POTC Fic - Tiger Wings - Part 6/6 and Epilogue
Authors: madam_pudifoot and mary684
Title: Tiger Wings
Characters: Young Jack (age 8), Teague, Sala, Mister Smithson and a handful of miscreants.
Rating: PG
Word Count: Part 6/Epilogue: 1775
Disclaimer: We own nothing. We don’t even own this universe, as it’s an odd mish-mash of each of our worlds, but we’re as content as cucumbers to play in it.
AN: We owe a huge thanks to florencia7, whose drabble, A Family Night was the sole inspiration for this piece.
X-posted to blackpearlsails and redux_08 as well as our respective journals.
Part One
Part Two
Part Three
Part Four
Part Five
Tiger Wings
Part Six
Teague sat at the desk, fingers playing along the edges of the Book, his eyes fixed on a distant point in space. Jack stood immobile, waiting to be noticed. The tension of the room had eased, though Jack remained wary. The patter of rain was soft against the glass, and it cast a grayish light that filled the room with shadows.
The silence dragged. Jack concentrated on standing still, aware that Teague couldn’t abide his fidgeting. He watched Teague from the corner of his eye, but save for the random riffling of pages, the man had not moved. Minutes passed before Teague lifted his hand to scratch his chin. Without looking at Jack, he whispered into the gloom.
“What exactly were you thinking?”
No sense in lying any longer, Jack thought, Teague knew most of the truth, and he may as well hear the rest. He pulled himself a little taller and started at the beginning.
“He stole my knife.”
The answer hung in the air a moment. Then, Teague leveled his gaze on Jack.
“And…?”
“And I offered to trade for a look at the Code.”
Teague’s eyes darkened, and though stationed well away from him, Jack took a small step backward.
“My thinking only, son, but it appears you did more’n look.”
The sarcastic tone bode well for Jack; it proved Teague had gained control of his rage. He watched Teague rise and circle the room, his hand drifting over his possessions.
“When I was your age,” he began, and Jack cringed. Any story of Teague’s that began this way was usually meant as a lesson for Jack. “I had nothing. Living on whatever garbage fell my way. Sleeping in the streets. Left for dead too many times to count. With naught but that knife to see me through.” He paused and studied Jack a moment before continuing. “Made my share of mistakes, but never in my lifetime did I let someone take what was mine.”
Jack looked at his toes, feeling defeated. In light of Teague’s speech, he thought it best to keep quiet.
“So. You lost your knife to a bully, and chose to amend this great crime by defacing the Code? Save this, there was no better way?”
Posited such, Jack had to admit it did sound a rather foolish enterprise.
“What was I to do?” He asked, and was almost successful in keeping the whine from his voice.
“What a man can do. Stand up for yourself. Hang onto what’s yours, and just as a point of reference, son, ‘tis never wise to offer a thing what belongs to a better man! That’s courting disaster.”
“You don’t want me fighting!”
“You’ll never win with yer fists, Jackie! Now don’t pout - you’re built strong but smaller than some and if you try it that way, you’re bound to lose. There’ll always be someone bigger.”
Teague must have sensed Jack’s exasperation for he paced close to him and growled softly in his ear.
“Use yer wit, boy! Bide your time, and you buy yourself a lot less trouble. Only one thing they care about - getting the best of you. Long as you keep ‘em blinded by that, you can run ‘em aground. Plenty of opportune moments with each turn of the tide.”
Jack was thoughtful for a moment. It held the element of truth, so much so, he wished Teague would practice it to temper his explosive rage. But, true or not, Jack had invested too much to give up that easily.
“I need that,” he said, pointing to the Codex and taking two steps toward the desk, the look on Teague’s face bringing him up short. “I need it to get my knife back.”
“No denying you think you do.”
There was only one way Teague would understand, so Jack played his final card, praying as he did that the overhead promise to Sala would be kept, and Teague would lay no further hand upon him.
“He means to kill his father.”
Teague scrutinized Jack, his devil’s eye sharp and studious.
“That bad is it? Worse’n this?” Teague asked, indicating the bruise forming on Jack’s jaw.
Jack pictured Kenny’s face, and remembered the ominous absence of his brother from the quay that morning. Then he thought of himself and Teague and the rough handling so recently tendered. Much as he wanted to compare Teague to Kenny’s drunken sire, Jack knew that Kenny’s beating was unwarranted and that his - as was often the case - had been well-deserved.
He met Teague’s eye, unflinching.
“Aye, da. Worse’n this.”
Teague’s eyes narrowed as he nodded, and Jack felt a momentary twinge of fear for Kenny Freeling’s father.
“’Twas a recipe for poison,” Jack mumbled, as if needing some final absolution.
“Say again, lad?”
“A recipe. For poison. I’d get back my knife and Kenny - “
“Poison! You thought…?” Teague was silent a moment, then a smile quirked the corner of his mouth. “Planning murder and mayhem under me own roof, eh? Poison.” Teague shook his head. “Aye. A right witch’s brew if ever I knew one, ‘twould surely kill the devil.”
Jack thought he detected a glimmer of laughter in the dark of Teague’s eye.
“Damn your mother’s eyes if they don’t…she sees more things than God in his finest hour ever had cause to make. You owe her your life, son, in more ways than you know. You best thank her next time you see her; she’s a knack for knowing the difference between a boy’s folly and a man’s greed.”
This time there was no mistaking Teague’s smirk, and it made Jack feel foolish enough to question him.
“Sir?”
“Never mind, lad.” Teague said, sitting again at the desk. He ran his thumb along the edge of the Book and hummed a tuneless ditty.
For the first time since he’d been caught, Jack found himself relaxing. Something had changed, something he couldn’t quite name, something to do with Sala. Before he could puzzle it through, Teague spoke.
“The Code has a history, ‘tis a book of law. Much as you think this be the way to end your troubles, be naught but trading one misfortune for another.” He paused, running his hand across the face of the book. “There’s certain things a boy your age need handle on his own. Opportune moments, Jackie. Best you don’t forget them.”
He blew out a breath and lighted a lamp. Its soft glow spilled a circle of light around the huge tome. With the same glint of laughter in his eye, Teague continued. “Now, if you mean to run with thieves, best learn to be a proper pirate. Pull up a chair, son, and we’ll start at the beginning.”
Jack glanced at the Codex with dread. Almost as big as he and every page crammed with writing, it would take months for them to read it through. Months away from his friends, stuck indoors, trapped under Teague’s strict tutelage and subject to his rash temper. With a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, he pulled a stool next to Teague and said goodbye to his freedom.
Just before Teague began to read, the thought entered Jack’s mind that he may have been better off had Sala left him to his beating.
EPILOGUE
It was four days before Jack made an appearance on the docks, and only then because Sala insisted he be allowed out into the fresh air and sunshine. Still without his knife, it seemed providential that Kenny was the first to see him.
“Caught you, did he?”
Jack smiled. The answer was as plain as the bruise on his face, and Freeling’s question struck him as funny.
“Aye,” he said, and then ducked his head, suddenly ashamed of himself, of Teague, of the evidence of his beating.
Kenny peered at his face. With a gesture familiar to all the boys, as they had seen him use it with his brother, Kenny took Jack’s chin in hand and turned it toward the sun, testing the bruise with his thumb.
“Ah, Jackie Sparrow, lookie you!” Kenny shook his head. “D’ya at least get a chance to see the Codex?”
“I ripped a page from it,” Jack whispered, horrified by what he had done.
Freeling laughed, a hearty sound from deep in his belly.
“Mother Mary, you’re a wonder!” Kenny’s voice was filled with pride. “Never thought you’d do it. Boys, come lookie Sparrow! Hah! Thought we’d seen the last of ya.”
Jack looked up with a sheepish grin and shrugged, “I thought he was gonna kill me.”
“They never do,” Kenny mumbled, quiet enough for only Jack to hear.
With a squeeze to Jack’s shoulder, Kenny wandered away and entreated Mickey Kitchell to tell the one about the yellow cat that chased two rats across Captain Randall’s dinner. As Jack made to follow him, he felt a familiar weight on his hip. The knife was back in its sheath.
Small though he might be, Jack was the best pickpocket in the Cove, and Teague wasn’t the only one who could recognize an opportune moment.
Jack watched Kenny’s mouth fall open in surprise as he realized the knife had gone missing. Jack grinned at him, tapping the hilt at his waistline and then laughed out loud when he saw Kenny’s answering smile.
For the first time in days, Jack Sparrow felt free.
-Fin-
**The recipe Jack stole is for Kill-Devil, a drink made by fortifying rum with gunpowder. It was reportedly favored by Blackbeard. The drink is traditionally lit on fire before consuming. To Jack, it sounded like something that could kill you. Smart guy, our Jackie!
Title: Tiger Wings
Characters: Young Jack (age 8), Teague, Sala, Mister Smithson and a handful of miscreants.
Rating: PG
Word Count: Part 6/Epilogue: 1775
Disclaimer: We own nothing. We don’t even own this universe, as it’s an odd mish-mash of each of our worlds, but we’re as content as cucumbers to play in it.
AN: We owe a huge thanks to florencia7, whose drabble, A Family Night was the sole inspiration for this piece.
X-posted to blackpearlsails and redux_08 as well as our respective journals.
Part One
Part Two
Part Three
Part Four
Part Five
Tiger Wings
Part Six
Teague sat at the desk, fingers playing along the edges of the Book, his eyes fixed on a distant point in space. Jack stood immobile, waiting to be noticed. The tension of the room had eased, though Jack remained wary. The patter of rain was soft against the glass, and it cast a grayish light that filled the room with shadows.
The silence dragged. Jack concentrated on standing still, aware that Teague couldn’t abide his fidgeting. He watched Teague from the corner of his eye, but save for the random riffling of pages, the man had not moved. Minutes passed before Teague lifted his hand to scratch his chin. Without looking at Jack, he whispered into the gloom.
“What exactly were you thinking?”
No sense in lying any longer, Jack thought, Teague knew most of the truth, and he may as well hear the rest. He pulled himself a little taller and started at the beginning.
“He stole my knife.”
The answer hung in the air a moment. Then, Teague leveled his gaze on Jack.
“And…?”
“And I offered to trade for a look at the Code.”
Teague’s eyes darkened, and though stationed well away from him, Jack took a small step backward.
“My thinking only, son, but it appears you did more’n look.”
The sarcastic tone bode well for Jack; it proved Teague had gained control of his rage. He watched Teague rise and circle the room, his hand drifting over his possessions.
“When I was your age,” he began, and Jack cringed. Any story of Teague’s that began this way was usually meant as a lesson for Jack. “I had nothing. Living on whatever garbage fell my way. Sleeping in the streets. Left for dead too many times to count. With naught but that knife to see me through.” He paused and studied Jack a moment before continuing. “Made my share of mistakes, but never in my lifetime did I let someone take what was mine.”
Jack looked at his toes, feeling defeated. In light of Teague’s speech, he thought it best to keep quiet.
“So. You lost your knife to a bully, and chose to amend this great crime by defacing the Code? Save this, there was no better way?”
Posited such, Jack had to admit it did sound a rather foolish enterprise.
“What was I to do?” He asked, and was almost successful in keeping the whine from his voice.
“What a man can do. Stand up for yourself. Hang onto what’s yours, and just as a point of reference, son, ‘tis never wise to offer a thing what belongs to a better man! That’s courting disaster.”
“You don’t want me fighting!”
“You’ll never win with yer fists, Jackie! Now don’t pout - you’re built strong but smaller than some and if you try it that way, you’re bound to lose. There’ll always be someone bigger.”
Teague must have sensed Jack’s exasperation for he paced close to him and growled softly in his ear.
“Use yer wit, boy! Bide your time, and you buy yourself a lot less trouble. Only one thing they care about - getting the best of you. Long as you keep ‘em blinded by that, you can run ‘em aground. Plenty of opportune moments with each turn of the tide.”
Jack was thoughtful for a moment. It held the element of truth, so much so, he wished Teague would practice it to temper his explosive rage. But, true or not, Jack had invested too much to give up that easily.
“I need that,” he said, pointing to the Codex and taking two steps toward the desk, the look on Teague’s face bringing him up short. “I need it to get my knife back.”
“No denying you think you do.”
There was only one way Teague would understand, so Jack played his final card, praying as he did that the overhead promise to Sala would be kept, and Teague would lay no further hand upon him.
“He means to kill his father.”
Teague scrutinized Jack, his devil’s eye sharp and studious.
“That bad is it? Worse’n this?” Teague asked, indicating the bruise forming on Jack’s jaw.
Jack pictured Kenny’s face, and remembered the ominous absence of his brother from the quay that morning. Then he thought of himself and Teague and the rough handling so recently tendered. Much as he wanted to compare Teague to Kenny’s drunken sire, Jack knew that Kenny’s beating was unwarranted and that his - as was often the case - had been well-deserved.
He met Teague’s eye, unflinching.
“Aye, da. Worse’n this.”
Teague’s eyes narrowed as he nodded, and Jack felt a momentary twinge of fear for Kenny Freeling’s father.
“’Twas a recipe for poison,” Jack mumbled, as if needing some final absolution.
“Say again, lad?”
“A recipe. For poison. I’d get back my knife and Kenny - “
“Poison! You thought…?” Teague was silent a moment, then a smile quirked the corner of his mouth. “Planning murder and mayhem under me own roof, eh? Poison.” Teague shook his head. “Aye. A right witch’s brew if ever I knew one, ‘twould surely kill the devil.”
Jack thought he detected a glimmer of laughter in the dark of Teague’s eye.
“Damn your mother’s eyes if they don’t…she sees more things than God in his finest hour ever had cause to make. You owe her your life, son, in more ways than you know. You best thank her next time you see her; she’s a knack for knowing the difference between a boy’s folly and a man’s greed.”
This time there was no mistaking Teague’s smirk, and it made Jack feel foolish enough to question him.
“Sir?”
“Never mind, lad.” Teague said, sitting again at the desk. He ran his thumb along the edge of the Book and hummed a tuneless ditty.
For the first time since he’d been caught, Jack found himself relaxing. Something had changed, something he couldn’t quite name, something to do with Sala. Before he could puzzle it through, Teague spoke.
“The Code has a history, ‘tis a book of law. Much as you think this be the way to end your troubles, be naught but trading one misfortune for another.” He paused, running his hand across the face of the book. “There’s certain things a boy your age need handle on his own. Opportune moments, Jackie. Best you don’t forget them.”
He blew out a breath and lighted a lamp. Its soft glow spilled a circle of light around the huge tome. With the same glint of laughter in his eye, Teague continued. “Now, if you mean to run with thieves, best learn to be a proper pirate. Pull up a chair, son, and we’ll start at the beginning.”
Jack glanced at the Codex with dread. Almost as big as he and every page crammed with writing, it would take months for them to read it through. Months away from his friends, stuck indoors, trapped under Teague’s strict tutelage and subject to his rash temper. With a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, he pulled a stool next to Teague and said goodbye to his freedom.
Just before Teague began to read, the thought entered Jack’s mind that he may have been better off had Sala left him to his beating.
EPILOGUE
It was four days before Jack made an appearance on the docks, and only then because Sala insisted he be allowed out into the fresh air and sunshine. Still without his knife, it seemed providential that Kenny was the first to see him.
“Caught you, did he?”
Jack smiled. The answer was as plain as the bruise on his face, and Freeling’s question struck him as funny.
“Aye,” he said, and then ducked his head, suddenly ashamed of himself, of Teague, of the evidence of his beating.
Kenny peered at his face. With a gesture familiar to all the boys, as they had seen him use it with his brother, Kenny took Jack’s chin in hand and turned it toward the sun, testing the bruise with his thumb.
“Ah, Jackie Sparrow, lookie you!” Kenny shook his head. “D’ya at least get a chance to see the Codex?”
“I ripped a page from it,” Jack whispered, horrified by what he had done.
Freeling laughed, a hearty sound from deep in his belly.
“Mother Mary, you’re a wonder!” Kenny’s voice was filled with pride. “Never thought you’d do it. Boys, come lookie Sparrow! Hah! Thought we’d seen the last of ya.”
Jack looked up with a sheepish grin and shrugged, “I thought he was gonna kill me.”
“They never do,” Kenny mumbled, quiet enough for only Jack to hear.
With a squeeze to Jack’s shoulder, Kenny wandered away and entreated Mickey Kitchell to tell the one about the yellow cat that chased two rats across Captain Randall’s dinner. As Jack made to follow him, he felt a familiar weight on his hip. The knife was back in its sheath.
Small though he might be, Jack was the best pickpocket in the Cove, and Teague wasn’t the only one who could recognize an opportune moment.
Jack watched Kenny’s mouth fall open in surprise as he realized the knife had gone missing. Jack grinned at him, tapping the hilt at his waistline and then laughed out loud when he saw Kenny’s answering smile.
For the first time in days, Jack Sparrow felt free.
-Fin-
**The recipe Jack stole is for Kill-Devil, a drink made by fortifying rum with gunpowder. It was reportedly favored by Blackbeard. The drink is traditionally lit on fire before consuming. To Jack, it sounded like something that could kill you. Smart guy, our Jackie!