Adult-FanFiction.org : Movies

Betwixt Hammer & Frizzen	By : GeorgieFain Category: Pirates of the Caribbean (All) > General Views: 2032 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the Pirates of the Caribbean movie series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 10
- 11
- 12
Take What Ye Can

Her first mate was back to looking like an EITC merchant lord. It was rather distressing to watch him emerge from the prow holds in his frock-coat and tricorn and carefully polished boots. He had vanished there, after killing the captain of the Lucky Rose, presumably to clean himself up. She, on the other hand, had stayed abovedeck and spent the time intimidating the hell out of their captives---the remaining crew of the ship that was currently burning at a distance off the starboard side. The crew of the Pearl and the Odysseus were both celebrating---it did seem to her eye and ear as if Charles Norrington's old crew was already quite on their way to being pirates without much assistance in the matter. It did make her feel pleased.

She herself had not partaken in the battle or the boarding or the fighting that had taken place on the deck of the now-sinking, burning sloop's hulk. Instead, she had remained at the quarterdeck chart table, pretending to read. Pretention was all that she had managed---who could really read while a full-scale battle was being waged? Two pirate ships coming up along either side of a sloop and blowing large, ugly holes in its hull---the best part, besides getting to observe, unhindered, the panic and screaming from the now-captive crew---was in watching Robinson and Cassidy, two of Norrington's best men, bring the Lucky Rose's unfortunate captain aboard the Odysseus. That had been a rare treat, aye?

She had sat and felt as if every bit of her body was aflame with St Elmo's Fire, watching as the captured captain had wept on his knees before Charles Norrington, begging for leniency. She'd nearly wet herself when good ol' Charlie had shot the man dead and then kicked the body out of his way, giving a chilly order for the riffraff to be tossed overboard. Who could have known that her first mate was a dyed-in-the-wool killer, prepared to off a business rival without so much as a blink of the eye?

It did niggle a bit, the whole thing.

She had an idea that his brother would never have done it.

Now, the captive crew were awaiting Norrington's pleasure. She still sat in her chair and watched, now careless of who did observe her interest. She had, in the interim, however, sent a man to bring hot and fresh coffee in the ship�s delicately painted and gilt-edged East Indies porcelain service. With a cigarillo lit, she sipped at coffee and watched as her tall and dark-haired first mate moved among the prisoners with both hands folded behind his back. He looked like well-dressed Death, in his black coat and tricorn. The prisoners seemed to think so, too.

The sun was beginning to fade into the waters, now, and they were almost to Porto Rico. She would like to see the matter wrapped up and finished before night fell. But, she had given Charles Norrington his head on this and had to allow him the freedom---as long as he stayed within the actions of a pirate, she could forgive a bit of delay. The Pearl was anchored and waiting, its men watching from the gunwales.

"Robinson, Cassidy---see that the extra long-boat is prepared and stocked. These men will be leaving us momentarily." Norrington said, coming to stand on the quarterdeck; his face was a study in stern compassion. He was going to turn the captives loose---there was only a double handful of them left and they could perhaps make landfall in a single long-boat.

But, that was not at all what she had thought he would do.

As the men moved to follow the order, she pitched her argument at the man who had issued such a worthless command. "You can't do something like that, Charlie. It's not what we do."

He didn't turn to look at her as he answered. "I won't kill these men, Captain. They have done nothing wrong, beyond sailing with their scum of a captain."

She got to her feet and came around the table to stand at his side; she pointed at the burning sloop's remains. "They saw the colors we flew. They knew we meant to fight. They could've run up a white flag of their own. Instead, Charlie, they chose to fight. T'would be wrong to do this any other way...d'ye understand?"

Her first mate now shifted to look at her, his handsome face darkened with irritation. "I won't allow the survivors to be murdered. It is one thing to take life in battle, another altogether to kill after a surrender."

Henriette adjusted her own hat and flicked the remains of her cigarillo overboard, coming around to put her back to the crew and the deck and the prisoners. She stared up at her stubborn first mate, still the gentleman. "What d'ye think you did when you blew a hole in their captain, then? That'd be murder and no mistake."

"A matter of honor." Charles argued, his mouth set in a stiff line. "I cannot take issue with these men. They have done nothing to offer any affront except to engage in battle with us. In battle, however, one follows the command and these men acquitted themselves admirably. I will not see them killed here."

She drew her sword and stepped back, lifting the blade to point it directly at his belly as she spat. "Who's the bleeding captain here, Charlie Norrington? I am. You, me boy, are sailing dangerous waters." Over her shoulder, she shouted to the crew who had stopped working at the sight of the argument in progress. "Kill them all, men!"

But, Charles stepped forward, pushing past her cutlass. With a fierce look of anger, he drew his pistol and fired it into the air. It brought instant silence. In that quiet, her first mate addressed the men who had started moving to follow her order. "Belay that command! Stand guard." Then, he swung about to look at her once more, his green eyes flat and serious. His voice dropped to a mutter. "Can we continue this discussion in private, Captain? I feel as if we are creating a discord that might bode ill for us, later."

Sliding her sword back into the sheathe, she marched down the few steps to the deck and then on and down into the small cabin she now occupied. After himself, Charles closed the door with a soft snick. Once they were alone, she whipped around and glared at him, scowling. "You can't argue with me like that, not in front of the crew."

"I agree. Which is why I asked you to come away and talk." Charles Norrington did not wait for an order or a request, now; he sat down on the chair before her desk. He removed his hat and laid it on the oak surface, smoothing a large hand over his carefully ribboned queue. His face was quieter, now, more solemn as he offered his argument in far more congenial tones. "There is no reason for these men to die, Captain."

"There, I disagree." It was but a few short steps to the high-sided bed with its carved, reddish-black wood. She sat down there, bracing herself on the side with both hands.

"Of course you do." Charles leaned forward into a slouch; his elbows came down on his knees and there he sat, hunched over. But, his solemnity slid away enough to reveal the glint of humor in his green gaze as he went on, giving her a wee, wicked smile as he relaxed. "I would not expect you to do anything other than what is in your nature, Captain. The dichotomy of your nature is my proof that all continues to be right in this world. You disagree because you have yet to see a reason. Pirates are about reputation...yes?"

"Aye." Henriette admitted, rolling her head on her neck in aggravation; it pulled at the wound in her chest again and she grimaced. It was healing, having scabbed up, but the muscles were sore. She had noticed herself doing this very thing more and more---rolling her shoulders back and then forward, fighting the tension in her backbone. She studied her first mate with a scowl. "Even if most of them be mindless bloodthirsty sheep as what will follow any who can politick."

Now, his eyes widened and he lost the crafty expression in his confusion. "Bloodythirsty sheep? Is that not a paradox in terms?"

Jumping to her feet, she stared down at him; her voice rose. "D'ye have a plan or not?"

"Let them live. Send them out. They will make sure the story is told."

She began to pace, wrapping both arms over her chest and the coat she wore. She shook her head after a few moments. "You'll have to bleed a few of them, Charlie. You have to or they'll never know that you're a serious threat. Otherwise, you could be just bluffing...aye?"

Charles Norrington admitted, with a sigh. "I think I do understand."

Still pacing before him, she gave it deep consideration and then hit upon an idea. Something that she had seen Jack and Barbossa do, in times when they needed to decide upon a course of action and could not agree. She walked around the edge of the desk and pulled open a drawer. She tossed a guinea at her first mate, who caught it with one hand. She tipped her chin at the coin he now held up in the fading sun's light that spun gold and red through the opened cabin windows. "Let's flip for them. Right where they can see us. They already know we're at odds on this matter---let them think we'll settle it by something so uneasy as chance. The story gets better, aye? If I win, we kill half and send the other half out. If you win, we only bleed these men---cut off an ear---before sending them on their way. The story they carry will make us both fearsome, aye?"

She couldn't quite swear, but it did look as if her first mate startled in amazement as he grinned up at her from his hunched position. His tone was all shivery admiration. "Upon my word...you are a truly devious woman, Captain."

Henriette straightened and started for the cabin door, her coat-tails swishing with each step. "Why thank you, Charlie. I do find meself pleased to value your opinion."

He called after her. "As you should. I am your first mate, after all."

***

Day Nine.

In the morning, the cutlasses were no longer necessary to cut a path. One appeared before them. Long unused, it did seem, but a path nonetheless. Jack walked it without care, swaying back and forth as he went ahead of Hector, mindless of what lay around them. For several hours, they moved up the hill until they came to a trickling stream that ran away and down into the greenery. Hurrying now, they followed the trickle and found the spring from which it came---a small burbling rise of water that collected in a stone-lined pool, deep and dark.

Jack stood over it, hand on his sword's hilt as he studied the water. As he did, Hector bent low and touched a finger to its surface and stuck the digit into his mouth.

His matelot didn't spit the taste from his tongue. Instead, Barbossa nodded at it, voice hoarse from the long climb and a day without anything to drink. "I think it be good."

Jack knelt now and began filling all their bottles. When he finished, he washed his face and neck with his faded red scarf and poured several handsful over his head. As his lover was doing the same, sloughing off the sweat, he pulled the compass free of his baldric. Flipping it open, he looked. The needle didn't even swing once or waver in the least. It stood straight and true and right...ahead.

He raised his face and looked at what the needle was pointing at. There was only the stone-lined pool of water and Hector Barbossa. Shaking the compass, Jack looked at it again. Still...straight ahead. He frowned. And spoke, hesitating. "Hector-love, do step back a few paces. I want to make sure of something very, very important."

With a wayward glance in his direction, Barbossa did as he was asked.

The needle didn't move. Not one jot.

"Well." He murmured, cocking his head to the side. "That's interesting."

***

Henriette strode along at Charles Norrington's side, dressed in her gentleman's clothes and cavalier's hat, as they moved through the heavily crowded streets. The smell was almost overwhelming---the stench of humanity---after so long at sea without respite. She wrinkled her nose at the scent of chamberpots as they avoided a wide trench that ran along the center of the dirt street. They were on their way to meet the sutler who would buy part of the whiskey currently stowed in the Odysseus' holds.

It felt right and good, this venture.

***

"This be th� Fountain of Youth?" His matelot looked dubiously at the stone-lined pool.

"Aye. That's it." Jack grinned and bent down to cup another handful. He drank deeply and then shook the droplets free of his fingertips. "The first water we came to and it's what we were seeking. It was this last hill, I do believe. I did never look at the compass, I swear, the whole climb."

Hector still looked very dubious.

Jack reached his hands deep into the pool and let them be chilled to the bone. The water had a sweet taste, as if it had been filtered through many hundreds of kilometers of good and ancient ground. The stones that did line the pool were whitish and grayish, speckled. They were smooth to the touch and went down for nearly the span of his arm's length...and he did test the depth, running his fingers down along the stones as far as they would go.

"Careful, Jack me lad." His lover hissed the warning.

He didn't heed the words. For his hand had found something, at the bottom of the pool. With a thoughtful frown, Jack ran his other hand down into the water, mindless of the rings he wore or his shirt's ragged sleeves or the leather wrapped on his right palm. There. He had it in his grasp. It seemed to be a box---a rather heavy box. Unusually heavy, for its small size---it did fit between his two palms and seemed to be made of some oddly slick material. Like metal or stone.

Heaving, he fell back onto his arse with the small square thing still firmly in hand.

***

Elizabeth's Journal

Upon arriving in Tortuga, I thanked Captain Mick Downey, who has proven to be gracious and kind. Jacob's Ladder did make the journey from Kingston Bay in great haste and I was willing to share the stories of the Black Pearl's last three years, which did give Captain Downey quite a startlement. He does believe, however, every thing that I have expressed, as he claims to know Captain Jack Sparrow quite well and knows the kind of mischief that man does find himself in on a fairly annual basis. I imagine it will take no time at all for these stories to begin circulating. Ever is it this way with sailors, even the most noble of them. Long hours and days aboard ship with little that must be done and then there are the stories shared over a pot of ale or rum.

I disembarked from Jacob's Ladder with my sack and the chest and went to the Faithful Bride on Stoat Street, seeking Mister Gibbs. Upon entering, however, I found it unfortunately necessary to kill a man with my sword, as he would not keep his comments and hands to himself. His companions found the death to be the high point of their day and did laugh uproariously and give me their compliments for a job very well done. I suspect I will never understand pirates. I cannot decide if the dead man was their friend or if he was an enemy they were drinking with for some fell purpose.

I did find on an open air porch at the far side of the tavern, Joshamee Gibbs seated with a pot of rum and a woman of low occupation perched on his knee. He was telling a fantastical tale about the cursed Black Pearl. Indeed, he was telling of our journey to the Far Gates. His audience consisted of said woman and six pirates of indeterminate age and wealth, whom were all filthy and missing either an eye or teeth or fingers or a combination of all three. Upon finding my fellow crewman, I bought myself a bottle of rumbullion and took a seat upon a hogshead, intending to hear the tale. But, Mister Gibbs did spot me fairly quick and roared with approval at my bottle and my appearance. The woman on Mister Gibbs' knee did ask him of my identity, to which he answered correctly as how I was the quartermaster's mate and, as to my proper titles, I was also the pirate lord of Singapore and the Pirate King. To which I just raised my bottle and accepted the toast with what good grace I might show. No one at the table believed the introduction, of course, but I allowed as how it is quite a bit for anyone to accept.

Mister Gibbs, upon introductions, did excuse himself and the other pirates left the porch with good will. The woman left with more or less a good quarter the contents of Mister Gibbs' purse. I told him as how I did not think the woman was worth so much and he agreed but explained that sometimes one must grease the wheels for further communications. We then did get down to business; I allowed as how it did seem that the plan was working. Mister Gibbs told me then that the Black Pearl did leave port a day early. I do hope that is not a bad sign.

Then, I had to explain the matter of why I was carrying the cursed chest that does hold my husband's beating heart. The knowledge that I shall be carrying this item with me for the rest of my life, bringing it aboard the Black Pearl to be sure, did seem a bit strange and horrid to Mister Gibbs, who visibly shied away from even looking at the chest.

We did discuss on how we have only a fortnight more before we may begin looking for black sails in the harbor. I cannot say how pleased I shall be to see Jack Sparrow's face once more, even as he can drive me to annoyance faster than nearly any other member of the Black Pearl's crew. A dear friend who forgives you for the monstrous things which you have done is a friend for even the worst of days. I think I will be keeping myself close to him for a few years at the very least, despite all mad and convoluted actions on his part, for he offers me a constant reason for why things have happened as they did unfold. If not for Jack Sparrow's quick thinking, my husband would be utterly dead and the Black Pearl would be sunk, her crew killed in the maelstrom or by Lord Beckett's cannons on the Endeavor.

Then, after we had discussed much of the last year's travels and ventures, we shared a toast of rumbullion and agreed that it is here that we wait.

***

Crawling backward, Jack sat cross-legged on the ground before the stone-lined pool and studied the box. For that was what he had found. It seemed to be stone, some black rock polished to a high luster. He almost see his unmarred reflection in its six sides. There was no visible lock, but the box---only the size of his two fists put together---would not open, no matter how hard he pried at it. It did not seem to even have a seam, where it might have been constructed. There was, however, a hole in its top. Or what he perceived to be its top.

Now, his lover was at his side, squatting to examine the thing for hisself.

"Well, what do you make of this?" He touched the hole with his wet fingertip. "Key hole, mayhaps?"

Hector only frowned at the box.

Jack made up his mind, following the little voice in his head that did claim as how he had found it in the Fountain and thus it must be somewhat important to their venture. Or what the compass showed to be the Fountain. And how did that work? Was the change supposed to be instant? What kind of change would it be? Or was the box the Fountain and containing what they had come for?

Reaching into the front of his shirt, he dragged out the necklace he'd gotten from Henriette, in Tortuga. His matelot hissed at him again. "Jack---careful, there---"

He didn't heed the warning, a second time.

The key was heavy in his hand, black iron and uniquely shaped. Its head fit perfectly in his grasp. He studied the barrel of it and decided that if it was meant to fit any lock, then it should fit into the little round hole without any difficulties...somehow. Even if the key didn't look as if it could.

Grinning to himself, he decided. "Come on, mate. It's what we did do this for."

"We go wi' care, I say." Hector protested quietly, still not making a move to touch.

Jack slid the key's barrel into the hole. It fit like a dream. With a strange, grinding noise, the box fell open at the bottom instead of the top. Before he could turn the heavy thing over look to see what was in it, there came a flash of bright light and a thunderclap.

The light grew, hot and white like the sun.

But, then he fell into it, as if into the sea.
- 10
- 11
- 12
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

Betwixt Hammer & Frizzen