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Pearl Tales
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a Turnabout by Hereswith |
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The
tale thus far... |
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Part Three The way back through the town seemed longer now, in the gloom of night and with the threat of a capture hanging over them. Jack’s efforts had improved their odds, however. Inasmuch as he still attracted interest, it was of another kind, and Elizabeth cringed when a burly sailor called out after them, as rudely offensive as he was ebullient. “Pay him no heed,” said Jack, in a conspiratorial hush, and he sounded, at least, just like himself. “You’re twice the man he claims to be.” “Only twice?” she answered, appraising him. “You’re disturbingly good at this, Captain Sparrow. I swear, he’d rip off your clothes, given the opportunity.” “And you wouldn’t?” “I don’t—that’s not the point.” “I’m not averse to ripping,” he went on, “if it’s done right, and if it’s the right person doing it.” “Incorrigible,” she said, belying the flutter in her stomach. “I’ll take that as a compliment, love.” Elizabeth shook her head, stifling a chortle, then, on a more serious note, “Jack? Do you think they harmed anyone at the tavern?” “Sarah doesn’t lack protection,” he replied. “They wouldn’t touch her, even if they knew we’d been there. And she’ll have convinced them otherwise.” The story behind his relationship with that woman was, Elizabeth presumed, as fantastic as any tale he had spun for her, but though she was tempted to ask, it would have to wait. Her brow furrowed as she recognised the church on the left. “We’re close to the docks, aren’t we?” “Aye,” Jack confirmed. Earlier in the day, when they had cut across the bluff from the cove to the town, it had been at their leisure and the sun had been up, illuminating the landscape. As pleasant an excursion as it had been, the prospect of having to return by that route did not appeal to her. “It would be easier to get to the Pearl, if we had a boat.” “Are you proposing we steal one? Pirate’s logic, Mrs. Turner,” he commented, “and I’ve considered it, but I lay Lynch has ordered the docks to be watched. Might be it’s better to skirt round them.” They lapsed into silence, after that, so as not to be overheard, and the absence of imminent peril lulled Elizabeth into a sense of false security. It lasted until she spotted Lynch, and the world shattered. Four men followed him, but he stood out from them, his hair as dark as Jack’s, though cropped short and streaked through with grey. He had golden buttons on his coat and golden rings in his ears, and he wore the slash of a scar like a mark of honour. The pirates were some distance away, but that would change soon enough, they were on the move, a hunting party, heavily armed and out to kill, and judging by how they accosted a hapless passer-by, their tempers were flaring. “If we turn tail, they will guess something is amiss,” Elizabeth said, and she had naively believed that she was prepared for this, but she wasn’t. They would have to face Lynch and his underlings on an open street, with moonlight washing over them. Jack motioned at a gap between two buildings, and they ducked into it. The alley was cramped and it proved to be a dead end, they could not venture more than a few yards down it, but it offered shelter. Elizabeth placed the bag on the ground and leaned against the side of a house, having a fleeting wish that she could melt into the stone, somehow, and vanish. She closed her eyes, in fervent denial of reality, but could not block out the shuffle of boots, or the clinking of metal. Farther off, a dog barked, and the men were talking and arguing. One of them coughed. Even though defeat was inevitable against such adversaries, Elizabeth clutched the hilt of her sword, and her thoughts whirled, she could not gather them, could scarcely breathe. A shutter slammed above her, and her eyelids flew up. “What’s that, eh?” Jack’s hand wrapped around her wrist. “Nothing for it, then,” he whispered. “You’ll have to kiss me.” It was perfect reasoning, of course, and perfectly absurd. Without deliberation Elizabeth pressed herself against him, pinning him to the wall, and it was awkward and strange, with him in the dress, but she nudged her knee between his legs, skimmed her right palm over layers of fabric to rest near his thigh, and put her mouth to his. His lips parted willingly for her and she felt a stab of heat, she kindled like tinder, in spite of everything. Brisk footsteps approached and her skin prickled with awareness, instinct screamed at her to bolt, but Jack twined his arms about her neck, as if in the throes of passion, and expertly flicked his tongue. Not a hairsbreadth separated them and the hood of the mantle and the darkness worked to their advantage; none could possibly have noticed that the startled, choked moan was hers, and not his. Raucous laughter erupted. “Someone’s havin’ fun!” “Go on, mate,” another man prompted, “slip ‘er a kiss fer me.” “Quit gawking and make yerselves useful!” Lynch’s unmistakable raspy voice was vehement, and Jack’s muscles bunched, as if he, like her, was wound like a coil in anticipation of an attack. A discontented grumbling ensued—please, God—but the pirates did not advance upon them, they stomped away, instead. Elizabeth, quelling a tremor, did not break the kiss at once, she deepened it, for the briefest of moments, and it was rough, it was bruising, but Jack reciprocated with an edged hunger. “Yes,” she mumbled, with the trace of a crooked smile, as she pulled back from him. “Were we elsewhere, then yes, there would be ripping.” “I’ll hold you to it, darling.” He slid gloved fingers down her cheek and lightly chucked her chin. “Let’s be off, aye?” She retrieved the bag, fiddling with the weight of it. Jack was first out of the alley, and it would cost them dearly, as fate would have it, for he almost collided with a man who was rushing up the street. “Hey,” the man complained, though by all accounts he was at fault. His gaze fixed on Jack, and his expression transformed. “Capt’n!” he yelled. “He’s—” Jack hit him, square in the jaw and with such force that the man reeled backwards. “Head for the docks,” he said, to Elizabeth. “We won’t be able to lose them on foot.” She launched into a run, her heart thudding at a drumbeat’s pace. It wasn’t far, but when the buildings parted to reveal a view of glittering waves and ships at anchor, Jack was panting. “I didn’t lace too tightly, did I?” He made a gesture of negation. “Bloody—nuisance.” “Oh, it is that,” Elizabeth concurred, and he sort of wheezed, in reply. They continued on, searching for a boat, but not a one of the vessels seemed suitable. Either they were large, with masts and more sets of oars than two people could handle on their own, or they were situated so that it would be an insurmountable feat to abscond with them, without rousing undue suspicion, and Elizabeth grew increasingly anxious. The loud commotion behind them signalled the arrival of Lynch and the other pirates and, contrary to what she expected, Jack ceased walking. “Lizzie.” “What is it?” “His quarrel’s with me, love. Hand me the sword, then go, and don’t look back.” The bluntness of his answer shook her to the bone. “I can’t.” “Elizabeth!” She flinched at the reprimand, knowing with a sick certainty that she ought to do what he asked, and why, but she could not for the life of her fathom how, no matter the consequences. “No,” she persisted, glancing around her in wild desperation. “I won’t leave you. There must be—“ She trailed off, brightening, and seized Jack by the sleeve, dragging him along with her. He was reluctant, but she did not release him until he sped up, having seen what she had seen. The rowboat lay unattended, and it was small and so worn it might spring a leak, but that was a risk they would have to take. By the sounds of it, they had precious little time to spare, and none to waste on indecision. “I’ll row,” she said, “the dress will only hamper you.” Jack muttered something under his breath, but agreed with a curt nod and got into the boat, taking care not to misstep as he went to sit at the stern. Elizabeth gave him the bag, then fumbled to undo the rope and scrambled in after him. She grabbed the oars and pushed off, slowly, so the splashing would not betray them. Before long, Lynch and his men came thundering down the pier, and a volley of shots tore through the air. One missed the boat by a scant few inches, and Elizabeth summoned every shred of strength she had to put behind the strokes. As they glided out of range, Lynch’s face contorted. “This ain’t over, Sparrow! D’ye hear? I’ll have that head of yers, an’ nail it to the bow of me ship!” He was terrifying in his anger, but Jack was not cowed in the slightest. The hood had slid down, most of the braids had tumbled free, and he said, with dry humour, “Devil’s own luck, eh, mate? Then again, you’ll always remember this as the—“ “Oh, shut up, you,” Elizabeth hissed. “Isn’t he riled enough as it is? We’re not aboard the Pearl yet.” “No,” he conceded, but he tipped the head Lynch had promised to take, and his hand swished in a flamboyant salute, directed at those on the pier. With a vile oath Lynch struck the man next to him, who fell flat on his belly in the water, and that display of unbridled violence spurred Elizabeth to even greater exertions. By dint of will, she kept rowing, and the sea was calm, the wind was gentle and the boat behaved; they stayed afloat, and made rapid progress, besides. When the town was an indistinct blur, on the verge of being obscured by the solid mass of the promontory, Elizabeth allowed herself to pause for a while, and stretched her back. “I can manage,” she said, at Jack’s questioning gaze. “Confound it, Jack, all of this, and for what? A wretched pocket watch?” He tutted. “An engraved pocket watch, darling, in the shape of a skull. For Obediah’s collection. He’s exceedingly fond of such trinkets.” “You are daft,” Elizabeth said, and she could not deny that it had been an exquisite piece, but not worth death, or worse. “Pure and simple.” “There’s nothing simple about it, Lizzie,” he responded mildly. Perhaps not. They were drifting, and she started to row again, the oars creaking in the locks. Thin clouds curled around the moon, but did not veil it, and a myriad of stars patterned the sky. In the silver light, and so oddly clad, the fey quality about him was more evident than usual. It had, she thought, been different with Will. With Jack, the map was constantly shifting, and while she had gained some understanding of his idiosyncrasies over the years, she had not unravelled him. And it was often exasperating, but never failed to fascinate her. The eventual sight of the Pearl, her curved hull and towering masts outlined against the shore, was very welcome, and Elizabeth set her course for the ship. For Jack, the Jacob’s ladder presented something of an obstacle, and it was a precarious climb, but he persevered, and once they were both on deck, Elizabeth took off her hat and sank down by the railing, exhausted. Gibbs frowned in puzzlement. “Jack?” “Aye,” said his captain, without batting a lash. “It’s a disguise.” “Awk! Aren’t ye a pretty wench,” Parrot stated, puffing out his chest, and Jack did an ironic, but elegant curtsy. “What’s happened? Can’t have been Obadiah causin’ ye problems?” “Obadiah’s a lamb,” Jack answered. “Isaac Lynch isn’t.” “Mary, Mother of God.” Gibbs paled at the mention of the name. “I was about to send Jamie out to meet ye, but I figured ye’d merely dallied in town—Mrs. Turner, ye’re not injured, are ye?” “It’s but a graze,” Elizabeth assured him. “I’m well, Mr. Gibbs.” The rest of the crew had drawn near, while they conversed, and were staring unabashedly at Jack. Some spoke amongst themselves, Elizabeth caught snatches of an amiable joke, and some, like Marty, struggled not to smile. Jack’s eyes narrowed. “What are you waiting for, you scurvy dogs? Make ready to sail! Lively, now!” His command brooked no refusal, even swathed in silk he was Captain Jack Sparrow, and the men dispersed, scurrying to their posts and up the rigging. Jack turned and added, “Take the wheel, Mr. Gibbs. I aim to get rid of this frippery.” Gibbs nodded, pursing his lips together in a manner similar to Marty’s, and he went towards the helm, but no blue and yellow bird accompanied him there, Parrot was busy preening and could not be bothered. “I’m not getting up,” Elizabeth said, as Jack looked at her keenly, but made no attempt to retire. “Jamie can unlace you.” “Why, Mrs. Turner,” he reproached, “could you, in conscience, let him do it?” She lifted her brows. “Yes.” “Ah.” He plucked at his skirt, brushing out a wrinkle. “But he wouldn’t do it right.” And it dawned on her, belatedly, what he was alluding to. “Jack!” “You meant to ravish me, did you not?” He was grinning—damn him—with impish delight, and a tingle spread through her limbs, as if weariness had not numbed them. She gave in to it, in the end, and to laughter. “I did.” Feathers ruffled, and a black beak clicked in what might have been disapproval. “Really bad eggs,” said Parrot.
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