Black
Pearl Tales
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Black Pearl Sails
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Pirates of the Caribbean
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Disney Corporation.
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a Turnabout by Hereswith |
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The
tale thus far... |
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Part Two Jack, seemingly acquainted with the lay of the place, steered her to a side entrance, away from the tumult at the front of the tavern. “Wait here,” he instructed, and when Elizabeth made as if to protest, he swiftly continued, “If she’s favourably disposed to the suggestion, I’ll fetch you. Savvy?” Before she could demand a proper explanation, he was gone, having slipped through the door and into the building. Elizabeth stared after him, somewhat at a loss, then heaved a frustrated sigh. Far too restless to remain rooted to the spot where he had, so unceremoniously, left her, she took to pacing instead. Even if it was tempting to blame Jack, entirely and for everything, she couldn’t, not when she had wished to go with him. But she was tired, bruised, the graze on her arm stung, and she sincerely hoped that he indeed had a plan. Madcap or not. A whistle, interspersed with bursts of song, caused her to jerk around. Some raggedy stranger was wobbling down the alley towards her and though Elizabeth tensed, she wasn’t quite as apprehensive as she would have been, had she worn long flowing skirts, and had her hair not been concealed. Since he was soused, it was unlikely he belonged to Lynch’s crew, but even so, she would prefer not to have to deal with him. Just then, as if in answer to her thoughts, Jack stuck his head out the door. “There you are,” he said, jovially, like he had not told her to wait, and she barely refrained from pointing that out, before she hurried inside. The din and clamour grew louder as he led her through a passage and to a steep staircase. A woman, past the first blush of youth, was standing at the foot of it, her features were striking rather than beautiful, and she carried herself with an air of authority. “Sarah.” Jack gestured sweepingly at Elizabeth. “This is Turner, topman on the Pearl.” “That so, Jack?” she queried. “Aye,” Jack replied. “Lad’s mute, but he’s up the ratlines like he was born to it. Excellent dancer, too,” he added, as if upon reflection. “Pity he can’t speak.” Elizabeth opened her mouth, and promptly snapped it shut. Jack’s lips twitched, almost imperceptibly, and she would have glared at him, if not for the other woman’s keen scrutiny. As it was, she settled for dipping her head in greeting. “A mere boy,” Sarah said, thoughtfully, “a terrible misfortune, ain’t it?” “Terrible,” Jack agreed, as grave as if he’d uttered no falsehood, then leaned in on Sarah. “What of our accord, love?” Sarah snorted, but with amusement, not derision. “One of the rooms upstairs is empty,” she confirmed. “Come with me.” Much to Elizabeth’s embarrassment there could be no doubt about what went on, on the upper floor. The muffled noises were evident proof of it, as was the presence of the girl who passed them in the corridor, her face painted and her bosom provocatively displayed. Sarah took them to a room with a small, curtained window, at the back of the house. It was sparsely furnished, but there was a large bed, which appeared to have been recently occupied—Elizabeth’s cheeks heated at the images that came unbidden in her mind—and a vanity against the opposite wall. Sarah, pausing at the threshold, addressed Jack, “Kate’s about yer height, I reckon. I’ll talk to her.” She closed the door behind her with a thud and Elizabeth turned immediately to Jack, who raised his hands in mock surrender, or as if to fend her off. “You wanted me to be inconspicuous,” he reminded her. “Besides, you’ve seen me trussed up all ladylike before.” Which she had, of course, during one of his whirlwind visits to Port Royal, but it had been a mourning dress on that particular occasion and she had not known it was he, until he had lifted the veil. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” she accused. “These masquerades?” And he, the scoundrel, completely unfazed, winked at her and said, “Peas in a pod, eh, Mrs. Turner?” It brought her up short, as must have been his purpose, and she gritted her teeth, acutely aware of the fact that she could not make a convincing argument while she was in a disguise as outlandish, and as inappropriate for her sex, as the one he contemplated. “Bloody pirate!” she scowled, but it was more habit than biting insult, and he smirked, acknowledging it as such. Avoiding the disarranged bed, Elizabeth seated herself by the vanity and pinched the bridge of her nose. “So, is she an old friend, or an old enemy you’ve blandished into a truce?” “Sarah? She’s been both,” Jack replied, “depending on circumstance and, I dare say, inclination. Wasn’t rightly sure she wouldn’t do worse than slap me.” “She slapped you?” she asked, curious. “Did you deserve it?” “Probably did,” he admitted and then, teasingly, “You’re devilish verbose for a mute, darling.” “Bah!” said Elizabeth. * Sarah returned with some assorted pieces of clothing—among them a blue dress—and deposited them on the bed. “Ye don’t need me to stay, I take it?” She cast a gaze at Elizabeth. It could have been an innocuous question, but it was abundantly clear that it was not, and Elizabeth was struck speechless, in truth, because whatever else this woman might be, she had not been deceived. “Yer a fine lad, pet. I’ve an eye for it, is all,” Sarah explained, noting Elizabeth’s bewilderment. “And ‘tis in how he looks at ye.” She arched a wry brow at Jack. “I’ll leave ye to it, shall I?” “You’ve done more than enough as it is, love,” Jack said smoothly and bent to kiss her hand. “I’m in your debt.” “Good,” Sarah smiled. “Gives me leverage, when next we meet.” Before departing, she nodded at Elizabeth and said, with no discernible hint of sarcasm in her tone, “Mr. Turner.” Only when she and Jack were alone again, did Elizabeth find her voice. “Oh, no.” “Sharp as a tack, that one,” Jack commented, tugging his shirt out of his breeches. “But she’s not prone to meddling, Lizzie, or tattling.” Elizabeth, still uneasy, mulled that over for a little while, but as Jack began rifling through the items on the bed, she got up. “Well,” she said, rather grudgingly, “I suppose I shall have to help you.” He chuckled. “If you would be so kind.” * It was not as difficult or time-consuming a task to get him into the garments as it could have been, all things considered, he was familiar with such intricate trappings, though Elizabeth suspected the experience lay more in removing them, than putting them on. The dress was of silken cloth, and it fit him tolerably well, after some adjusting and additional padding. When she had fastened the lacing, Jack sat down, and she gathered the tangles of his hair and tied them back as best she could, since it would take too long to attempt to pry the numerous adornments loose. She had meant to pull away, after she had finished, but the line of his neck was bared down to the shoulders and his skin would be soft, it would be warm beneath her fingers. The leap from thought to action was made almost unconsciously, and when he shivered, she shivered in response. “Lizzie,” he said, very low, and she froze, glancing up and into the mirror. The image in the glass disconcerted her even as it thrilled her, it was like a painted scene of a seduction: their poses, the ruffles and lace, and the hand placed so firmly upon naked flesh—positively shameless. And it was she, not Jack, who acted the rake. She flushed to the tips of her ears and took a step backward, so as to prevent herself from stepping forward. Jack rose, with an incongruous rustle of fabric. “Do I make as fine as woman, then, as you a lad?” Elizabeth swallowed. “There’s the beard.” “Ah, yes,” he mused, rubbing at the same. “Mayhap I should shave it off?” “No,” she blurted out, and regretted it at once. “Like it that much, do you?” he said, annoyingly smug. “I cannot imagine you without it,” Elizabeth hedged. “And the hood of the mantle will hide it, if you’re careful, will it not?” A hard rap on the door interrupted them. It wasn’t Sarah, Elizabeth discovered, but another woman, her red curls pinned up and coiled. “Ye have to go, sir,” she insisted. “There’s trouble below.” And, having delivered that message, she rushed off. Fear rolled over Elizabeth, like a wave, and she had to brace herself against it before being able to go back into the room. Jack had already donned mantle and gloves, and Elizabeth picked up his rings, pocketing them, then hefted the bag with the rest of his effects, breaking the strained quiet with an unsteady, “Jack?” “Drop’s too high from the window,” he answered, his eyes holding hers. “We’ll chance the stairs, aye?” She hesitated. “Aye.” They quit the room and proceeded down the corridor with caution. The stairway was mercifully devoid of people, as was the passage, and they could get outside without any unpleasant encounters. But they would be plainly visible from the tavern’s main entrance, from the end of the alley on, and Jack went ahead to determine the danger. He presently beckoned her to him. "Saunter," he said, "pretend it's naught but an evening stroll." Elizabeth kept near him, feeling skittish and certain that everyone around was observing them. Gradually, though, she saw that this was not the case, some lurched drunkenly about and seemed oblivious to their surroundings. But there was, by the double doors, a man more alert than most others were, and he had three pistols strapped to a belt across his chest. The faint wisp of a breeze was no comfort, it did not smell of the sea, and as the pirate suddenly swivelled his head, Elizabeth’s breath hitched. But Jack, from a distance, was slender and straight, the dress gave a fair illusion of flaring hips, and he did not move like a man, or like the infamous Jack Sparrow; he was as graceful as any woman had ever learned to be. And the pirate’s gaze did not linger. They rounded a corner and were, not safe, but out of sight. . All our authors thrive on feedback. Email the Webmaster to have comments forwarded to the author. a
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