Black Pearl Tales

A Double Discovery
For the 'Discovery' Drabble Challenge

by EstelWolfe
December 13, 2003

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It was a strange sensation that flowed through his entire being, part anticipation, part fierce joy, part terror, and he wasn't entirely certain what would come out if he opened his mouth, whether it would be a laugh, a scream, a threat, a curse. Rope fibers bit briefly into his fingers as he swung across the gap between the two ships, a treacherous, shifting, dangerous play of already-bloody water. His ears, half-deafened by the roar of the cannon fire that had originally crippled this prize, could still discern the screams of the wounded and the splash as someone lost their precarious hold on one of the decks. The young man set all his stubborn will to ascertaining that nothing would distract him.

It was the first time he had gotten to board a prize, and he was determined to make the most of it.

Pistols and rifles exploded from what seemed to be, and quite possibly was, directly behind his back as the two crews merged in a seething, cursing melee. For a moment the young man just stood, matching the sway of his body to the new rhythm of the deck of this injured leviathan as he scanned for an opponent for himself.

There seemed to be no shortage of choices.

A furious swipe from the left caused him to spin and drop, emptying his pistol into the nameless sailor's upper right chest, near the shoulder. The man stopped abruptly, his sword dropping as he first blinked and then howled in agony, backing away swiftly.

A second assailant appeared in his place, and the young pirate drew his own sword, the same mixture of exhilaration and uncertainty bringing a fierce grin to his face as he parried and attacked, half an eye always on the rest of the melee to ensure that no-one was foolishly thinking of interfering.

To say it was shock that he felt as the sword parted fabric and skin on his left arm, releasing what seemed to be a tide of crimson blood, would be like saying a tidal wave could cause a bit of a problem for a fishing sloop.

The flow of blood sparked and loosened something deep within him, the exhilaration dropping away, replaced by something weightier, darker . . .and smarter. It was this darkness that slipped inside the other sailor's guard and plunged cold steel through yielding flesh until it saw smoke-dimmed air again.

Time seemed to distort and slow as he stared directly into the other man's eyes, eyes that had widened with a strange mixture of emotions that the pirate had never seen before. It slowly dawned on him that while he had seen dead men, he had never seen a man die.

More and more weight came to bear on his arm and the sword that he still had lodged in the other man's chest. The steel made a strange sound as it was pulled free, allowing the dead man to collapse to the blood-spattered deck.

"'Ey, laddie, ye all righ'?"

It took a moment for the words to become than just background sounds. When he finally responded, it was with a slow nod. "Aye. I'm fine."

A heavy hand slapped down hard on his shoulder, and he realized that the residual bangs and thumps of battle were now only in his own semi-
deafened ears.

"Not bad, lad. Ye did good."

"Aye, I did. We all did. Quite a prize."

"Quite a fine prize." The older man nodded in acknowledgement, studying him with eyes that were far too piercing and held far too much understanding. "Ye searched him yet?"

"What?"

"Searched him. He's dead, ship's ours, kill was yours, so if ye saw anthin' ye wanted off the poor bastard, better grab if `fore we give `im t' Davy Jones."

"Oh." That made sense. Somewhat. As much sense as anything was making at the moment, anyway. The young pirate knelt down beside the
dead sailor, noting vaguely that both their hands were coated with blood. One of the dead man's hands was latched onto a black box tied
to his belt. There was something about the box that seemed . . .enticing, inviting.

The young pirate's fingers gingerly pushed aside the dead man's and liberated the object, turning it this way and that before finding the catch and flipping it open.

A compass. The box held a compass. There seemed to be something wrong with the way the needle was acting, but that could very well just be due to his own inexperience with navigation and the strange feeling of detachment that still haunted his mind.

"That all ye're takin' as a token o' yer first boarding an' firs' kill? Remember, there isn' anythin' easier t' search `n' a dead man." The older pirate laughed and punched him lightly in the left arm, pulling his hand back covered in blood.

"Jack, laddie, ye're bleedin'. Why don' ye get on back o'er t' the Seahawk and get yerself taken care of." The young man could almost
believe it was genuine concern in the older man's voice as he was shoved gently toward the railing.

He merely nodded in response to the veiled order before casting another vague look across the deck. Men were rounding up those of the opposing crew that had surrendered. His wandering eyes turned of their own volition back to his own kill and he studied the dead man, not much older than he himself was, a moment more before tying the blood-smeared black box to his own belt. A small shudder raced along his skin as he remembered the feel of the other sailor's bloody hand in his as he relieved him of the compass, the ease with which the clutching fingers had been pulled loose.

It was true. The dead were much easier to search than the living.

What was difficult was forgetting the look in the other's eyes as he gazed at young Jack Sparrow and found in him a swift demise.

~.~

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