have some destination in mind. Much though I love the sea most voyages have a reason, even if it’s only to get away from something.” He filled his spoon again and stared at it, “or someone,” he added reflectively.

She looked up at that, her eyes narrowing in something he thought was amusement,
“You find the need to do that often do you? Get away from something or someone?”
He shrugged, swallowed, and looked down as he dipped his spoon in his breakfast again,
“Maybe.” He paused for a moment then let his eyes flick back to her face, “don’t you?”
That brought another smile, but one reflective and slightly sad,
“I suppose so. I suppose that’s what I’m doing at the moment.”
Jack swallowed and then shrugged,
“’Tis the nature of things luv, we all are one way or another.”
She just nodded at that.

Jack let the silence hang for a moment,
“So what are these cards we need to lay?” he said eventually,
She sighed,
“Do you remember how you came to be aboard my ship?”
He grimaced and shrugged,
“A little, not all. I remember being at sea in a dingy, then a mist, then a shadow in the mist, then nothing until I woke up minus my clothes and effects in your charge.”
She frowned at his choice of words but didn’t protest. He met her eyes squarely,
“I assume your ship was that shadow.”
She nodded slowly,
“I think so. One moment there was just me and the sea then next you were there and the Chaser sailed over the top of you.”
His eyes widened for a second and then he smiled broadly and levelled a finger at her,
“Ha. Which means you owe me a boat luv.”
She tilted her head and smiled slightly,
“Which means I owe you a dingy Captain Sparrow, something I will be pleased to provide for you when the opportunity presents itself. In the meantime I am quite willing to drop you wherever it is you wanted to go, which, given the vessel you were sailing, can’t be far away. Can it?”

Jack concentrated on the nearly empty bowl in front of him,
“Not sure how to answer that.” He said eventually,
For once she curbed her unkind tongue and answered without sarcasm or cynicism,
“I am hoping that you can, because although I know roughly where I am, I’ve got no idea how I came to be here.”
“No more do I. I will confess that I’ve never seen a ship like yours before and I’ve sailed all the known oceans,” he stared pensively at his spoon for a moment then shrugged, “and at least one of the unknown ones.”
“Yes,” she said slowly looking down into her cup again, “I was afraid that you might say something like that.”
He put the spoon down and stared at her with narrowed eyes,
“Why should that cause you concern? You and that ghost of yours seem more than capable of taking care of yourselves.” There was note of something close to resentment in his voice. “You destroy my boat, hide my effects, question me about my compass and hold me prisoner. What is there for you to be afraid of? I’ve told you that I mean you no harm, yet you lock me up and threaten me with sudden death.”

For a moment something like shame flitted across her face, then she sighed and looked down into her cup,
“I know, and I’m sorry for it, but I have to be careful. I can’t have a sword wielding stranger running about the decks.”
“Why not, if your crew are anything like that ghost of yours then I wouldn’t have much chance of doing any damage now would I?”
She gave him a long hard look,
“No you couldn’t do much damage. Ariadne wouldn’t allow it, “ her mouth set in a harsh line, “but there is no crew. I’m sailing single handed, there is just me and Ariadne.”
Jack stared at her in disbelief,
“And where were you sailing to alone with just this ghost for company?”
She shrugged and smiled,
“Around the world.”
Her regarded her as if she were mad,
“Around the world? All the way around?”
She nodded,
“On your own?”
“Yes. And I’m not sailing once around the world, but twice.”

His eyes widened even further,
“Around the world? Twice? On your own? With a ghost?”
“Yes, double circumnavigation. I was racing.”
“Racing, other people? Sailing on their own?”
“Yes. We all sail on our own.”
“Why?” he almost squeaked.
She shrugged,
“To prove that we can.”
“Why would you want to do that?”
“It’s a long story and one I won’t burden you with. But I mean what I say, the crew is just Ariadne and me. But don't get any thoughts that we might be helpless.”

Jack remembered the events of the previous evening and gave a twisted smile, he didn’t doubt that she was telling the truth about that for she was stronger than she looked. He had fallen once on the journey down from the deck and she had pretty much picked him up and set him on his feet with no more effort than he would have had to make to do the same for her, he didn’t understand quite why but the recollection gave him some pause for thought, reminding him that making assumptions about her could be dangerous.
“I didn’t think you were luv, though I can’t imagine why anyone would chose to do so lonely a thing.” He winked at her, “though I suppose there are ports enough along the way.”
She shook her head,
“No ports. We aren’t allowed to make port during the race.”
Now he was astonished,
“Twice around the world, single handed and no making port? ‘Tis madness if it could be done!” He looked down at the empty bowl, “What about food and water, you must need to take on supplies.”
“No, I carry what I need. What I don’t carry I do without.”
He thought about that and his heart sank, he had been right about the rum then.

Jack stared at her for a moment longer, if she could do that then she was a fine sailor and this was indeed a ship in a million. A ship like that could go anywhere, and perhaps find things that were more than just lost. He felt the smile return to his lips,
“This race of yours, what is the prize?”
She looked down an uncomfortable look flitting across her face,
“Nothing that would be of value to you.”
“Oh.” He attempted to cover the disappointment but didn’t quite manage it, then he leaned across the table towards her, “but you don’t know what might be of value to me. Do you?”
She raised her brows,
“Well, nothing of monetary value, which I think probably covers it.”
He tried looking hurt again,
“You under estimate me luv, there are many things of little monetary worth that I might value. But why haven’t I heard of this race of yours?”
“Ah, there in lies the problem.”
“Does it?”

She took another swallow of coffee then sighed,
“Answer me one question, and I know it’s going to sound bizarre but humour me, will you?”
He gave a sort of half shrug and indicated that she should go on and ask her question.

“Ariadne thinks this might be the eighteenth century, just how far out is she?”

chapter 10 - The ship is real enough