Black
Pearl Tales
is the official archive of
Black Pearl Sails
and Black Pearl Library.
Pirates of the Caribbean
is the property of the
Disney Corporation.
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a Challenge:
Things
To Come
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By Sylvia ~ Things to Come ~ Jack lay in his bed, listening to the sound of the
waves washing against the cliffs just yards from his window; the
cottage perched precariously close to the sheer drop down to the
beach. He'd never thought to see Cornwall again, let alone reach
a time when age would sap his strength. Eyes once bright and clear,
now barely made out the shifting shapes of his visitors, their
voices murmuring softly of days gone by. For a brief moment, his
vision cleared, through the window he could see the Black Pearl
waiting for him. It was time to go home.
By JentheGypsy ~ Day of Reckoning ~ He had always thought himself a good man. He was as kind as his vocation allowed, when his vocation allowed him to be so, and killed only to save his own life or the lives of his mates. He wrote often to his dear wife, enclosing notes and trinkets for his little son, so that, when old enough, the boy would know that he had never been far from his papa’s thoughts. As he could not act a proper father to his own son, he took the other under wing and taught him all that he knew of ships and the deep. The lad, displaying an uncanny aptitude from the first, understood much more of the souls of the sea and the vessels which sailed upon her than most; soon student became teacher and teacher became devoted friend and protector. But the Fates kept a different account of a man’s transgressions and of his failings, every debt having its day of reckoning. His came due on a brilliant Caribbean afternoon, complete with waters smooth as glass and a sky of endless blue. He kept his eyes hard to the tiny spit of land centered in that mirrored sea as they made way from it, wondering what new pact he would have to make with the Devil to cause things to come right for the boy this time.
By Geek Mama ~ Loose
~
They gave him a shove, and Jack stumbled, falling to the floor of the cell, grazing his hands and knees. He hissed at the pain, the foulest dockside oath he could recall, but the clang of the door swinging home drowned it. Then the guards were leaving, their footsteps and banter fading down the dank passage. He rolled to his backside, sitting in the dust to gingerly inspect the damage. His skin would mend, but the hole in his best pair of breeches and the damage to his lace cuffs would not. He looked up, finally, at the cell door: wide straps of metal in a strong criss-cross pattern, secured with a hefty lock, and only torchlit darkness beyond it. Behind him, though, was another source of light. He got up and turned to face it. A barred window, through which moonbeams shone in tantalizing array. Oh, cruel! Almost against his will he was drawn toward it. Clean silvery light… a fresh scent of cold night air… the faint, steady sound, like the beating of a great heart.… and then the sight, the blessed sight of the sea. Panic assailed him as he stared through the bars at his lost freedom, and at what he now faced, instead. He took hold of the iron, cold as death under his hands. “No!” he said, low but vehement, and he pulled, and then shook at the bars, hard. Harder. And a small chunk of wall flaked off and fell. He froze, gaping. Heart thudding for quite another reason now, he jerked at the bars again. It was the one on the right side: loose! He put both hands around it, and turned it with all his strength and, miracle of miracles, it twisted ‘round, grating against the stone in which it was seated. He tried lifting it, and it moved that way, too, and another small chunk of wall broke off and shattered. The noise of it startled him, and he looked furtively around. But the guards were gone, and there seemed to be no other prisoners at present. Three hours ‘til dawn, and maybe a bit more before he was brought before the magistrate. The echo of the guard’s words rang in his head, brutally cheerful: Ol’ Morestone’ll ‘ave the skin off your back, right enough, come the mornin’, just see if ‘e don’t! Aye, well, they would just see about that, wouldn’t they?
~ Tall
Tales ~ from the personal log of Hector Barbossa, First Mate of the Black Pearl
'Tis the stupidest story in Christendom, but with Captain Jack Sparrow weaving the words, by the end every man in the tavern'll be holdin' his sides. " . . . in France, mates, where there are millions of 'em!" See there, they're weeping wi' mirth and the damned tale isn't even funny. Jack likes people and it shows, and most return the favor. Men want to drink with him, and the wenches--don't get me started on that. Never saw a whore he couldn't talk out of her knickers without ever a coin changin' hands. Keeps him busy, playin' the Mad Pirate Captain. So busy he's
left it for me to find us a crew daft enough to sail to Isla de
Muerta. Enjoy your drinks and your admirers, Jack. They'll be neither where you next hold court. By Virgo79 ~ Becalmed ~ By Honorat Selonnet By Pendragginink ~ Legal Execution ~
He was a good man. He risked his life for others. He was no murderer, certainly: taking lives only when he must. His own free will had brought here to this place of execution, but he was not free; he was held captive: securely bound ---- by duty. Commodore Norrington had never known, before today, that the execution of the law could also mean the sacrifice of justice.
~.~
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