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 Reasons
to Believe by Hereswith |
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The
tale thus far... |
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Chapter Two They departed, fully as early as Captain Sutton had said they would. It was a beautiful morning, suffused with the glow of a gentle sun. By midday, it was scorching. Elizabeth soon lost sight of the houses and streets of Port Royal, but the coastline of Jamaica was visible for quite some time, as was the peaks of the Blue Mountains. Captain Sutton had raised a brow, when he noticed how quickly she adjusted to the pitch and the roll of the ship. “You’ve got good sea legs, ma’am,” he observed. And she had smiled, demurely, in response, the way she never smiled, if she could help it. “It certainly seems so, Captain.” The Aurora, holds filled with cargo, was not nearly as fast as the ships, naval and pirate, that Elizabeth had sailed on before. She grew restless, as they picked their way through the Windward Passage, the long hours of inactivity giving her more than ample room to think. And though she tried, she could not keep the memories at bay. ** “Excellent footwork, that, Mrs. Turner.” Parry and thrust. A grin laced with sunlight and far too much rum. “But what did I tell you about the rules of engagement, eh?” “Guidelines,” she managed, through gritted teeth. “Aye.” He nodded, making a move that deprived her of sword, the tip of his blade suddenly so close to her throat that Will, a few feet away, made a sharp sound of protest. “Don’t listen to the whelp, love. There’s no point in fighting fair, if it gets you killed.” Jack blinked at her, dark eyes gazing down the length of polished steel. “Savvy?” She made a face. “Savvy.” “Splendid!” He withdrew the sword, then raised it. “Now, let’s try again, shall we?” ** Her sleeping quarter seemed, suddenly, more cramped than it had, a moment ago. Darkness pressed in on her on all sides and she fled, heading for the main deck. The breeze and the cool night air chased off the tears, if not her dismal mood, and Elizabeth leaned precariously over the starboard rail, all her weight on her toes, all her breath given to the wind. She thought of Will, who had not died at sea or by the sword, but from an illness that nothing could vanquish. She could not think about Jack, who might, even now, be swaying in tune with the current, his braids trailing like tangled skeins of seaweed in the murky water. * It was dark when they arrived and Elizabeth could not hope to
distinguish between the ships that lay anchored offshore. Will had told her about Tortuga, waving his hands in the air in a perfect imitation of Captain Jack Sparrow. He had rolled his eyes, and spoken of the squalor and the sweet proliferous bouquet, that had nearly made him gag. And he had confessed, carefully gauging her reaction, that some of the women had propositioned him, bosoms heaving in the dim light of the tavern. Elizabeth knew all his tales had been true the instant she stepped through the door of ‘The Faithful Bride’. It was the kind of place she had read about as a girl, a thrill of excitement running down her spine at every sordid description, though she was well aware she ought to have fainted at the mere mention of such things, as any proper young lady should. She glanced about, nervously, searching for a familiar face and when she saw none, moved further into the room, so focused on her task that she didn’t notice the man that came up behind her. Not until he placed his hands on her shoulders. Elizabeth gasped, caught off guard, and swirled around. “Well, what've we here?” The stranger chuckled, deep in his throat, and his lips curled back in a gap-toothed grin. She could smell him, a mixture of stale sweat and liquor. “Yer a pretty little thin’, ain’t ye, poppet?” He tried to pull her towards him, his fingers digging into her waist, but Elizabeth twisted free, dodging him when he lunged at her and he stumbled, almost tripping over. She backed away, not taking her eyes off of him. To her relief, he remained where he was, wobbling on his feet, too drunk to give chase. But he swore, harshly, making a gesture so lewd she winced at the sight of it. Her heart pounding in her ears, Elizabeth slipped into the crowd, putting as much space between them as she could. She cursed him, under her breath. Wished a pox on him, too, for good measure, then set out to find the landlord. Before long, she spotted him, an elderly, balding man, at the back of the tavern, and she hastened to approach. “Excuse me?” He turned and looked her over, thinking her oddly attired, no doubt, considering the state of undress of most other women in the tavern. “What can I do for ye, miss?” Elizabeth shifted, feeling self-conscious. “I’m searching for a man by the name of Joshamee Gibbs. Do you know him?” “Joshamee Gibbs, eh?” His eyebrows lifted. “And what d’ye want with him, then?” “I’m Elizabeth Gibbs,” she answered, almost without thinking. “He’s my uncle.” “Is he now? Can’t say as I’ve ever heard him speak of any brothers or sisters.” “So you do know him?” He crossed his arms over his chest. “I might.” She tensed, waiting for him to continue, but he didn’t, and when it dawned on her why, she flushed, angry rather than embarrassed, and handed him a couple of coins. “Aye,” the landlord confirmed. “I know him. And I know where yer likely to find him.” He fingered the coins, looking at her pointedly. Elizabeth clenched her jaw, but she pushed another coin across the desk. “Well,” the landlord began, leaning forward, “I reckon he’ll be in the pigpen, miss.” And he smirked, as if he was hoping to shock her. “All snug and warm, like a babe in arms.” * There was a strong, almost overpowering stench in the darkened alley and Elizabeth heard the sound of someone retching, not too far off from where she was. She swallowed, hard, pressing her lips together and lifted her skirts, in a vain attempt to keep them out of the filth. A parrot sat perched on one of the rickety walls of the pigpen, keeping guard, like some faithful dog, over the man that lay curled up on the ground. It squawked, when it saw her. “Not Cotton too?” She cocked her head, a cold, sick feeling in her stomach. “I’m sorry.” “Wind in the sails!” the parrot exclaimed, flapping its wings. “Wind in the sails!” Gibbs rolled over, muttering something wholly unintelligible, his mouth partially covered by straw. Elizabeth prodded him, with the tip of her shoe, but he did not wake. He started to snore, instead. Her brows knit and she prodded him again, much harder, eyeing the bucket nearby. “Eh?” He sat bolt upright, shrugging off sleep, and as the drink-induced fog started to clear, in some fashion, his jaw dropped an inch. “Mary, Mother of God! Miss Elizabeth?” “Mr. Gibbs,” she replied, quite calmly, as if meeting him, like this, was an everyday occurrence. “I need your help.” * Grimly determined, Gibbs poured the bucket of water over himself, without her suggesting it. “Ye shouldn’t be here!” he grumbled, smoothing his wet, grey-streaked hair. “Jack would—“ He broke off, looking pained. “I’d not forgive it, if I let anythin’ happen to ye.” “I’m quite capable of taking care of myself, Mr. Gibbs.” He snorted; managing to disagree and blow out the water that had gone in his nose, all in one fell swoop. “I’m still plannin’ to bring ye back to Port Royal, Mrs. Turner! As soon as the Pearl can set sail!” “I rather thought you would, Mr. Gibbs,” she said. “But I had hoped we might go somewhere else, first.” His expression grew suspicious. “And where’d that be, lass?” Elizabeth met his gaze and she took the plunge, not as gracefully as Jack would have, but then, she wasn’t that good a swimmer. “To where it happened. Where he died.” Gibbs scowled, fiercely, and seemed about protest, but he never got a chance to speak. “Dead men! Dead men tell no tales!” “Damn that bird!” Gibbs snapped, and he glared at the parrot. “Off with ye! Go pester some other poor unfortunate creature!” The parrot bobbed its head up and down, up and down, but it chose not to answer. “It likes you,” Elizabeth ventured. Gibbs sighed, rubbing a hand across the muscles in the back of his neck. “That’s what I’m afraid of.” She hesitated, her eyes on the bird. “You lost Cotton, as well?” “Aye. Cotton, Jack and three more besides.” A few stray drops trickled down his cheeks and it must have been water, but it almost looked like tears. “Young Tom died yesterday.” “I’m sorry,” she said, again, and she knew it wasn’t enough, but she didn’t think he would have approved of her trying to comfort him. He nodded curtly, then frowned, as if realising that they were still standing in the pigpen. “This is no place to talk, Mrs. Turner. Will ye come to the Pearl with me?” Elizabeth smiled, a little, at that. “Yes, Mr. Gibbs.” She followed him, as he started to walk, going down the street in the direction of the docks. The parrot alighted on her shoulder, and it surprised her, but she could guess what had prompted it. Any port in a storm.
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