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Didn’t happen. Don’t make profit. Don’t claim ownership of anything that isn’t mine.
A Serious Situation
Will Turner woke with a splitting headache, and uncertain of his whereabouts. He was in a dark room, but it was daytime. He could tell because thin shafts of excruciatingly bright sunlight leaked into the room from cracks in the ceiling and stabbed his eyes painfully.
Then he noticed the swaying. The room was moving. It might have been just his headache, but then the candlestick on the table beside the bed tipped over. An earthquake? No, the rocking was regular, and there was no rumbling noise. There was only the sound of waves lapping at the hull.
He was on a boat. A ship. Alone. In a dark room. Below deck, he could tell. People were walking directly above him. He sat up, regretting the action immediately when the pain in his head sloshed forward with the motion and threatened to push his eyeballs out of their sockets.
Lying back down, safely, he reached up to locate the cause of his injury. He touched his forehead, where the pain throbbed most. His skin was smooth and intact. Not even a bump to mar it. Unless you counted the very deep crease between his eyebrows. He ran his hands through his hair. Long, soft curls, no matted blood or wetness, no lumps or tender spots. It seemed to hurt all over, without a single point of origin.
The back of his neck was stiff, but he again felt no injury. Curious. He was beneath the deck of a ship, in a closed room. However did he get there? The last thing he remembered… he couldn’t remember the last thing he remembered. Last night, he supposed, was a bit of a blur. He concentrated, intensifying his headache but there was nothing for it; it had to be done.
The beach. Jack trying to kiss him on the beach and his father popping up between them. Taking him back to the camp while Jack rowed to the Pearl. Charlotte. Charlotte’s hut. Charlotte in his arms, moaning while he kissed her and fondled her. Actually, he had been doing quite well. She’d been reacting in a thoroughly aroused manner and seemed to have no hint that he was only carrying out his duty. Then she’d started talking about Jack and Will and the bath and Jack’s tongue inside him.
Will shifted on the uncomfortably hard bed. And reached down to pat the uncomfortably hard cock he seemed to have grown. Jack’s tongue in him got him hard every time, even the mere thought of it. He had to be very careful to not think of it at an inopportune time, like when he was working with hot iron or when too many other people were around. He spread his legs unconsciously and wriggled his arse. It helped him remember the exact sensation of hot, wet muscle circling and spearing him.
But then he remembered the officers and bolted upright, damn the headache. Naval officers interrupted him, with Charlotte. And now he was on a ship, locked in a dark room below deck, with no way out. They must have thought he was ravishing her. He would hang for certain! He ran his hand over the rough planks of the wall and followed them around the corner to the door. He felt the hinges and was relieved to find it would be no trouble at all to break out, but he decided against any rash action.
He had no idea how far out to sea they were. If he broke out of the room now they might just throw him overboard, and claim he was trying to escape. He should wait. That’s what Jack would do. Wait until he had more information. That was it.
He felt his way back to the bed. He would sit and think and figure a way out. But all he could think of was that he was below deck, probably below the water level, and the walls seemed to close in around him. This was, indeed, a serious situation.
Captain Jack Sparrow woke with the bright sun in his eyes and a splitting headache. He was soaked to the bone and on the beach, apparently. He shut his eyes and rolled over to face the sand. Bloody sun, who needed it, anyway?
The sand was damp on his cheek. And cold. But it was bright so it had to be morning. The headache was readily explainable, after the sheer volume of rum he must have consumed the night before, judging by the foul and disturbingly fuzzy taste in his mouth. But how the devil had he ended up wet on the beach? He thought back carefully to the night before.
It was only a few paces away that he’d tried to kiss Will goodnight. Then he remembered yelling at Bootstrap and every cursed DeMaurier in range. Matthew rowed him out to the Pearl, then he brought Anamaria over, and then the bugger took the boat back with him, “so you two won’t cause any trouble”.
Well, that explained it all. He’d gotten rip roaring drunk and decided to swim to shore to get closer to Will. That made sense. He always wanted to get closer to Will, whether he was drunk or not. But when he was drunk he wanted to get even closer to Will, because he had no self-control at all when he was drunk. So it was a good thing Will had restricted his rum intake when they were stranded on that island together, because he would have jumped the poor boy and scared him away for good.
So, he’d been upset about the lack of a boat and swum to shore. That was all logical and fine. He tilted his head to the other side, to get a look at the beach.
Many feet ran past, back and forth, all over the sand. This way and that, it was dizzying. Some were bare, and some were stockinged and shod in buckled shoes. Some wore boots, fine knee high leather boots gleaming in the sun. Jack decided to look higher. White trousers and red coats swam into view. Good lord, it was an invasion!
Bloody redcoats everywhere, loading supplies and rowing off in little boats and coming back again. He couldn’t see anyone who lived on the island.
Fortunately, no one seemed to have noticed him yet. He’d beached himself off to the side, amongst some driftwood and weedy sort of things; he was never good with plant names. His frock coat was ideal protective colouring on the wet sand and dark, dreary plant things. Jesus, how the hell had he swum to shore in his coat? He was even still wearing his boots. That must have been some rum.
He raised his head and inched himself forward by the elbows, dragging his legs behind him, headed for a thicket of something a little further inshore. He would hide in the undergrowth and wait, get more information. He had to find out how many there were, what they knew about the island and where Will was.
Then it occurred to him that if they’d found him already, with the harlot, they might make the wrong assumption. She wouldn’t want to admit to them she was a harlot. In fact, the paperwork had already been forged, naming her a somewhat wealthy widow. And if they found Will with her, doing what Jack was pretty sure Will was doing with Charlotte last night, then… he revised his plan. He had to find out where Will was first.
Will breathed deep and steady on purpose, to slow the pounding of his heart. He was having trouble filling his lungs with air. It was hot in the small, dark room. The water kept lapping up against the wall, threatening him, reminding him that he was below the surface.
He couldn’t stay in here much longer. He would have to get out, somehow. He’d rather be lashed to the mast than this. Even when he was kneeling on the deck of the Interceptor II, bound hand and foot with Norrington’s sword at his throat, he hadn’t felt this restricted. The ache in his head was subsiding. He was strong and fit. He could handle whatever would follow, as long as it didn’t involve staying in this room any longer.
He braced himself against the door and grasped the handle firmly. With the proper application of force, by ramming his shoulder against the door and yanking on the handle for leverage, he could dislodge the door from its hinges.
He would get topside, somehow, and if land was anywhere in sight he would swim for it.
He counted to three and heaved his body against the door.
Jack crept through a clump of closely placed palm trees. He could see Bootstrap and Tessie, Bootstrap’s arm protectively around her shoulder. So they hadn’t separated the couples. That was interesting. They were talking to a blue-coated officer, of whom Jack could only see his back. They were gesturing around the camp, pointing in all directions.
Good old Bootstrap, trying to confuse them. Jack would have to steal through the trees in the direction of Charlotte’s pathetic excuse for a house, and then figure out if Will was inside or elsewhere.
Another officer approached, his face hidden by a wide-brimmed hat. He put his hand on Tessie’s arm and she didn’t pull away. That was interesting. She hadn’t turned them in, had she?
“Spread out,” one of the officers shouted to the redcoats, “we must find Captain Sparrow!”
Jack mentally slapped himself for being pleased that the officer had remembered to refer to him by his proper title. The situation was far too serious for such frivolity. Will was in danger!
Will Turner landed in a heap on the floor of the corridor. The door had not, in fact, been locked. Thus, his proper application of force had propelled him at an inappropriately high velocity out of the room and, since the door of the room was situated at the juncture of two hallways, half way down the perpendicular hall.
He shook his head and stood up, trying to orient himself. It was hopeless. The light was still dim, and he didn’t know the layout of the ship, and he could hear heavy footsteps headed his way.
“You’re headed in the wrong direction there, young Mr. Turner.”
It was simple to evade capture. When Jack had his wits about him, soldiers were easy to fool. And these seemed to be particularly inept soldiers. Nigh untrained. Bloody British were always kidnapping poor sods and inducting them against their will. These ones were very fresh – barely over their hangovers, as it were. Jack grinned. He had plenty of experience operating with a hangover. Posed no problem at all, once he pried his eyes open. He had the definite advantage.
He arrived at Charlotte’s hut soon enough and sidled around the back. He could hear everything going on quite clearly.
“…so let’s just hope it took this time. I don’t want you to do that again.”
Anamaria! So they’d let her come to shore, for some unknowable reason. And she was here, with Charlotte.
“When they showed up at the door, I thought poor Will was going to have a heart attack. And right in the middle of it. It was quite comical, actually, seeing him at the end of the bed with his...”
Charlotte’s voice was mercifully muffled by Anamaria’s protest. “I don’t need to hear this!”
Agreed, Jack thought, almost out loud but he saved himself in time. He had no desire to hear any details.
“Poor lad, when they dragged him out of here it was still sticking straight up in the air. Lovely cock he has on him, really. I mean, speaking as a professional.”
“Not anymore,” Anamaria growled.
“Course not, love. I don’t want to have anything to do with the boy, only you. Anyway, I’m sure it worked this time. Once we got that awful uniform out of the way, it was easy, and he was much more business-like about it than Will, so you needn’t worry about anything.”
Jack fell back, stunned. They’d dragged his Will off, half-naked, in the middle of… and she’d allowed the invading officer to… this was too much. He was going to find Will, make certain he was safe, and then come back and strangle the harlot.
Jacob DeMaurier looped an arm around Will’s waist and helped him down the hall. Will’s head spun. The headache was back with a vengeance.
“Not used to quite so much rum, are you Will. Don’t worry, it’s only a hangover. You’ll get over it soon enough. It will help if you drink water. A lot of water, from the looks of it.”
“Hangover?” Will let Jacob half-carry him back to the little room. “But why do I have to stay in here? I hate being confined. I want to be topside.”
Jacob propped him up on the bed, against the wall. “My dear boy, after the rum we drank last night, I assure you, the last thing you would have wanted is to wake up with the sun in your face.” He pushed a flask of water at Will’s face, and was pleased to see his step brother drink greedily. “I don’t think you’re ready for the light of day yet.”
Will drank until he could take not more. And he did feel better, but not great. Now he could remember. The two officers in the doorway, telling him to stop. They hustled him out of there and talked in hushed tones for a few moments, making some sort of decision. And then one had gone back into the hut, and the other had handed him his clothes and boots and taken him back to the Dauntless, which now lay anchored in the harbour not far from the Black Pearl.
But there had been some sort of a party going on aboard the Pearl. There was loud music and laughter and Will didn’t want to join in. He knew Jack would be drinking and enjoying himself, possibly in ways Will would not want to witness, and he was quite shook up from the experience of being interrupted mid…
Jacob grinned when he saw the deep crimson blush spread across Will’s cheeks. The boy was remembering everything from the night before now.
Jacob had arrived the night before and rowed to shore, only to be told the entire story about Charlotte and Will and the baby she wanted and the trouble he had giving it to her. Jacob and Gillette had immediately decided to intervene. After all, Charlotte was his sister’s girlfriend, and Will was definitely taken by Jack. And often, judging by the gossip he’d heard all morning.
So, Jacob had offered to step in. But then Gillette, being the gentleman he was, had also offered to do the deed. He knew Jacob didn’t fancy women, and had almost no experience with them. Hence the hurried conference while Will had struggled into his clothes.
“Will, I think you’re ready to go topside, now. Perhaps you could help us, as well. Seems we’ve misplaced the Captain of the Black Pearl.”
Will had not just heard that. Or had he? Jack was missing?
“No one aboard the Pearl seems to remember what happened last night. It was quite a party. And Jack is nowhere to be found. Do you have any clue where he could be?”
Will shook his head. Carefully. “I’ve no idea. You don’t think he could have fallen overboard, do you?”
“An experienced sailor like Jack? No, he must have gone to shore. They’re searching for him now.”
“Well, if he knows they’re searching, then he won’t be found.”
Jack breathed low and careful. He had to get to water’s edge and out to the ship somehow. But there was a horde of inept but nonetheless dangerous redcoats between him and the beach.
He watched from his hiding place carefully as the fools bumbled through the underbrush. They walked around as if they were tied up or something. The clothes didn’t sit on them properly. Nothing fit, and some of them wore the oddest combinations of uniform pieces, as if they’d found them in a pile and thrown them on without knowing how it was supposed to look. And there was something funny about them. Jack pondered a while, and then it struck him.
They were, every one of them, down to a man, black.
The British navy did not, in the words of Norrington, which Jack had overheard while stripping him of his uniform and handing it over to one of the freed men, “recruit savages”. Well, someone had recruited these men, but it hadn’t been the British.
His hangover must be worse than he thought. He had only been able to see the uniforms, not the men in them.
Jack stepped boldly out of the bushes and nearly tripped on of the searchers. “Ahoy, mate. I don’t suppose you could direct me to Captain Jacob DeMaurier, by any chance.”
The man looked at him, stunned. Jack fit the description to such perception, from the strange posture to the black-lined eyes, he couldn’t be anyone but the man they were looking for. “No, no English,” he stammered. “Kalle…” and gestured for Jack to follow.
That last word sounded funny. Callay? Calley? Wasn’t French. Must be some African word, Jack mused. Oh, blast, that damned Jacob had pirated another load of potential slaves. How the hell was this pathetic island going to support all these people? There was plenty of vegetation, but not much of it was edible, and even with his limited knowledge of agriculture, Jack knew a few fruit trees and some palms weren’t enough to feed what was now likely a population of thousands.
There would have to be a concerted effort to find money to buy more supplies, or pillaging would be required. He knew well who would be asked to do the pillaging. And he did not fancy spending the rest of his days pillaging so others could live in their island paradise.
By the time Jack had thought all this he was at the beach, and a boat was approaching the shore containing Jacob and a few mismatched redcoats and, finally, Will.
Will stumbled from the boat a few feet from the sand and sloshed up the beach to Jack.
“I was worried about you!” Will threw his arms around Jack. “You were missing, and I didn’t know where you were. I didn’t know where I was. And the party last night, everyone was drunk, they told me. Even I was drunk, but I don’t remember. And I didn’t, Jack, not all the way, I didn’t. Jacob and Gillette showed up and… but that doesn’t matter. You’re here and safe and I was so worried!”
Jack held his lover close. “Will, luv, settle down. No need to be troubled. Nothing untoward will happen to me. After all, I’m Captain Jack Sparrow, eh.”
Next: Part VIII Jack and Will's Cave Adventure
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