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What A Man Must Do
A sequel to 'The Sacking of Port Royal'

by TortugaBlack
First Post: February 27, 2006

One

The late night was beautiful; the skies clear, the moon a swollen silver doubloon against blue velvet, surrounded by thousands of stars, glistening diamonds close enough to be gathered and horded in a pirate’s sea chest. The warm breath of the Caribbean blew across the deck of the Black Pearl and lightly caressed the flesh of a man who sat bare-chested and barefoot, his back to the solid wood of the main mast. Above him the towering spire of the mast, naked of canvas, seemed to impale the silver orb of the moon. An arm, heavily tattooed, rose skyward, amber bottle in hand, to salute the night, paying silent homage to the spires of his holy church of the Black Pearl and her religion of freedom. The beads, trinkets, and various mementos of his travels adorning the dreadlocks and braids at the side of his face whispered their fey secrets into the ears of their host. Lowering the bottle, Captain Jack Sparrow took another drink, frowned and shook the empty bottle, then grinned contentedly, the moon catching a glimpse of gold that had momentarily flashed with his smile.

His elbows resting on bent knees, Jack Sparrow studied the bottle with eyes clouded in a light euphoria of alcohol and contentment. “Another dead soldier.” Glancing casually across the darkened deck of his ship, he eyed the distance to the wooden rack that would be stacked with a pyramid of cannonballs prior to an engagement, but now stood empty between two Sacker 6 pound cannon. He tipped his head slightly, while dark, calculating, if somewhat sleepy, eyes measured the slope of the deck, the angle and height of the wide gun port of the second cannon. Lazily, he lowered the empty bottle to the deck, angled his shot and sent it rolling toward the farthest edge of the wooden rack and watched in fascination as the bottle careened off the corner of the rack, spun a couple of times, tipped upright and dropped through the gun port. A moment later, a gentle splash heralded its entry into the waters of Tortuga Bay.

Sparrow threw the fallen soldier a prolonged and exaggerated salute in reverence to the bottle’s demise and its swift burial at sea, then sighing, leaned back and closed his eyes, drinking in the silence around him. The night breeze again stirred the trinkets about his face then softened to caress his naked flesh with the gentleness of a lover’s kiss. Yes, he sighed, it didn’t get much better than this. The watch had changed several moments before the demise of his drinking companion and, except for the few men needed for the watch changes he had the Pearl to himself.  The remainder of the crew was on extended shore leave in Tortuga happily celebrating a good run that had filled the Pearl’s holds with swag enough to keep ship and crew happy for a very long time. He had a goodly stash of his favorite Jamaican rum aboard, a happy buzz on, and nothing else to do for the remainder of the night. He was one very contented pirate.

“Ahoy, the ship!”

A frown pulled at the pirate captain’s sensuous month. No, couldn’t be. It was after three in the morning….

“Ahoy, Black Pearl! Permission to come aboard!”

The frown disappeared into a fuzzy but eager smile as Sparrow pushed to his feet and ambled on somewhat rubbery legs to the railing and looked over. There alongside the wooden hull of his ship rode one of the Pearl’s small dinghies. A tall, well-built man in full-sleeved linen shirt, dark breeches and high-topped sailor’s boots stood in a wide-legged stance in the small boat, his hands resting on the wooden steps built into the hull, waiting for permission to board. His dark hair, free of any restraints, flowed in waves to his shoulders; darker eyes reflected the moon’s light while at his belt the shine of cold steel absorbed and held it.

“Permission granted, mate, come aboard.”

Climbing the steps quickly, Will Turner vaulted the railing and stopped before the half-naked pirate. “It’s late. I wasn’t sure you’d still be up.”

“I was conducting a burial at sea,” the pirate admitted, his words softly slurred. “Very important part of a captain’s duties.” 

The younger man frowned, looking about the sleeping ship. “A burial? Who died?” 

“My current drinking companion.” A hand fluttered in the general direction of the stern, “I was just on my way to find another. “Care to join me?” 

A look of sudden understanding crossed the youthful features of the stranger and he smiled. “How many burials have you conducted tonight, Captain?” 

Sparrow raised a finger eye level and held it for a moment, while his lips formed his thoughts, “Only the one…” He frowned, studied the finger with somewhat crossed eyes then dropped his hand. “I think.  Come on, mate, let’s see how many more are left in his regiment.” He turned with a flourish, swayed a bit before steadying himself and headed towards his cabin, confident the young man would follow.  

Will grinned and fell into step behind the swaying figure of the pirate captain. Under them the Pearl shifted gently on her anchor as if her slight motion would steady the legs of her master and, indeed, Sparrow did seem to sway into the roll of her decks with a steadier gait. 

Reaching his cabin, Sparrow threw open the double doors, strolled into the inner cabin and made for the row of ‘soldiers’ standing at attention in the liquor cabinet, its shelves carefully braced against the roll of   the roughest seas. Opening the cabinet, Sparrow grabbed the next ‘soldier’ in line along with two tankards from the shelf below and made for the table in the center of the great cabin. Behind him, Turner hesitated only long enough to close the double doors. The action had not gone unnoticed and dark, hooded eyes, no longer as foggy as before, studied the younger man with renewed interest. Taking a seat at the head of the table, Sparrow motioned the other to join him. 

“What brings you to the Pearl, lad, already tired of married bliss?” He watched with amusement at the flush that quickened across the blacksmith’s expressive features. The smile that started at one corner of Will’s mouth and a twinkle in the brown eyes spoke volumes. Here was a man very much in love. 

“I think you know the answer to that, Jack.” 

“Aye, I expect I do.” Sparrow opened the bottle and quickly filled one of the tankards and dribbled a gentle measure into the other. The boy wasn’t much of a drinker. No use in wasting good rum. Finished, he pushed the lighter tankard toward Turner, who took it in a double-handed hold, his mind obviously elsewhere as his fingers lightly caressed the gentle curves of the container. A knowing smile and an active and lustful mind pictured where the boy’s thoughts had placed that loving gesture. Suddenly conscious of the other’s amused look, Will stilled his fingers. “So why aren’t you with the fair Mrs. Turner on such a beautiful night?” 

“I decided to stay in town overnight to finish setting up the shop and, well, go over some things with Johnny…” 

Sparrow raised an amused eyebrow. “Pieces, Johnny Pieces? There’ll not be much you can teach that ol’ seadog, mate, that he can’t teach you more. He has a sharp eye…” Sparrow cocked his head as if to think past the slight buzz of the rum, “…the one he has left, that is. Good man. Good pirate.” He toasted Turner with an uplifted tankard. “A man of business would say ol’ Johnny knows the local clientele better than most; knows their weapons, what they carry, and the weight of their purses.” 

“He is a good man.” Will admitted, eyeing Jack and the rum bottle between them with a look Sparrow easily read as an unspoken concern of just how many amber soldiers had been sent to their watery graves before his late arrival. Wisely deciding against voicing the concern aloud, the young blacksmith stumbled on. “But a business is built on repeat sales from satisfied customers, Jack, and their praise of the product to those who might also wish to obtain my wares. There won’t be any repeat sales if Johnny doesn’t stop threatening to slit the throat of my clients before they make their first purchase.” 

Sparrow eyed the young man over the edge of his tankard, finding it hard to relate on something that seemed on the verge of laughable with the seriousness of his companion’s expression. “But think of the free advertising The Swordsman will get, mate, when the locals get a ‘close’ look at the fine blade ol’ Johnny used during their negotiations.” 

At the pirate’s absurd statement, a slow grin pulled at the corner of Turner’s mouth.  He settled back in his chair. “You’re having me on, Jack Sparrow.” 

“Aye, lad. It did seem to be called for…and that’s Commodore Sparrow.” 

Will Turner’s smile quickened. “Of course, how could I have forgotten?” He sobered. “Where is Annamaria? I haven’t seen her since we docked in Tortuga following the attack on Port Royal.” 

“Annamaria Santiago,” Sparrow corrected, adding a soft purr to his words. “Captain Santiago has taken a skeleton crew…hand picked from me own…and sailed to the far side of an islet not far from here.” The inky dark eyes sobered. “Where she’s got the Star careened and is making modifications to the schooner that will soon---one hopes---make her less of a target for those who might still consider themselves the rightful owners of such a fine ship.” 

Sparrow raised the tankard again to his lips, hesitated and then scowled.  “Empty.”  He reached for the bottle standing on the table between then and quickly remedied the situation. Taking a drink, he continued. “We’ll dock here until the Star’s refitted. We check on her now and then, haul whatever materials are needed and watch her back until she’s safely back in the water. Meanwhile, the crew can enjoy some much needed leave and I can share some personal time with the Pearl…and close friends.” He saluted the younger man. 

“That’s what I came to talk to you about.” The expressive brown eyes reflected the honesty of the man and, when serious, never wavered from their objective; Sparrow sat straighter. 

“What’s on your mind, lad, that brings you to the Pearl in the dead of night after a hard day’s labor?” 

Will Turner’s gaze dropped. Visibly unsettled, he reached for the rum bottle and poured a measure into his still untouched tankard. 

Jack Sparrow’s lips thinned; he lazily reached up to finger the beaded braids at the tip of his chin. That was interesting…very interesting. He studied the youthful features of the man across from him with growing curiosity. “Could it be you’re already in need of some worldly advice on how to keep the new Mrs. Turner a happily wed woman?” A sudden thought and a shiver of expected warning touched icy fingers to the back of his neck. Sparrow reached to the back of the chair, found his discarded shirt and slipped it over his head never taking his eyes from the other. He grimaced. “What’s she done now?” Just for a moment, something sparked behind those expressive brown eyes and a muscle twitched at the corner of Will’s mouth. Sparrow frowned. Had he touched on something with that remark? 

“It’s nothing like that, Jack. Elizabeth is fine…” 

Sparrow’s brows rose in question, but he held his tongue. When the boy made no attempt to continue, he pressed. “Well?” It broke the dam of silence. 

“I want the use of the Pearl, Jack, a skeleton crew and an Accord between us for a week’s sail.” Turner stumbled on, the flood breaking the dam and setting the waters free. “Maybe more if the weather works against us.”      

Instantly wary, but sensing rough waters ahead and maybe a typhoon on the horizon should the fair Elizabeth be involved, Jack Sparrow leaned forward, but made no attempt to stop the rushing waters. 

“I’ve talked to several of the crew as they’ve wandered into the shop today and…and most have agreed to the venture.” 

“Mate, you don’t go to the crew before you talk to their captain. It’s my responsibility to decide if the Accord warrant’s the consideration of the crew.” 

“Jack, please, hear me out,” Will pleaded. “Knowing there would be no benefit of ‘treasure’ for the crew in this venture, I had to find those willing to sail for the compensation I could afford to pay them. If I couldn’t find enough willing to help me, I knew it would be useless to approach their captain.” 

A look of disbelief crossed Jack Sparrow’s dark features before he eased back in his chair and out of the lantern light spilling across the table from its hook above them.  From the deeper shadows he grappled with the new development. A moment passed, then two. “Well, mate, I have to say you’ve captured my curiosity as well as my undivided attention.” The tankard before him momentarily forgotten, Sparrow eyed the younger man with guarded suspicion. “What venture have you planned for the Pearl that will not benefit her captain and crew?” He leaned forward, eyes hard to the no longer openly innocent gaze of the other. “And be careful, lad, if you think pirates can be talked into doing favors…” He growled cautiously. 

“Oh, no, Jack,” Will assured Sparrow with a look that had suddenly lost most of its innocence. “But you have taught me what a bribe can accomplish at the ‘opportune moment’.” 

A smile pulled at the corner of Sparrow’s sensuous lips and, for a brief moment, the light caught the hint of gold. “Aye, I guess I stand guilty there, mate.” The pirate captain studied the features of the younger man with interest. Will Turner’s eyes were no longer the window to his thoughts they had once been, but he still needed work on masking the minute tension around the lips, the tightening of his hand around the tankard that had yet to be sampled and the restless shifting of his legs under the table. The boy was about to ask him for something he was uncertain that Jack would…or could…agree to. “Let’s hear it, mate, set your terms.” 

“I figure with fair weather and prevailing winds, we can drop anchor in three days time. Then after, what should be a stay of only a matter of hours…maybe a little longer if we have to wait for an outgoing tide…we can head back.” 

‘Ahhh, here it comes,’ Sparrow thought as the boy’s direct gaze lost his for a brief moment; he stiffened with weary expectation. This had to be what the boy’s been working up to. “Just where have you a mind to take the Pearl, mate?” 

Will Turner looked up to meet his gaze and Sparrow quickly lost the warm contented buzz of his evening pleasures and steeled himself for bad news. Will drew a deep breath and took, not a slow sip from his tankard as he was accustomed to doing during their talks at the Bride, but a hardy swig. That alone drove Sparrow to do the same. “Well!?” 

“To Port Royal…” Turner tilted his tankard and emptied it, then reached for the rum bottle, carefully avoiding the pirate’s eyes.

To Part Two

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