Fic: Crossing the Bar (6/?)
Author: Honorat
Rating: PG-13 for language
Characters: Jack Sparrow, Anamaria, Gibbs, the crew of the Black Pearl
Pairing: Jack/Anamaria if you squint.
Disclaimer: The characters of PotC! She’s taken them! Get after her, you feckless pack of ingrates!
Summary: Anamaria decides something needs to be done about Jack. Every once in awhile, I have to write some raving sailing. Norrington has finally got the Black Pearl trapped. Jack is bound to do something crazy, but will it be the last thing he does?
Thanks to geek_mama_2 for the beta help.
1 Ambush
2 No Regrets
3 The Judgment of the Sea
4 The Sea Pays Homage
5 Risking All That Is Mortal and Unsure
* * * * *
6 Troubles Come Not Single Spies
In the frenzy to restore some of the Black Pearl’s legendary swift flight to her, some time had slipped by before Anamaria noticed that Jack was not recuperating from whatever injuries he’d taken when his ship went down. Oh, he was playing Captain Jack Sparrow to the hilt, stirring up the crew like a stick in an ant hill, leaving whirlpools of activity in his wake as he rampaged the heaving, sea-swept decks, spinning miracles out of sailcloth and thin air in their race to bring the Pearl back to life before her clash with the Royal Navy warships that hovered like beasts of battle beyond the mouth of the harbour. But whenever he thought he had deflected all attention from himself, the fire guttered out of him like a rain-quenched candle. Nor did he lend his weight to hauling lines as he usually did when the torrent of tasks exceeded the number of hands that could turn to them.
What finally clinched her decision, however, was when Jack joined Cotton at the helm to guide the Pearl through a particularly nasty set of cross seas, nothing like the vicious waves that had nearly scuppered them, but capable of doing harm nonetheless. The captain had only managed to grip the wheel with one hand, and at that Anamaria was certain Cotton had borne the brunt of that tussle. She had to see to the ship, but she began to watch her captain just as carefully. He was holding his right arm unnaturally still, cradled protectively across his body, and his usual grace seemed to have abandoned him.
If what she feared was true, Jack was very much in danger of damaging himself beyond their limited means of repair. They had so little time before they would emerge far enough into open seas for the Navy ships to dare confront them. Every minute they could steal in the meantime was more precious than gold, increasing their chance of survival ever so slightly. But if she did not force Jack to submit to some cobbled together patchwork, he might not last out the coming battle.
Discretion warred briefly with what she frankly admitted was pure lily-livered cowardice. Jack Sparrow made the bloody awfullest patient. And he wasn’t going to forgive her any time soon for interrupting him. But a first mate had her duty to her captain and her ship.
Anamaria began mentally to cast about for allies.
Her eyes lit on Jip as he scurried past. Reaching out, she snagged him by the collar. Ignoring his startled yelp, she informed him, “I’ve got a little chore for you.”
* * * * *
“Mr. Gibbs,” Anamaria said briskly. “I’m goin’ t’ take out the captain and I need you to back me up.”
Gibbs scowled at Anamaria. He’d been considering enlisting her assistance for that very project for some minutes now. There was something blasted uncanny about how that woman read his mind. Jack was looking grayer by the moment, refusing to slow his pace at the expense of whatever it was that was causing him to stiffen up like a Navy martinet. He’d even stumbled during a particularly violent lurch of his ship, and Jack Sparrow never lost his balance when his ship moved. Yes, it was time his officers did something about their refractory captain.
While Gibbs didn’t see eye to eye with Anamaria on any number of matters, on this they were in perfect accord. Gibbs nodded shortly to the first mate and fell in beside her. Shoulder to shoulder they marched up behind Jack.
“Mr. Gibbs, I been thinkin’.” Anamaria grabbed Jack’s left arm. “This ship is goin’ t’ fight a hell of a lot better if her captain ain’t wiped out on her quarterdeck. What say you t’ that?”
Jack’s head whipped around with a thirty-two pound glare that should have knocked Anamaria’s head off her shoulders.
Gibbs took a firm grip on his right arm. “Anamaria,” he agreed heartily, drawing some of Jack’s fire, “for a lass, ye’ve got a powerful grasp o’ logic.” Fortunately, she also had a powerful grasp on Jack Sparrow’s good arm, or Gibbs expected he’d have been spitting a few teeth.
Between the two of them they began hustling their captain towards the mainmast fife rail in a highly undignified manner. They’d never get him to go out of sight of the work on deck, so this would have to do. Jack made an abortive attempt to escape, but his body wasted no time in informing him that pulverizing his mate and quartermaster would be a pleasure he would have to postpone for a more auspicious moment-assuming they survived to find one.
“Is this a mutiny?” Jack growled half-heartedly.
“Let me see,” Anamaria considered. “A mutiny is when we want t’ be gettin’ rid of our captain, but we seem t’ be tryin’ t’ keep this bloody daft one around a bit longer.” She looked critically at Jack. “God only knows why.”
At that moment, the Pearl buried her bowsprit into the face of an oncoming sea. The mass of water cannonading over the forecastle bowled men over, washing them forty feet down her decks, slamming those unlucky enough not to grab a line into rails and bulwarks. For one heartstopping moment, Anamaria was certain they’d lost somebody, but as the deck reappeared, she breathed again to find the considerably more battered and bruised crew still intact.
Gibbs had been the closest one to the lifeline. He’d held to it and Jack, while Anamaria had clung to Jack. Apparently that ordeal had taken all the fight out of the captain. Head hanging, white under his tan, his breath ragged as he wrestled the pain back into submission, Jack allowed them to haul him unresisting to the rail surrounding the mainmast and the pumps.
The captain roused himself enough to give the men labouring and sweating at the pumps a teeth-gritted grin. “Good work, lads,” he managed.
They grunted back at him, too exhausted to do or say anything more.
Since Jack seemed in no condition to make a break for his freedom at the moment, his captors let him go. Sure enough, he merely folded his arms around his chest and stood shaking.
“Sit down before you fall down, Jack Sparrow,” Anamaria ordered, “and let me take a look at that.”
“Aye, aye, sir.” Jack saluted sloppily with his left hand. “Harpy,” he muttered under his breath. He sank down onto the fife-rail.
“I’ll just be makin’ sure the boys ain’t breakin’ the ship, or somethin’. He’s all yours,” Gibbs said smugly, departing with alacrity before his captain could tie into him with that cutlass of a tongue he could wield on occasion. For once he was glad there was too much to do for his presence at an attempt to doctor the captain to be anything more than redundant. It was payback time for Anamaria. This would make up for any number of bad weather watches. “Good luck!” he called back.
“Sod off, ye blasted coward,” Anamaria grumbled. She turned to her intractable patient and glared at him.
Jack stared back at her mulishly. “What?”
“Take your shirt off, Jack,” Anamaria snapped.
“I thought you’d never ask, love,” Jack smirked, then winced, his breath hissing in sharply, as he tried.
“Just what I thought, y’daft fool. Y’ broke some ribs, didn’t you?” Anamaria groused. “Let me get that.”
She tried to be careful as she drew off the captain’s coat and vest, but the heavy, wet cloth refused to let go without a fight.
“Watch what you’re doin’ there,” Jack complained. “A body’d think you’d never undressed a man before.”
Rolling her eyes in exasperation, Anamaria stopped trying to be careful. Jack went another shade paler. Nevertheless, as she drew his soggy shirt over his head and then slipped it forward off his arms, the captain kept up his aggravating commentary.
“I do like a lass who’ll take the lead once in awhile. Oww!” Jack’s pained outcry had little to do with his injuries and everything to do with the slap that was ringing his ears. “Blast it, woman! Are you tryin’ t’ kill me?”
Anamaria caught a good look at him and successfully swallowed any squeak she might have made. “Looks like someone beat me to it,” she said.
Jack craned his neck and peered at his chest, eyes nearly crossing. “Well now. You’re a rank apprentice when it comes to wallopin’ your captain, eh darlin’?” he suggested. “This here is master work.”
Across his torso, from right hip to opposite shoulder, the imprint of the Black Pearl’s wheel marked him with contusions that were the angry red and purple of a Caribbean sunset after a storm. No wonder he’d been moving so carefully.
Reaching for the nearest bit of exposed wood, Jack patted his ship comfortingly. “Never mind, love. I know I deserved that.”
Anamaria snorted. “I’ll say.”
Jack scowled at her. “Nobody asked you.” He glanced pointedly at his chest. “Do you want to get busy with whatever witchdoctorin’ you’re plannin’ before I freeze to death in this rain?”
He was shivering and showing signs of gooseflesh. Immediately contrite, although she’d never let Jack know it, Anamaria scanned the deck for her other accomplice. He came galloping along the pitching planks, barely visible behind the armful of supplies she’d sent him to find. Sliding to a halt beside her, Jip announced brightly, “Here’s the things you ordered, ma’am.”
Trust the little thief to know where every item on the Pearl was located. Anamaria nodded her thanks.
Jack shot the pint-sized traitor an et tu Brute glower that bounced ineffectually off Jip’s impervious hide.
At the sight of the captain’s bruises, Jip’s eyes widened. “Criminy!” he exclaimed admiringly. “That was a real smasher!”
Jack unbent from his indignation at the first sign of an appreciative audience. He inspected his multi-hued decorations with a satisfied air. “She’s some ship, ain’t she?”
“She sure is, sir!” Jip agreed enthusiastically.
Anamaria rolled her eyes. Men! They were stark raving mad, the lot of them, from cradle to grave.
“Here.” She dropped Jack’s hat onto Jip’s drowned-rat hair and added the coat, vest and shirt to the pile in his arms. Jip now resembled a stack of clothing with legs. “Make yourself useful.”
She scrutinized Jack, ignoring his suggestive leer back. At least the right side of his chest was still rising in time with his left side. Anamaria let out a breath of relief. They’d really have been scuppered if the captain had broken enough ribs to cave them in.
“So where does it hurt?” she asked him.
Jack raised an incredulous eyebrow. “Isn’t it obvious?”
“I’m tryin’ t’ find out which ribs y’ broke, y’ bacon brain!”
Ignoring Jack’s objections to her cold hands, Anamaria ran dispassionate fingertips along the track the Black Pearl had left on his ribs. She also determinedly ignored the smooth slide of his skin wet with rain, the faint warmth like the memory of sunlight still escaping off his body, the intriguing difference in texture between scarred and unmarked flesh. The rolling ship was not making it easy to be gentle. She felt Jack tense under her touch just as her fingers brushed carefully over a shallow, unnatural indentation.
“Ah ha!” she exclaimed. “That’ll be the culprit then.”
Two ribs. Bad enough, but it could have been worse.
“Apparently so,” Jack agreed through clenched teeth. “Will you hurry up? I’ve got a Navy to escape.”
“And you’ll need both your lungs to do it,” Anamaria said firmly, grabbing a wad of fabric from the perambulating clothes pile standing next to her. Expertly she folded it into a thick pad. “Now hold that against your side,” she instructed Jack. “You know the drill.”
“I do know it,” he grumped. “And I’m tellin’ you now; you’re not trussin’ up one o’ me arms like a goose, neither.”
Since she wasn’t ready to start an argument with him yet, Anamaria simply fished her next item from Jip’s arms.
“What’s that?” Jack asked suspiciously.
“Leather,” she said succinctly. “For a splint since you’re so bloody sure I can’t use your arm.” Anamaria wrapped the stiff leather around the pad already in place. “Now at least if y’ bump it again, y’ have a chance o’ not makin’ it worse.”
“Hmph.” Jack subsided, taking over holding the leather while Anamaria selected two long sashes to tie the contraption to his chest.
“Now breathe deep and hold it,” she instructed.
“No.” Jack was looking obstinate again.
“Jack,” Anamaria warned.
“Don’t want to.”
“Don’t have a choice,” said his first mate, threatening one of her neck-dislocating slaps. “This ain’t supposed t’ stop your breathin’, so I need t’ know how tight t’ tie it.”
Knowing she was right, Jack closed his eyes and did as he was told, his fingers gripping the rail nearly tight enough to leave prints in the wood. Anamaria secured the strips of fabric as firmly and swiftly as she could.
“All right,” she told Jack. “Let it out.”
Eyes still closed, Jack said in a strained voice, “Your great, great, great grandmammy slept with Torquemada, didn’t she?”
Anamaria leaned close to him, her teeth bared in a feral grin. “Maybe she did. Now let’s get you back in your clothes.”
“But we haven’t had any fun at all yet,” Jack protested.
In response, Anamaria held out his shirt. “Get - in.”
After much struggling with wet cloth and much profane grumbling from Jack, she and Jip succeeded in inserting the captain back into his shirt and vest and tugging Jack’s soggy coat back over his shoulders. Jack looked ready to bite something.
“And now you’re goin’ t’ let me put your arm in a sling,” she informed him.
The captain stood up. “Absolutely not.”
“Oh yes you are.” Anamaria held out the offending article. “You can pull your arm out of it if y’ have to. I won’t insist y’ tie it down. But it goes on. You’ve got to keep that arm as still as possible.”
“Anamaria, I’ve got a ship to run and a battle to survive. Contrary to popular opinion, I can’t do that with one hand tied behind me back. That’s me sword arm, y’ know.”
“Just don’t let this ship be boarded, that’s all,” Anamaria suggested.
Jack informed her creatively and rudely just where she could put her advice and her sling.
“Your arm’ll be tied in front, Jack. And y’ can move it. Now sit back down and don’t be such a mooncalf.”
She managed to get the fabric wrapped around the recalcitrant pirate’s arm, tucked under his heavy wet hair, and tied in a neat knot. Jack Sparrow was as hard to handle as canvas in a storm, but sooner or later an expert sailor would get the situation under control. Anamaria had been getting plenty of practice.
She expected to be treated to a further display of the captain’s temper, but another wave hailing across the ship’s decks left them clinging to the fife-rail, spluttering. Jack didn’t look well, but he brightened when Jip, still standing by, held up a familiar flask.
“Jip, you’re an angel,” Jack said fervently, grabbing the flask and downing its contents in one long gulp, as if the rum weren’t straight and strong enough to dissolve lead.
“Gibbs says I’m the devil,” Jip corrected.
“That too.” Jack wiped his mouth with his free arm. “I don’t suppose you asked Mr. Gibbs for the loan of his flask?”
Jip shook his head. “Nicked it,” he said proudly.
“Good lad,” Jack approved. “Now see if you can get it back t’ him before he misses it.”
“Aye, sir.” Giving the captain a ragged salute and tossing Anamaria the captain’s hat, the boy bounced off to return the pilfered property.
Deprived of what little shield Jip’s presence had supplied, Anamaria braced for Jack’s explosion, but once again he surprised her.
Giving a shallow sigh and closing his eyes again, he tilted back his head. “That’s much better,” he said. “Thanks, love.”
Wordlessly she stared down on him, startled. Jack’s eyes flew open. He gave a small, half smile and ducked his head.
“Hat?”
* * * * *
Anamaria had just set Jack’s hat back on his head when he stiffened, eyes going blank and introspective, the two lines between his brows furrowing.
“What is it?” Anamaria asked, wondering if he were hurting worse.
“Something’s wrong.” Jack leapt to his feet with an energy she would have said was impossible a minute ago. Spinning about, he scanned up the masts and rigging receding into the murk of the storm for some problem only he could sense. “Damnation! I can’t see a thing in this bloody soup!”
He stood quivering tense for a moment, listening, watching. For what? Anamaria still could not tell what had triggered his alert.
Suddenly he lit out for the quarterdeck. “Oh shit!”
Completely confused, Anamaria ran after him.
At that moment the Pearl twisted violently, nearly broadsided by another wave. Above the thunder of wind and sails resounded the crack of wood and the snap of lines. In futile horror, Anamaria saw the great mizzen topgallant yard break free of its starboard moorings and swing wildly in brutal counterpoint to the motion of the ship. She could hear the groan of the mizzenmast as the huge spar, fifty feet long and a foot in diameter, scythed back and forth across the width of the Pearl, slicing the salt thick air.
“Lay aloft to secure that yard!” the captain was shouting. “Get it tied down before it tears the sticks right out of her!”
Instantly and unquestioningly, men leapt for the windward ratlines and surged towards the careering yard. With bloody hands they climbed the rigging that thrummed and sang in the wild wind, one hundred feet in the air. Each time the Black Pearl drove her yard ends into the furious seas, they froze, hanging on for their lives.
Captain Sparrow stood immobile on the quarterdeck, his neck craned back until it ached, never taking his eyes off his men as they climbed towards that breakaway yard that threatened to rip the heart out of his ship. His unnatural silence accentuated the terrible danger they courted. As the vicious spar whipped from side to side above them, it seemed to miss by mere inches. Any moment it could crush a man or smash him into the sea.
Only luck and desperate agility could save those men now. They would live only if the ship survived, and so they must fight to save the ship, reckless of the cost.
* * * * *
TBC
7 To Dare Do All That May Become a Man
Rating: PG-13 for language
Characters: Jack Sparrow, Anamaria, Gibbs, the crew of the Black Pearl
Pairing: Jack/Anamaria if you squint.
Disclaimer: The characters of PotC! She’s taken them! Get after her, you feckless pack of ingrates!
Summary: Anamaria decides something needs to be done about Jack. Every once in awhile, I have to write some raving sailing. Norrington has finally got the Black Pearl trapped. Jack is bound to do something crazy, but will it be the last thing he does?
Thanks to geek_mama_2 for the beta help.
1 Ambush
2 No Regrets
3 The Judgment of the Sea
4 The Sea Pays Homage
5 Risking All That Is Mortal and Unsure
* * * * *
6 Troubles Come Not Single Spies
In the frenzy to restore some of the Black Pearl’s legendary swift flight to her, some time had slipped by before Anamaria noticed that Jack was not recuperating from whatever injuries he’d taken when his ship went down. Oh, he was playing Captain Jack Sparrow to the hilt, stirring up the crew like a stick in an ant hill, leaving whirlpools of activity in his wake as he rampaged the heaving, sea-swept decks, spinning miracles out of sailcloth and thin air in their race to bring the Pearl back to life before her clash with the Royal Navy warships that hovered like beasts of battle beyond the mouth of the harbour. But whenever he thought he had deflected all attention from himself, the fire guttered out of him like a rain-quenched candle. Nor did he lend his weight to hauling lines as he usually did when the torrent of tasks exceeded the number of hands that could turn to them.
What finally clinched her decision, however, was when Jack joined Cotton at the helm to guide the Pearl through a particularly nasty set of cross seas, nothing like the vicious waves that had nearly scuppered them, but capable of doing harm nonetheless. The captain had only managed to grip the wheel with one hand, and at that Anamaria was certain Cotton had borne the brunt of that tussle. She had to see to the ship, but she began to watch her captain just as carefully. He was holding his right arm unnaturally still, cradled protectively across his body, and his usual grace seemed to have abandoned him.
If what she feared was true, Jack was very much in danger of damaging himself beyond their limited means of repair. They had so little time before they would emerge far enough into open seas for the Navy ships to dare confront them. Every minute they could steal in the meantime was more precious than gold, increasing their chance of survival ever so slightly. But if she did not force Jack to submit to some cobbled together patchwork, he might not last out the coming battle.
Discretion warred briefly with what she frankly admitted was pure lily-livered cowardice. Jack Sparrow made the bloody awfullest patient. And he wasn’t going to forgive her any time soon for interrupting him. But a first mate had her duty to her captain and her ship.
Anamaria began mentally to cast about for allies.
Her eyes lit on Jip as he scurried past. Reaching out, she snagged him by the collar. Ignoring his startled yelp, she informed him, “I’ve got a little chore for you.”
* * * * *
“Mr. Gibbs,” Anamaria said briskly. “I’m goin’ t’ take out the captain and I need you to back me up.”
Gibbs scowled at Anamaria. He’d been considering enlisting her assistance for that very project for some minutes now. There was something blasted uncanny about how that woman read his mind. Jack was looking grayer by the moment, refusing to slow his pace at the expense of whatever it was that was causing him to stiffen up like a Navy martinet. He’d even stumbled during a particularly violent lurch of his ship, and Jack Sparrow never lost his balance when his ship moved. Yes, it was time his officers did something about their refractory captain.
While Gibbs didn’t see eye to eye with Anamaria on any number of matters, on this they were in perfect accord. Gibbs nodded shortly to the first mate and fell in beside her. Shoulder to shoulder they marched up behind Jack.
“Mr. Gibbs, I been thinkin’.” Anamaria grabbed Jack’s left arm. “This ship is goin’ t’ fight a hell of a lot better if her captain ain’t wiped out on her quarterdeck. What say you t’ that?”
Jack’s head whipped around with a thirty-two pound glare that should have knocked Anamaria’s head off her shoulders.
Gibbs took a firm grip on his right arm. “Anamaria,” he agreed heartily, drawing some of Jack’s fire, “for a lass, ye’ve got a powerful grasp o’ logic.” Fortunately, she also had a powerful grasp on Jack Sparrow’s good arm, or Gibbs expected he’d have been spitting a few teeth.
Between the two of them they began hustling their captain towards the mainmast fife rail in a highly undignified manner. They’d never get him to go out of sight of the work on deck, so this would have to do. Jack made an abortive attempt to escape, but his body wasted no time in informing him that pulverizing his mate and quartermaster would be a pleasure he would have to postpone for a more auspicious moment-assuming they survived to find one.
“Is this a mutiny?” Jack growled half-heartedly.
“Let me see,” Anamaria considered. “A mutiny is when we want t’ be gettin’ rid of our captain, but we seem t’ be tryin’ t’ keep this bloody daft one around a bit longer.” She looked critically at Jack. “God only knows why.”
At that moment, the Pearl buried her bowsprit into the face of an oncoming sea. The mass of water cannonading over the forecastle bowled men over, washing them forty feet down her decks, slamming those unlucky enough not to grab a line into rails and bulwarks. For one heartstopping moment, Anamaria was certain they’d lost somebody, but as the deck reappeared, she breathed again to find the considerably more battered and bruised crew still intact.
Gibbs had been the closest one to the lifeline. He’d held to it and Jack, while Anamaria had clung to Jack. Apparently that ordeal had taken all the fight out of the captain. Head hanging, white under his tan, his breath ragged as he wrestled the pain back into submission, Jack allowed them to haul him unresisting to the rail surrounding the mainmast and the pumps.
The captain roused himself enough to give the men labouring and sweating at the pumps a teeth-gritted grin. “Good work, lads,” he managed.
They grunted back at him, too exhausted to do or say anything more.
Since Jack seemed in no condition to make a break for his freedom at the moment, his captors let him go. Sure enough, he merely folded his arms around his chest and stood shaking.
“Sit down before you fall down, Jack Sparrow,” Anamaria ordered, “and let me take a look at that.”
“Aye, aye, sir.” Jack saluted sloppily with his left hand. “Harpy,” he muttered under his breath. He sank down onto the fife-rail.
“I’ll just be makin’ sure the boys ain’t breakin’ the ship, or somethin’. He’s all yours,” Gibbs said smugly, departing with alacrity before his captain could tie into him with that cutlass of a tongue he could wield on occasion. For once he was glad there was too much to do for his presence at an attempt to doctor the captain to be anything more than redundant. It was payback time for Anamaria. This would make up for any number of bad weather watches. “Good luck!” he called back.
“Sod off, ye blasted coward,” Anamaria grumbled. She turned to her intractable patient and glared at him.
Jack stared back at her mulishly. “What?”
“Take your shirt off, Jack,” Anamaria snapped.
“I thought you’d never ask, love,” Jack smirked, then winced, his breath hissing in sharply, as he tried.
“Just what I thought, y’daft fool. Y’ broke some ribs, didn’t you?” Anamaria groused. “Let me get that.”
She tried to be careful as she drew off the captain’s coat and vest, but the heavy, wet cloth refused to let go without a fight.
“Watch what you’re doin’ there,” Jack complained. “A body’d think you’d never undressed a man before.”
Rolling her eyes in exasperation, Anamaria stopped trying to be careful. Jack went another shade paler. Nevertheless, as she drew his soggy shirt over his head and then slipped it forward off his arms, the captain kept up his aggravating commentary.
“I do like a lass who’ll take the lead once in awhile. Oww!” Jack’s pained outcry had little to do with his injuries and everything to do with the slap that was ringing his ears. “Blast it, woman! Are you tryin’ t’ kill me?”
Anamaria caught a good look at him and successfully swallowed any squeak she might have made. “Looks like someone beat me to it,” she said.
Jack craned his neck and peered at his chest, eyes nearly crossing. “Well now. You’re a rank apprentice when it comes to wallopin’ your captain, eh darlin’?” he suggested. “This here is master work.”
Across his torso, from right hip to opposite shoulder, the imprint of the Black Pearl’s wheel marked him with contusions that were the angry red and purple of a Caribbean sunset after a storm. No wonder he’d been moving so carefully.
Reaching for the nearest bit of exposed wood, Jack patted his ship comfortingly. “Never mind, love. I know I deserved that.”
Anamaria snorted. “I’ll say.”
Jack scowled at her. “Nobody asked you.” He glanced pointedly at his chest. “Do you want to get busy with whatever witchdoctorin’ you’re plannin’ before I freeze to death in this rain?”
He was shivering and showing signs of gooseflesh. Immediately contrite, although she’d never let Jack know it, Anamaria scanned the deck for her other accomplice. He came galloping along the pitching planks, barely visible behind the armful of supplies she’d sent him to find. Sliding to a halt beside her, Jip announced brightly, “Here’s the things you ordered, ma’am.”
Trust the little thief to know where every item on the Pearl was located. Anamaria nodded her thanks.
Jack shot the pint-sized traitor an et tu Brute glower that bounced ineffectually off Jip’s impervious hide.
At the sight of the captain’s bruises, Jip’s eyes widened. “Criminy!” he exclaimed admiringly. “That was a real smasher!”
Jack unbent from his indignation at the first sign of an appreciative audience. He inspected his multi-hued decorations with a satisfied air. “She’s some ship, ain’t she?”
“She sure is, sir!” Jip agreed enthusiastically.
Anamaria rolled her eyes. Men! They were stark raving mad, the lot of them, from cradle to grave.
“Here.” She dropped Jack’s hat onto Jip’s drowned-rat hair and added the coat, vest and shirt to the pile in his arms. Jip now resembled a stack of clothing with legs. “Make yourself useful.”
She scrutinized Jack, ignoring his suggestive leer back. At least the right side of his chest was still rising in time with his left side. Anamaria let out a breath of relief. They’d really have been scuppered if the captain had broken enough ribs to cave them in.
“So where does it hurt?” she asked him.
Jack raised an incredulous eyebrow. “Isn’t it obvious?”
“I’m tryin’ t’ find out which ribs y’ broke, y’ bacon brain!”
Ignoring Jack’s objections to her cold hands, Anamaria ran dispassionate fingertips along the track the Black Pearl had left on his ribs. She also determinedly ignored the smooth slide of his skin wet with rain, the faint warmth like the memory of sunlight still escaping off his body, the intriguing difference in texture between scarred and unmarked flesh. The rolling ship was not making it easy to be gentle. She felt Jack tense under her touch just as her fingers brushed carefully over a shallow, unnatural indentation.
“Ah ha!” she exclaimed. “That’ll be the culprit then.”
Two ribs. Bad enough, but it could have been worse.
“Apparently so,” Jack agreed through clenched teeth. “Will you hurry up? I’ve got a Navy to escape.”
“And you’ll need both your lungs to do it,” Anamaria said firmly, grabbing a wad of fabric from the perambulating clothes pile standing next to her. Expertly she folded it into a thick pad. “Now hold that against your side,” she instructed Jack. “You know the drill.”
“I do know it,” he grumped. “And I’m tellin’ you now; you’re not trussin’ up one o’ me arms like a goose, neither.”
Since she wasn’t ready to start an argument with him yet, Anamaria simply fished her next item from Jip’s arms.
“What’s that?” Jack asked suspiciously.
“Leather,” she said succinctly. “For a splint since you’re so bloody sure I can’t use your arm.” Anamaria wrapped the stiff leather around the pad already in place. “Now at least if y’ bump it again, y’ have a chance o’ not makin’ it worse.”
“Hmph.” Jack subsided, taking over holding the leather while Anamaria selected two long sashes to tie the contraption to his chest.
“Now breathe deep and hold it,” she instructed.
“No.” Jack was looking obstinate again.
“Jack,” Anamaria warned.
“Don’t want to.”
“Don’t have a choice,” said his first mate, threatening one of her neck-dislocating slaps. “This ain’t supposed t’ stop your breathin’, so I need t’ know how tight t’ tie it.”
Knowing she was right, Jack closed his eyes and did as he was told, his fingers gripping the rail nearly tight enough to leave prints in the wood. Anamaria secured the strips of fabric as firmly and swiftly as she could.
“All right,” she told Jack. “Let it out.”
Eyes still closed, Jack said in a strained voice, “Your great, great, great grandmammy slept with Torquemada, didn’t she?”
Anamaria leaned close to him, her teeth bared in a feral grin. “Maybe she did. Now let’s get you back in your clothes.”
“But we haven’t had any fun at all yet,” Jack protested.
In response, Anamaria held out his shirt. “Get - in.”
After much struggling with wet cloth and much profane grumbling from Jack, she and Jip succeeded in inserting the captain back into his shirt and vest and tugging Jack’s soggy coat back over his shoulders. Jack looked ready to bite something.
“And now you’re goin’ t’ let me put your arm in a sling,” she informed him.
The captain stood up. “Absolutely not.”
“Oh yes you are.” Anamaria held out the offending article. “You can pull your arm out of it if y’ have to. I won’t insist y’ tie it down. But it goes on. You’ve got to keep that arm as still as possible.”
“Anamaria, I’ve got a ship to run and a battle to survive. Contrary to popular opinion, I can’t do that with one hand tied behind me back. That’s me sword arm, y’ know.”
“Just don’t let this ship be boarded, that’s all,” Anamaria suggested.
Jack informed her creatively and rudely just where she could put her advice and her sling.
“Your arm’ll be tied in front, Jack. And y’ can move it. Now sit back down and don’t be such a mooncalf.”
She managed to get the fabric wrapped around the recalcitrant pirate’s arm, tucked under his heavy wet hair, and tied in a neat knot. Jack Sparrow was as hard to handle as canvas in a storm, but sooner or later an expert sailor would get the situation under control. Anamaria had been getting plenty of practice.
She expected to be treated to a further display of the captain’s temper, but another wave hailing across the ship’s decks left them clinging to the fife-rail, spluttering. Jack didn’t look well, but he brightened when Jip, still standing by, held up a familiar flask.
“Jip, you’re an angel,” Jack said fervently, grabbing the flask and downing its contents in one long gulp, as if the rum weren’t straight and strong enough to dissolve lead.
“Gibbs says I’m the devil,” Jip corrected.
“That too.” Jack wiped his mouth with his free arm. “I don’t suppose you asked Mr. Gibbs for the loan of his flask?”
Jip shook his head. “Nicked it,” he said proudly.
“Good lad,” Jack approved. “Now see if you can get it back t’ him before he misses it.”
“Aye, sir.” Giving the captain a ragged salute and tossing Anamaria the captain’s hat, the boy bounced off to return the pilfered property.
Deprived of what little shield Jip’s presence had supplied, Anamaria braced for Jack’s explosion, but once again he surprised her.
Giving a shallow sigh and closing his eyes again, he tilted back his head. “That’s much better,” he said. “Thanks, love.”
Wordlessly she stared down on him, startled. Jack’s eyes flew open. He gave a small, half smile and ducked his head.
“Hat?”
* * * * *
Anamaria had just set Jack’s hat back on his head when he stiffened, eyes going blank and introspective, the two lines between his brows furrowing.
“What is it?” Anamaria asked, wondering if he were hurting worse.
“Something’s wrong.” Jack leapt to his feet with an energy she would have said was impossible a minute ago. Spinning about, he scanned up the masts and rigging receding into the murk of the storm for some problem only he could sense. “Damnation! I can’t see a thing in this bloody soup!”
He stood quivering tense for a moment, listening, watching. For what? Anamaria still could not tell what had triggered his alert.
Suddenly he lit out for the quarterdeck. “Oh shit!”
Completely confused, Anamaria ran after him.
At that moment the Pearl twisted violently, nearly broadsided by another wave. Above the thunder of wind and sails resounded the crack of wood and the snap of lines. In futile horror, Anamaria saw the great mizzen topgallant yard break free of its starboard moorings and swing wildly in brutal counterpoint to the motion of the ship. She could hear the groan of the mizzenmast as the huge spar, fifty feet long and a foot in diameter, scythed back and forth across the width of the Pearl, slicing the salt thick air.
“Lay aloft to secure that yard!” the captain was shouting. “Get it tied down before it tears the sticks right out of her!”
Instantly and unquestioningly, men leapt for the windward ratlines and surged towards the careering yard. With bloody hands they climbed the rigging that thrummed and sang in the wild wind, one hundred feet in the air. Each time the Black Pearl drove her yard ends into the furious seas, they froze, hanging on for their lives.
Captain Sparrow stood immobile on the quarterdeck, his neck craned back until it ached, never taking his eyes off his men as they climbed towards that breakaway yard that threatened to rip the heart out of his ship. His unnatural silence accentuated the terrible danger they courted. As the vicious spar whipped from side to side above them, it seemed to miss by mere inches. Any moment it could crush a man or smash him into the sea.
Only luck and desperate agility could save those men now. They would live only if the ship survived, and so they must fight to save the ship, reckless of the cost.
* * * * *
TBC
7 To Dare Do All That May Become a Man