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Whispers of Redemption	By : GeorgieFain Category: Pirates of the Caribbean (All) > General Views: 2243 -:- 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
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Year Thirty-two

Elizabeth's Journal

I have decided that if I ever get the chance to beat Jack to ribbons, I may well take it.

All in all, however, I am pleased with the Equatorial baptism. The men treat me with a sense of respect which did not exist, previously. Now that I am a trusty shellback, I am allowed to work among them without receiving odd looks for my efforts---previously, I did labor but discovered that the men of the Black Pearl were ill at ease with my presence ondeck. Mister Gibbs refused to assign me duties and even Captain Barbossa was of the opinion that it would be better for me to keep myself belowdecks, taking inventory and cleaning the holds instead of swabbing decks or working in the rigging. Now, I am free to work ondeck like any of the men. They are still mindful to speak with a modicum of respect, however, seemingly for my position as a married woman, a pirate lord, and the pirate king.

Captain Sparrow, however, says it is ridiculous for me to be called a pirate king, even if it is tradition for such a personage to be referred to as a king. He says that I am a pirate queen, if I am anything royal at all, and hang tradition. I think it's more a matter of defying his father, in this case. Jack cares little for tradition, even if he did nearly beat me to death ondeck in front of all the men.

I have welts on my person which I do sincerely hope will be gone before we see the Flying Dutchman again. I would hate to spend my wedding 'night' explaining to Will why my skin bears many unmistakable contusions, the results of my meeting with Jack's belt. I have not forgotten that he�s a pirate, but had no idea that Jack Sparrow could be so utterly barbaric. It was, I believe, a good thing: now, Jack talks to me as he once did, freely and with ease. Some of his trust is there, again, and I find myself relieved. I am sorely sensible of how I was missing his jokes and gibes.

I find a strange distance in him, still yet, but now I know that it is none of my own doing. I do believe, however, that it is still Captain Barbossa's presence which unnerves Jack. I find myself hoping they can resolve the matter, despite the grave intensity of such a betrayal as that which stands between them. When talking to Jack over rum and quite alone, I find myself asking him questions to which he gives me odd answers. I do believe he would give up his ship if he thought he could be free of Captain Barbossa's lingering gaze. That gaze is something I have noted, many times. I have watched these men. They are like two predatory animals, circling each other at all times. It is only by the grace of silence that the two captains have not taken the fight to the quarterdeck again. I fear for what would happen if they should decide to fight in earnest over the captaincy of the Black Pearl. One of them would surely be dead or marooned.

If it be Captain Barbossa who loses, however, I am not entirely sure that the darkness would lift from Jack's face. I am convinced that the void I see in Jack's eyes has come to stay. Has death had such a terrible and permanent effect on him, then? I can imagine it must. Captain Barbossa is not quite the monster I remember him to be, from my own stint as his prisoner aboard this ship. Now, I find myself wondering at the changes. Jack claims that Captain Barbossa was not always such a beastly man. The curse must have had quite a negative effect on him and the crew which sailed under his command. Those that have remained onship, freed of the curse, are entirely different men from the creatures I took them for in that ugly time.

Once I was baptized, I removed myself from the deck and went below, to the holds. I did manage to crawl up into my cabinet in the 'Captain's Stock'. I could not quite force myself to examine the damages done to my body and, instead, simply wept for the welts which were only made worse by my dunk in the sea. It was there that Captain Barbossa came to me. When I heard footsteps belowdeck, quite audible despite the music which played ondeck, I made myself silent. The hatch before me opened to reveal, in the light of a lantern, that man's stern face. Captain Barbossa handed in to me a fresh bottle of rum and one battered copy of a book by Daniel Defoe which is an adventure. It is one which I have never read and am quite glad to have. But, it was Captain Barbossa's voice which soothed my tormented mind even as my skin went on burning from the redemption which was wrought by Jack Sparrow. He said that I was a brave lass and I had nothing to be ashamed of, in my actions. I had only done, from the very start, what would best serve me as a pirate and a member of the crew. I would swear before the angels themselves that Captain Barbossa was fair bursting with pride at me, even as he only barely smiled. It was, however, an honest smile he gave me and one which I cannot ever recall seeing from him. He then explained without exclaiming it as an explanation that Jack would likely have a bad night, for being the one to administer the beating. As he said it to me, I knew what he meant. Jack had not wanted to do the job, but had felt it necessary for the sake of keeping his position of strength onboard the Pearl, something which Captain Barbossa was rather pleased about. Captain Barbossa seemed genuinely pleased that Jack had been strong enough to do the duty himself. But, then, before closing the hatch again, the man dared to wink at me and say that the two of them had played at Liar's Dice to decide which captain would take the job of driving me forward with the whip. He did say this and explained with that saucy, evil manner of his that Jack cheated him of it.

I am left with the idea that Jack cheated at Liar's Dice to get the chance to beat me with a belt in front of the entire crew. But, as I know I will be long in the healing from these welts, I also know that if it had fallen to Captain Barbossa to drive me forward through the gauntlet, I would doubtlessly have bled for his pleasure. This is a thought which keeps me from casting my anger at Jack every time I sit down and remember that I have been whipped.

***

An Unexpected Discovery

They'd been sailing for three weeks, now; since the maelstrom, the skies had stayed clear and the winds had remained steady. It was as if Calypso had decided to truly favor them for their part in her release. He imagined it was a side-bar to the whole thing, Barbossa being able and willing to free the dark goddess. Matters on ship had been tense, what with Elizabeth Turner nee Swann moving freely among the men, who had been on ship without a visit to port since Shipwreck Island. Which, he had to admit, hadn't offered much opportunity for relief.

Barbossa had allowed their helmsman, Cotton, to continue at the helm half the watches, but it was the other half the day that was a problem to Jack's mind. He had a desperate need to hold his ship and Hector insisted on taking the helm on the other watches. He'd suggested a split; the old monster could give a part of his watches and the crippled helmsman could give up a part of his watches. The quarterdeck was now held a third of the day by himself. He preferred night.

Slowly, he was regaining ground.

The men followed him without question. He knew, however, that Hector was indeed the better man for the quarterdeck during a battle or a storm. He had quietly acceded that point, without a word. And there was no better fighter, in battle. He silently said so, every time he saw Barbossa with an exposed blade.

He did his watches on the quarterdeck, at night. That allowed him the time he needed with his lady, the Black Pearl, to find peace with his world. When he slept, he rested in the open air on the prow galley. To him, the captain's cabin wasn't a battle he was prepared to fight...yet.

He spent his afternoons talking with the men, working at their side.

It was on the dawning of a new day with the sun rising behind them, when Ragetti, high in the crow's nest with a spyglass firmly pressed to his one eye, called out the warning. "Ship! Ship on the horizon!"

They had been waiting for just such a call.

The ship was within sight of the Seychelles islands, a small chain of sandy atolls. Like salt-water oases in the middle of the sea, each island had perhaps a handful of trees but nothing which could be used to re-stock the ship's dwindling supplies. With the water too saline for drinking and a decided lack of foodstuffs, the Seychelles weren't worth noting as a stop for any ship, but it was for this chain that the Black Pearl had been headed. He had argued with Barbossa repeatedly concerning this heading---Hector had wanted to avoid the islands and head straight for the coast of Africa, while he had been unable to resist the lure of any promise of treasure, even one offered up by the newly-freed goddess Calypso.

Now, the atolls were within sight of a spyglass.

He gave the order: make for the atolls and the ship.

Jack, at the forecastle, raised his own spyglass to take in the vista. He ignored the rumble of activity behind him as men adjusted the rigging for an approach under the wind's lee. Tightening his mouth, he studied the now-visible ship. It was still yet faint, the bulk of wood and sail against the bright blue of sky and water. But, it was there.

Barbossa had told him of what Tia Dalma had said, concerning this possible situation. A shipwreck, destined to happen. A treasure which could not be allowed to sink. A treasure meant for Hector Barbossa...which irked at him, but only as far as he was envious. Tia Dalma's last prophesied treasure and it wasn't meant for him? Seemed unfair, somehow. Was this Calypso's real gratitude for Barbossa's efforts at releasing her from the spell which had kept her imprisoned for so long?

He had his doubts as to what Tia Dalma might intend, with such an offer, but he did want to clap his eyes on such a treasure---no matter what it might be. It was Hector who had wanted to avoid this chance, no doubt scornful and worried about trickery from the goddess who had lived as an Arawak witch for hundreds of years.

At the quarterdeck, Barbossa gave orders and all possible speed was used. The winds were very favorable---another omen, he suspected. The winds in the Arabian Sea and along the Madagascar coast were notoriously fickle. As he continued to stand still, watching the ship as it grew larger in his spyglass, Jack thought back to his first trip through these waters.

It was only two days ago they'd crossed the Equator.

He did manage a small smile as he thought on Elizabeth's baptism.

He was fully aware that she'd been told of how badly it could have gone. The men had all taken turns, the last two evenings, telling the young miss of their own Equatorial baptisms. Many had suffered greatly, like himself. To his knowledge, only he and Barbossa had not shared their stories. He himself did not know of Hector's...he had never asked and Hector had never offered to divulge the story. What he did know was that his old matelot had been sailing under Captain Teague Sparrow at the time of his first Equatorial crossing. It made him curious, to know the details of what a baptism could be like while done under his legendary father's command.

The winds were hard and fetched them up, at almost eight knots, to the atoll in under a bell. Jack had kept his place at the forecastle, spyglass in hand. He was itching to know what Barbossa's thoughts were, but to turn and go to the quarterdeck would be a sign of him being the weaker captain. He knew better than to even think to imagine that Hector would leave the quarterdeck, either.

'You could send him a message, sir. Send Elizabeth.' Crewman Sparrow, shirtless and unbelievably tattooed with the swirling marks of a Polynesian islander, said to him breathlessly, starting up to shimmy up the bowsprit---the jiblines had tangled and were causing the ship to pull a little to port with every knot they took.

He considered it, shook his head, and lifted his spyglass once more.

The ship jumped into focus. She was painted in the colors of a seagull, which had made it difficult to accurately make out the details of her accoutrements from a distance. Her sails were down, a wreck, and she'd lost her mainmast. She'd dropped anchor right at the atoll's deepest edge and was listing to scubbers---nearly rolling to anchor-side like a wounded dog. His skilled eyes picked out no detail of battle; the ship wasn't entirely wrecked, but seemed to be ready to sink anyway. The results of a bad storm, mayhap.

He could see no men on her deck.

The Pearl hovered just outside firing range, safely.

Jack studied the wreck's visible decks and portholes. Nothing stirred, there. In fact, it appeared that she'd dropped her cannons from the gunrail. The name painted on the stern and bow hull was L'Sauvage. A French ship, then? There were no flags and nothing about the wreck's appearance which would declare its nationality. But, the name was something of a giveaway...or was it?

"Master Pintel, t'is ye and Mister Ragetti to th' longboat! Go armed, look for survivors!" Hector Barbossa shouted out from the quarterdeck. "A word wi' ye, Jack Sparrow!"

Jack shifted about, lowering his spyglass. He winced internally, knowing what it must look like---him willing to take the order. But, the curiosity was murder; he simply had to know what was on his old matelot's mind. His boots grit over the deck as he walked; the men had already poured sand from the ballast barrels for better footing, anticipating a possible battle. The guns were armed and ready, primed and pointed at the floating wreck.

At the quarterdeck, he climbed up and stood silently at Barbossa's side. The mutinous bastard was carefully watching L'Sauvage through his large spyglass, a frown darkening his angular face under the shadows of the ridiculous hat. He noticed then that Barbossa's beard had been trimmed and his hair, under the calico scarf, was freshly washed and braided in a queue that caught up most of it at the back. He blinked in surprise at the sight of this.

"What think ye, Jack?" Hector asked, voice low and speculative. "I see no one aboard."

"I think it's safe to assume that the ship has been abandoned." He answered, smoothing a hand down over his own beard; he gave the beads a tug. "Let the men search her for trouble and then you can go aboard and hunt for that treasure ol' Tia Dalma sent you for."

Barbossa's mouth twisted from frown to nasty smile, showing a bit of his stained teeth. "Aye, Jack...but, if I leave this ship to search that one, yer goin' with me. We'll leave Mrs Turner in temporary command."

"Oh, that's a wonderful idea, Hector." He snarked, rolling his eyes. "She's just the very one who would maroon us on that rotting hulk of a coffin. You think she's trustworthy and she wouldn't do that to you, mate, because by some strange and unlikely miracle she does respect you, but I'm just saying...you haven't learned a thing yet about her, yet. Remember Will Turner�s mutiny, do we? How about the manner by which I ended up in Davy Jones� Locker?"

Lowering his spyglass, Hector raised brows at him with the look of a saint whose everlasting patience was being put to the test. His rough voice was all innocence. "I trust no one, Jack, but today I do find meself believin' in Mrs Turner's sense of fair play. She isna likely to abandon us here to our ignoble fates, what with no food or water, and she isna makin' a deal wi' our enemies to commandeer me ship. But, if you don't trust missy, then we'll just be leavin' Master Gibbs with her as counterweight."

He couldn't argue with that. He'd simply have to make sure Gibbs was alert.

He groused, though, not quite under his breath. �T�is my ship, you pillock.�

But, it was very soon that they discovered the truth about L'Sauvage.

Shouting back and forth with Gibbs, Pintel sent the message that the ship was fair abandoned---only one soul and a cat aboard. A lad as what seemed to be the cabin boy, who was barricaded up in the captain's cabin. But, they couldn't be sure of even that. The sole problem was: the boy had the door barred and claimed to be well-armed and sitting on the powderkegs. Furthermore, the boy swore he would be well-pleased to blow holes in every damn man who dared to step up and then to blow them all to hell.

Jack, standing beside Barbossa, watched through his spyglass. He was close enough to his old matelot to hear the muttering chuckle the other pirate gave. Under his breath, Hector almost whispered. "I like the lad already. No quarter, no mercy."

Nothing he said could change Hector's mind. Not that he really tried very hard. It wouldn't do for the arsebite to realize how lackluster his animosity had become. Instead, he smiled broadly from the rail as Barbossa got into the longboat. "Ta muchly, mate. Have fun."

"Get yer arse in this boat." Hector growled, pulling his pistol to lay it across one thigh. "If th' boy intends to blow me up, yer goin', too."

Taking four more loaded pistols from the weapons locker, he swaggered back to the rail and swung himself over. Climbing down, he sat across from Barbossa with a sneer. "Fine, but I get half your share of everything we find. Savvy?"

Hector nodded with an evil smile. "Deal. Row, Jack me lad."

That worried him, as he lifted the oars and put his back into it.

His old matelot never simply agreed to anything.

On board L'Sauvage, Ragetti helped them over the ship�s battered rail. One look around showed how derelict and destroyed the ship was. It was a carrick. Ragetti was busily stammering through the explanation to Barbossa, but he went straight away to the captain's cabin, where Pintel was trying to talk sense to the boy inside.

"We promise we won't hurt ye, lad---"

"You can't promise something like that, Pin-head." Jack sighed, pushing the homely little pirate aside to take his place at the door's side. "Nobody ever believes it, you know. We're pirates. Why would we not hurt a captive, if we're pirates? We're known for hurting people, aye? Questioning with all the niceties and all that..." He leaned in toward the smoked glass of the door's window. "Lad? Can you hear me? Come out or we'll be forced to burn the ship with you still locked in."

Now, Hector had reached them, having gotten the extent of details as bumbled by Ragetti. His matelot seemed thoroughly amused by his tactics. "Jack...Jack. That's too much like mercy, Jack."

"Oh, leave off, you mad bastard." He wrinkled his nose, not looking back at Barbossa. "We're not on your ship. In fact, we haven't been on your ship since it was taken by the Kraken and the Pearl was raised from the depths. If you want a ship, you can have this ship...as soon as we've got the cabin boy out of your cabin, consider yourself free to move in."

He heard the tell-tale snick of the rapier at Barbossa's hip. "Lad---"

"I'm not the bleeding cabin boy." Came a shout from inside the cabin. The voice was remarkably young and unbelievably calm. "I'm the bleeding captain of this ship and I'm telling you for the last bleeding time---" Now, the voice rose into a definite roar. "Get the hell off me ship or I'll blow us all to bleeding hell!"

"Quite the mouth on him, eh?" Pintel gave a grimacing smile and scratched at his balding head. "Same thing, over and over. He says he's not the cabin boy, but---"

"Not very original." Jack mused, mostly to himself. Then, he glanced around at Hector. "We could try smoking him out. Or we could call his bluff. Or...we could..." Stepping back, he shouted at the lad. "I'm giving you to the count of three, boy, and then I'm kicking this door in. One---" He dropped to the deck in a scramble.

Just in time. Two guns went off and two giant holes appeared with smoke and fire in the darkened window. Which threw glass everywhere. Jack rolled to his knees and saw that Pintel and Ragetti had fallen to the sides, scrambling to get out of the way. While Barbossa hadn't moved at all, only stood with boots braced wide and head lifted with arrogance. Damn his eyes. He didn't give it another thought. Back on his feet and with two pistols to hand, he raised one booted foot and kicked in the door, scattering glass and wood slivers.

Inside the cabin, the smoke was thick; he waved one pistol around his head, protesting. "You really have to wait for three, lad---"

A quick look around told him that the boy was serious; three large barrels of powder sat in the middle of a deck covered in fine rugs. The barrels were covered in pistols, muskets, and swords. The two spent double-barreled flintlocks were still smoking, dropped to the rugs. But, there sitting on top of the barrels, among the weaponry, with a brace of fresh pistols aimed at them and a lit tobacco-rolled cigarillo clenched between square, white teeth, was---not a lad.

Jack stopped in his tracks and was nearly bowled over by Ragetti, who trod on his heel.

He smiled broadly at the familiar lass, but didn't lower his pistols as he caught himself up to speed. "Henriette, my little darling dearheart, shoot the scary gentleman with the ugly hat behind me and I'll make you my first mate---what say you to that?"

Henriette, whom he hadn't seen in three years, arched a delicate brow at him from under the line of the faded black scarf she wore on her short, light brown hair. She looked to be starving, by the hollowness in her cheeks and under her eyes. Her angular, creamy brown face twisted with a bitter smile that made his heart thump for its startling resemblance to another hot-headed woman he knew. Without removing the cherry-tipped cigarillo from between her back teeth, she mocked him in her low, husky voice. "Jack, the avuncular pain in me arse, how about I shoot you first and then the scary gentleman in the ugly hat and, afters, take your ship and crew for meself? What say you to that?"

He laughed, de-cocked his pistols, and tucked the two weapons in his striped sash. Opening his arms to present himself as a target, he addressed her again. "I say, have at it, then. Odds are, it's better you kill me. If'n I kill you, it'll need explainin' to Herself---at least, if you kill me, I might stand a chance to return. If Herself does it, which she will if I�ve done you in, there won't be enough left of my bones to be resurrected---even if my crew could find another mad witch with the right hoodoo."

"Jack, yer a feckless idiot bound for Perdition." Barbossa pushed past him, coming around to the side with a scowl and an offer of his own. "Lass, kill him an' I'll make ye first mate o' me ship wi' a captain's share o' th' profits."

"Interesting offer, that." Just as homely as she'd been the last time he clapped eyes to her, Henriette's brows rose together this time, in honest amusement. She set one pistol on her knee and took the lit cigarillo from her mouth. She flicked ashes onto the rugs and then held its fiery end close to a very short braided strand of cotton that was tucked into the top of the barrel to the left. She never took her pale green eyes off either of them as she went on smiling evilly. "Let's see...I know Captain Jack Sparrow and I was told by those two bloody twits as how they're Ragetti and Pintel, but I don't think I've had the pleasure. Sir." The last came out with pure venom.

It was then that Jack was sure...Henriette knew exactly who Hector Barbossa was.

And she wasn't pleased to be making his acquaintance.

No introductions were necessary, for her. Considering who she was, to them, he wasn't in the least bit surprised that she knew. What surprised him was finding the wee mad lass so far from Jamaica and the family who'd raised her. Had she come out to sail, looking for her mum?

Lowering his arms, he stepped back with a flourish. "Oh, have at it then, love. As long as it ends with us---meaning you and me---getting off this wreck and back to the comfort of my own cabin for a drink and a bit to eat, I see no profit in me standing between you and---him."

Barbossa cast him a glare, but addressed the mulatto lass. "You be talkin' to Captain Barbossa o' th' Black Pearl, missy. D'ye say ye are captain o' this vessel?"

The lass in question lifted her cigarillo and took a puff at it, causing blue-gray smoke to roil around her pretty little head in a cloud; he knew that it would be finely rolled Jamaican tobacco. She'd be five and ten, now. Or perhaps six and ten. He wasn't surprised to see that she was still homely and as flat as a board and skinny to boot. Her skin was the color of milky tea, but the freckles were yet visible across her nose. The breeches she wore were ragged at the knee and her shirt was covered in dried, brown blood and threadbare enough as to be see-through.

Her voice was speculative; she hadn't lowered her second pistol, yet, but she used her free hand to scratch at her head through the faded black scarf with the two fingers that wasn't holding the cigarillo. "Aye, so you'll be Himself, then. T'is a right pleasure to meet you...for what that's worth. Did you say the Black Pearl? That's not your ship but Jack's own blood-price and soul-ransom. Your ship was The Victorious...unless you'll have found another since?"

Pintel muttered a snort behind them and Jack dared a look at Hector.

Who was absolutely livid at being spoken to with such nasty familiarity.

Barbossa's face was reddened under his hat. He barked. "Ye'll call me Captain. We're scavagin' this ship, missy. Ye be smart, ye'll not try me patience. I could have ye thrown overboard for chum...d'ye get me meanin'?"

He knew what would happen; it was to be a stand-off, if he didn't say something. He folded his arms and stepped further back, giving a shortish bow. "Barbossa, she does mean it, I'm afraid. She'll blow this ship to hell and us with it, as she so eloquently put the matter." With a ingratiating smile, he cocked his head to the side. "Henriette, lass...t'would be best if you did go with us. Your ship's not seaworthy now and I don't see your crew. We're headed back to Jamaica and one more hand to the deck wouldn't hurt us. So, if you would be so kind as to collect that abysmal flea-ridden beastie of yours from wherever she's hiding, might be as I've a bottle of rum and some excellent food to hand. On my ship."

With the cigarillo clenched in her back teeth again, the mulatto lass gave a terribly familiar frown and shrugged. �Don't know as I care for those terms, Uncle. Mayhap I'd prefer to go down with me ship?"

Jack sighed in frustration at the thought of how easily he could be convinced to give in to that idea and how he didn't believe he could fight her mum with any success, if'n the lass did get herself killed by Barbossa.

"Uncle?" Ragetti whispered to Pintel, sounding nonplused. "Did she call him uncle?"

He swung around on them, annoyed enough to snarl. "Yes! She called me uncle! These things do happen, you know!" He turned again, quickly, his frock coat swirling at his knees. "Bloody hell, lass---test me and I'll take my belt to your brown arse! Your mum's likely sailing the waters near Madagascar, she was the last I saw of her, two years ago---I'm sure t'would make us all very happy to drop you in her loving arms! In chains!"

At the mention of her mum, the tiny flicker in her pale green eyes gave it away. She was bluffing. He barely caught the sign, but there it was. He lost the edge of his anger and strode forward, fast, to jerk the pistol out of her slender hand. She didn't resist and, in only moments, he realized why. Holding the weapon with its muzzle aimed at the ceiling, he pulled the trigger. Click. No powder. Lowering it, he waited...and nothing happened. No ball fell out to the rugs. The pistol was not loaded.

Barbossa---having stayed silent during the last bit---growled in a decidedly unfriendly way.

Leaning close through the tobacco smoke, he tapped the weapon on Henriette's skinny chest. The round steel barrel end caught on the beaded cord he was glad to see the lass was still wearing at her throat. "You've played us a brave bluff. Not a bit of powder aboard and no more shot than what you spent on yon windows. These barrels are empty and so is your head. Well done, lass, but it's over now."
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Whispers of Redemption