Chapter Eight - Silent Waters
Tortuga in the first haze of dawn was not nearly so enticing as under the silky cover of night. The sun's rays slunk through the streets, as unwilling as the sots they roused, and Jack perched miserably on a low wall not far from the harbour. Scarlett was not particularly forgiving to bedfellows who woke up in the small hours shouting, even though, as he had attempted to explain whilst dodging that skilfully wielded palm, it wasn't as if he had done it deliberately. If he'd had any say in the matter of what his brain chose to dangle before him of a night... well...
He snorted disgustedly at himself. No, of course he wouldn't choose to be dreaming about Elizabeth bloody Swann if he had any say in the matter. Compass be damned. The woman was on the opposite side of the Atlantic and would stay there. She'd probably gone and found herself some well-to-do husband by now- she always had been quite the manipulator- and was not likely to be pining over the few months of piracy that had interrupted her life. Yes. That was exactly how things would be.
"A'right cap'n?"
Jack started, twisting to his right. Pintel seemed to have ended up kipping with the pigs; the man had mud smeared in the most unlikely places. Ragetti had fared little better- were the pair of them ever apart?- but both seemed fairly pleased with themselves, if a little groggy. He nodded curtly as they wobbled past on their way back towards the Pearl. At least the crew were enjoying Tortuga. He knew he'd been neglecting them, what with the drink and the three years of crooked headings it had given. He couldn't even remember the name of the man who had died off Mauritius; Gibbs had ended up reading the service as they gave the fellow back to the sea and felt very strongly the fragility of their own vile bodies against her eventual call, if only for a moment. They were loyal men and it didn't do to treat them poorly.
He sighed, tipping his head back slightly to survey the tentative blue of the sky. Maudlin thoughts for what was looking to be a fine day in a fine town. There'd be trading to be done once Tortuga had properly woken; three years sailing the world had left the Pearl with a fair cache of goods, both honestly and dishonestly procured, though most free merchants weren't discriminating. They could stay for a while, on the proceeds of that, then maybe a little wander through good hunting grounds around the islands before battening down the hatches for the storm season. And then sailing on, and on, and on.
It had never all seemed so worthless before. Oh he'd had those brief moments, usually going hand in hand with abrupt sobriety, of wondering what on earth he was doing with himself, why he'd ever flown the black flag, why he'd ever gone to sea in the first place and abandoned the heat and splendour of Madras. But he supposed everyone doubted themselves now and again, pirate or no. This was different. He still wanted the creak of the deck under his feet, wind in the sails and a merchant vessel waiting on the horizon, but it had seemed so lacklustre these past three years, the old spark dimmed if not entirely extinguished. No matter what waters they sailed, there was still something missing. He didn't like to ruminate on what.
A cockerel crowed somewhere nearby as more sunlight spilled into the town. Jack slid off the wall and dusted himself down. Perhaps he should start frequenting the local taverns again; a little coin for a few drinks could have interesting dividends. Doubtless there were a hundred and one different stories of buried treasure or lost Spanish galleons to be prised from the locals, and they turned out at least partially true more often than one might think. A good old-fashioned treasure hunt might do him some good, put a bit of spice back into life for the crew as well, maybe even persuade his compass to twitch away from north east- just a little. It would be worth it for that alone, really.
Slowly he made his way towards the docks and the Black Pearl, past a row of little fishing skiffs. He smiled fondly in remembrance of the Jolly Mon. Not the most sound vessel he'd ever sailed, but she'd led him on a pretty route... he sighed again. Oh yes, bloody pretty, with the bloody heroics when she literally fell into his life that had led him on a fine little dance. It was somewhat ironic that the stolen boat had led him from one angry woman to another, though at least Anamaria hadn't gotten him sopping wet to boot.
The broadside of the Pearl loomed in front of him, all wind-faded black and elegance as she rocked gently in her berth. He patted her fondly, peering up towards the deck. At least the two angry women had led him back to one that was merely... volatile. If only even that didn't seem a little lifeless these days.
The ship looked sturdy enough, a middling-sized brigantine, her gunwale painted a gay yellow. She seemed itching to escape the wharf and feel the tidal kiss of the Thames. Elizabeth adopted her most seaworthy saunter as she approached the men who were loading the vessel. A stocky figure stood directing them, dressed in a rough brown coat. He turned at her approach.
"You have business with the Sophia? I warn you, we'll be underway in an hour or so."
"I'm interested in joining the crew."
The man ran a more searching gaze over her at that. She willed him not to notice the decidedly unboyish curve of her hips, covered as they were in her loose clothing, and not to question it if she'd pitched her voice a little too high. Word of a disguised woman attempting to gain passage might spread faster than she could find another ship leaving that morning, and she had neither the coin nor the time to wait in London or strike out for another port. She did not expect the Wilmots to be enormously understanding, and Richard... she had no idea how he would react, except that he was likely a sight more dangerous than he appeared. One thing they definitely had in common. Forcing down thoughts of him she focused on the man examining her.
"You've sailed before?"
"A few months. Aboard... another merchant."
He nodded.
"You've the look of the sea about you. We're needing a lad, the cabin boy jumped ship in Bermuda. Any particular interest in Charlestown?"
"I've a particular interest in anywhere that isn't England."
A guffaw at that.
"Oh, I've heard that before. Well, no need to be spilling out your story to us, the captain doesn't care as long as you pull your weight and neither do I." His worn, podgy hand grasped her own. "Name's Daniel Wright, though that'll be Master Wright or First Mate to you."
She savoured the first taste of her pseudonym.
"Elijah Swann."
"Welcome aboard the Sophia, Elijah."
Andrew's hand trembled slightly as he re-read the letter. In the chair behind him Sarah was breathing in short little gasps, occasionally dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief. Nathaniel was unnervingly silent.
'... I have sailed under a pirate flag... I am not the lady I have pretended... and thus with some regret I find I must leave you and return to the life in which I belong, and I hope you will not begrudge me the manner in which I take my leave.'
He should have known. He should have fitted the pieces together; her outlandish dress when she arrived, the fervour with which she would tell Nathaniel of sea battles and pirate treasure, her rigorous secrecy about any details of her past beyond childhood, that strangeness to her gait, the lithe ease with which she had held his sabre... half-wild didn't do the girl justice, they'd been harbouring a wolf on the thinnest of leashes. His eyes flicked swiftly around the room again; she didn't appear to have stolen anything other than food and a kitchen knife, but one could never be too careful.
He could feel his palms starting to sweat. They had to find some way of keeping this under wraps. He could almost taste the Council now, the feeling of being introduced as the Right Honourable Andrew Wilmot, the scent of power that must linger in the royal palaces... but if the Tories got hold of word that he'd given houseroom to a pirate- probably wanted somewhere in the colonies- a woman who toyed with London's bachelors then cut and ran away to sea, well it didn't really bear thinking about. Certainly the words 'my Lord' would be heard an awful lot less over the dinner table.
"I'll go to Richard as soon as possible. He won't want to lose face over this either."
Sarah nodded tearfully.
"Whatever you think is best dear. Oh Elizabeth... what would Charlotte have thought?"
Probably have been half-impressed, Andrew thought acrimoniously. Elizabeth's mother had certainly been... mercurial... especially if she thought you'd crossed her. He turned to Nathaniel.
"And you, young man? She didn't breathe a word of this?" The boy's face twitched slightly before he shook his head. Hmm. "Perhaps we ought to send someone to the docklands, to try and apprehend her." Nathaniel mumbled something. "What, boy?"
"You should let her go." His face, upturned now, was defiant. "Bet she's going to have lots of adventures and fun and not be bored silly stuck in this house."
Andrew frowned at his son.
"Be thankful I'm putting that down to strain over losing someone close, Nathaniel, or you'd be asking for a hiding." He picked up the copy of ‘The Legends of the Moste Feared Pyrates of the Seas' that still lay on the sideboard. "I think it might help you a lot to stop daydreaming about pirates and concentrate on your schooling. I hear you're not fond of French verbs; we’ll see about correcting that."
Jack fiddled with his callipers as he gazed idly at a map of the Caribbean. A week in Tortuga and a much emptier hold, and no tale had yet caught his fancy. Not that the crew seemed to mind much, nor the purveyors of rum and loose women who abounded in the grimy streets. He'd avoided most of the former and all of the latter himself, since the first evening, spending much of his time thoroughly going over the Pearl, for every scrap of damage. Thankfully she only needed a little recaulking and the replacement of a few deck boards. He'd wait until they could take down a merchant vessel before thinking about the sailcloth- perhaps a small navy ship might be even better. The cannons hadn't seen a great deal of use recently, but it was always good to keep a ready supply of arms. Plus it was always gratifying to be able to blast some shot through a Union Jack.
Whimsically, he unwound the compass from his belt.
"Treasure?" He murmured to it, stroking a finger across the smooth lid. "Gold and jewels and riches? Fat merchant vessels full of tobacco? Rum?"
He flipped it open. The needle turned, slowly and inexorably, to a north-easterly direction. He rolled his eyes and set it down next to the smaller, normal compass that had been seeing much more use these last few years.
Wait a minute.
Intently, he compared the two instruments. What the...?
He snorted disgustedly at himself. No, of course he wouldn't choose to be dreaming about Elizabeth bloody Swann if he had any say in the matter. Compass be damned. The woman was on the opposite side of the Atlantic and would stay there. She'd probably gone and found herself some well-to-do husband by now- she always had been quite the manipulator- and was not likely to be pining over the few months of piracy that had interrupted her life. Yes. That was exactly how things would be.
"A'right cap'n?"
Jack started, twisting to his right. Pintel seemed to have ended up kipping with the pigs; the man had mud smeared in the most unlikely places. Ragetti had fared little better- were the pair of them ever apart?- but both seemed fairly pleased with themselves, if a little groggy. He nodded curtly as they wobbled past on their way back towards the Pearl. At least the crew were enjoying Tortuga. He knew he'd been neglecting them, what with the drink and the three years of crooked headings it had given. He couldn't even remember the name of the man who had died off Mauritius; Gibbs had ended up reading the service as they gave the fellow back to the sea and felt very strongly the fragility of their own vile bodies against her eventual call, if only for a moment. They were loyal men and it didn't do to treat them poorly.
He sighed, tipping his head back slightly to survey the tentative blue of the sky. Maudlin thoughts for what was looking to be a fine day in a fine town. There'd be trading to be done once Tortuga had properly woken; three years sailing the world had left the Pearl with a fair cache of goods, both honestly and dishonestly procured, though most free merchants weren't discriminating. They could stay for a while, on the proceeds of that, then maybe a little wander through good hunting grounds around the islands before battening down the hatches for the storm season. And then sailing on, and on, and on.
It had never all seemed so worthless before. Oh he'd had those brief moments, usually going hand in hand with abrupt sobriety, of wondering what on earth he was doing with himself, why he'd ever flown the black flag, why he'd ever gone to sea in the first place and abandoned the heat and splendour of Madras. But he supposed everyone doubted themselves now and again, pirate or no. This was different. He still wanted the creak of the deck under his feet, wind in the sails and a merchant vessel waiting on the horizon, but it had seemed so lacklustre these past three years, the old spark dimmed if not entirely extinguished. No matter what waters they sailed, there was still something missing. He didn't like to ruminate on what.
A cockerel crowed somewhere nearby as more sunlight spilled into the town. Jack slid off the wall and dusted himself down. Perhaps he should start frequenting the local taverns again; a little coin for a few drinks could have interesting dividends. Doubtless there were a hundred and one different stories of buried treasure or lost Spanish galleons to be prised from the locals, and they turned out at least partially true more often than one might think. A good old-fashioned treasure hunt might do him some good, put a bit of spice back into life for the crew as well, maybe even persuade his compass to twitch away from north east- just a little. It would be worth it for that alone, really.
Slowly he made his way towards the docks and the Black Pearl, past a row of little fishing skiffs. He smiled fondly in remembrance of the Jolly Mon. Not the most sound vessel he'd ever sailed, but she'd led him on a pretty route... he sighed again. Oh yes, bloody pretty, with the bloody heroics when she literally fell into his life that had led him on a fine little dance. It was somewhat ironic that the stolen boat had led him from one angry woman to another, though at least Anamaria hadn't gotten him sopping wet to boot.
The broadside of the Pearl loomed in front of him, all wind-faded black and elegance as she rocked gently in her berth. He patted her fondly, peering up towards the deck. At least the two angry women had led him back to one that was merely... volatile. If only even that didn't seem a little lifeless these days.
The ship looked sturdy enough, a middling-sized brigantine, her gunwale painted a gay yellow. She seemed itching to escape the wharf and feel the tidal kiss of the Thames. Elizabeth adopted her most seaworthy saunter as she approached the men who were loading the vessel. A stocky figure stood directing them, dressed in a rough brown coat. He turned at her approach.
"You have business with the Sophia? I warn you, we'll be underway in an hour or so."
"I'm interested in joining the crew."
The man ran a more searching gaze over her at that. She willed him not to notice the decidedly unboyish curve of her hips, covered as they were in her loose clothing, and not to question it if she'd pitched her voice a little too high. Word of a disguised woman attempting to gain passage might spread faster than she could find another ship leaving that morning, and she had neither the coin nor the time to wait in London or strike out for another port. She did not expect the Wilmots to be enormously understanding, and Richard... she had no idea how he would react, except that he was likely a sight more dangerous than he appeared. One thing they definitely had in common. Forcing down thoughts of him she focused on the man examining her.
"You've sailed before?"
"A few months. Aboard... another merchant."
He nodded.
"You've the look of the sea about you. We're needing a lad, the cabin boy jumped ship in Bermuda. Any particular interest in Charlestown?"
"I've a particular interest in anywhere that isn't England."
A guffaw at that.
"Oh, I've heard that before. Well, no need to be spilling out your story to us, the captain doesn't care as long as you pull your weight and neither do I." His worn, podgy hand grasped her own. "Name's Daniel Wright, though that'll be Master Wright or First Mate to you."
She savoured the first taste of her pseudonym.
"Elijah Swann."
"Welcome aboard the Sophia, Elijah."
Andrew's hand trembled slightly as he re-read the letter. In the chair behind him Sarah was breathing in short little gasps, occasionally dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief. Nathaniel was unnervingly silent.
'... I have sailed under a pirate flag... I am not the lady I have pretended... and thus with some regret I find I must leave you and return to the life in which I belong, and I hope you will not begrudge me the manner in which I take my leave.'
He should have known. He should have fitted the pieces together; her outlandish dress when she arrived, the fervour with which she would tell Nathaniel of sea battles and pirate treasure, her rigorous secrecy about any details of her past beyond childhood, that strangeness to her gait, the lithe ease with which she had held his sabre... half-wild didn't do the girl justice, they'd been harbouring a wolf on the thinnest of leashes. His eyes flicked swiftly around the room again; she didn't appear to have stolen anything other than food and a kitchen knife, but one could never be too careful.
He could feel his palms starting to sweat. They had to find some way of keeping this under wraps. He could almost taste the Council now, the feeling of being introduced as the Right Honourable Andrew Wilmot, the scent of power that must linger in the royal palaces... but if the Tories got hold of word that he'd given houseroom to a pirate- probably wanted somewhere in the colonies- a woman who toyed with London's bachelors then cut and ran away to sea, well it didn't really bear thinking about. Certainly the words 'my Lord' would be heard an awful lot less over the dinner table.
"I'll go to Richard as soon as possible. He won't want to lose face over this either."
Sarah nodded tearfully.
"Whatever you think is best dear. Oh Elizabeth... what would Charlotte have thought?"
Probably have been half-impressed, Andrew thought acrimoniously. Elizabeth's mother had certainly been... mercurial... especially if she thought you'd crossed her. He turned to Nathaniel.
"And you, young man? She didn't breathe a word of this?" The boy's face twitched slightly before he shook his head. Hmm. "Perhaps we ought to send someone to the docklands, to try and apprehend her." Nathaniel mumbled something. "What, boy?"
"You should let her go." His face, upturned now, was defiant. "Bet she's going to have lots of adventures and fun and not be bored silly stuck in this house."
Andrew frowned at his son.
"Be thankful I'm putting that down to strain over losing someone close, Nathaniel, or you'd be asking for a hiding." He picked up the copy of ‘The Legends of the Moste Feared Pyrates of the Seas' that still lay on the sideboard. "I think it might help you a lot to stop daydreaming about pirates and concentrate on your schooling. I hear you're not fond of French verbs; we’ll see about correcting that."
Jack fiddled with his callipers as he gazed idly at a map of the Caribbean. A week in Tortuga and a much emptier hold, and no tale had yet caught his fancy. Not that the crew seemed to mind much, nor the purveyors of rum and loose women who abounded in the grimy streets. He'd avoided most of the former and all of the latter himself, since the first evening, spending much of his time thoroughly going over the Pearl, for every scrap of damage. Thankfully she only needed a little recaulking and the replacement of a few deck boards. He'd wait until they could take down a merchant vessel before thinking about the sailcloth- perhaps a small navy ship might be even better. The cannons hadn't seen a great deal of use recently, but it was always good to keep a ready supply of arms. Plus it was always gratifying to be able to blast some shot through a Union Jack.
Whimsically, he unwound the compass from his belt.
"Treasure?" He murmured to it, stroking a finger across the smooth lid. "Gold and jewels and riches? Fat merchant vessels full of tobacco? Rum?"
He flipped it open. The needle turned, slowly and inexorably, to a north-easterly direction. He rolled his eyes and set it down next to the smaller, normal compass that had been seeing much more use these last few years.
Wait a minute.
Intently, he compared the two instruments. What the...?