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Not true. Didn’t happen. Wasn’t in a movie, any movie at all. Product of my overactive imagination and too much cold medicine. Not intended for profit.
Two Pirates Walk Into A Bar
The first man was a touch taller than the second, a touch broader in the shoulder, a touch finer in features. Pretty, one would call him. If one cared to contend with the sword that hung from his belt, brushing against a taut thigh. Lustrous waves of sun-tinged brown fell to his shoulders, and a light dusting of darkish hair decorated his upper lip and chin. His pink tongue ran over full lips, moistening them in a gesture of apprehension. His brown eyes darted around the room nervously, the only other thing belying his carefully composed demeanour. That and the tiny creases at the corners of his eyes.
The second man was older, darker, more flamboyant in dress and manner, not quite so pretty but with a distinct handsomeness and undeniable charisma. His black hair was pulled off his face, tied in a scarf, revealing skin darkened by years of sailing under the unforgiving sun to the colour of a creamy caramel one might drizzle over baked apples. Pirate to the core, his walk was more of a swagger, and the clatter of his sword clashing with his pistol could be heard when one heavy boot fell to the floorboards, raising a puff of years old dust.
Layers of shirt and sash and vest and scarf and belt and the like swathed him in colour and texture. The only smoothness about him was a triangle of hairless tanned chest. The kohl smeared around his eyes gave him a sinister look that did not go unnoticed.
He took in the lay of the tavern instantly, dark eyes flitting from one disreputable patron to the next, then hovering on one corner where a dangerous looking pirate sat with his back against the wall.
The pirate in the corner did not see him at first. His eyes were trained on more immediate concerns. The man sitting opposite him, whose back was against a wide post, obscuring his view of the door, took a drink of his ale. Then the pirate glanced up to see the men in the doorway.
The first, younger pirate at the door let his hand drift up to the hilt of his sword. There was entirely too much attention being paid to him and his companion. He’d been assured that here, in Tortuga, no one would pay them the slightest heed. This was a port where pirates were common, where an infamous pirate such as his captain might find respite from constant challenge and notoriety, and where a relationship such as that between said captain and himself would be treated as a common occurrence. Was there nowhere they would be able to relax?
Everyone in the tavern had noticed the new arrivals by this time. A few rough looking characters collected their drinks and headed to tables further away from the door. The harlots immediately began jostling for the first go at the pretty one, or at both of them together. The surly, slightly drunk man in the corner responded with a simple narrowing of his eyes.
That was the one the second pirate concentrated on. It was his habit, for which he owed his survival, to pay attention to the biggest threat in the room first. Once that was dealt with, lesser threats would gladly step aside. Tried and true technique, and one he believed in with all his soul.
He reassured his young friend with a gentle touch to the elbow. The boy wasn’t used to places like this. Yet. He needed to know that his back was covered, that nothing untoward would happen to him. He needed to know he was not alone. Not that the older man would ever leave the younger one alone.
“Don’t say anything, savvy?” he said in a low voice.
The younger man nodded apprehensively. He’d spotted the pirate in the corner as well, and was all too conscious of that shrewd narrowing of the eyes, and the subtle way the man’s hand crept down to his boot, checking that some weapon was in place and ready for use at a moment’s notice. The way he kept his dark eyes trained on the doorway.
The two most dangerous men in the room had singled each other out.
The pirate in the corner shifted, and his companion frowned. “What is it?”
“Nothing. Don’t turn around. Don’t make any fast moves.”
“Nothing? Oh, really?”
“Well, nothing you need concern yourself with, luv. Just an old friend. Funny how old friends turn up in the least expected places, eh?” He straightened his back, sat a little taller in his chair.
The two newcomers approached the corner warily. The older pirate wasn’t sure what kind of a reaction to expect. He might be welcomed as a long-lost brother in arms. He might be shot in the forehead if he took one step more. Reality would likely fall somewhere in between. But this meeting was a long time coming, and he would not be the one to delay it any further.
He stopped a few feet short of the table.
The pirate in the corner held up his hand to his companion, who looked as if he was readying himself to spring up in defense. Long, work-hardened fingers clasped the hilt of an elaborate sword, far too elaborate to be the possession of an ordinary pirate. His boots were too well made for a pirate as well. His features, or what could be seen of them from the side, not nearly sunbaked enough. A fine catch for his old friend, if he was reading the situation correctly, but not much of a pirate.
His hand drifted back to stay his young companion from straying any closer to the scene of what could be a bloody confrontation. He was relieved the lad halted, still anxious and eager for a fight, but not stupid enough to jump into it blindly. They would wait and see what the other pirate had in mind.
The man in the corner rose with a clink of beads and weaponry.
“Nagaraj,” he growled.
The dark pirate smiled, a gold tooth glinting in the uneven light of the tavern. “Jack,” he replied, quiet and controlled.
“I heard you’d given up travel. Something about a stint in the prison of a Caliph. I’d heard you were quite busy rotting in hell, actually. I’m disappointed to see you looking so well, mate.” Captain Jack Sparrow was practically snarling by the end of this speech. He had one hand on his pistol, the other on his sword.
Nagaraj broadened his smile. “Sorry to disappoint you, Jack. Seems we both escaped from hells of our own making. Heard all about that little island Barbossa made you governor of.” His hand tightened on his sword, and he could feel the lad behind him getting ready to attack. It was reassuring. If Jack did pounce, Nagaraj would need all the help he could get.
“Barbossa’s dead,” Jack said in as menacing a way as was possible.
“Heard that too,” Nagaraj replied smoothly. “Heard you killed him, as well.”
Jack nodded tersely.
“Pleased I was to hear it, too. Could never stand that man.”
“Didn’t know you knew him.”
“Only after he cast you away. Unsightly man, terrible teeth.”
Jack smiled for the first time. “Yes, well, being cursed by the heathen gods’ll do that to you, eh?”
The youth behind Nagaraj relaxed. Violence might not be imminent. But he did not let his guard down completely. One never knew what would happen next around his captain.
Nagaraj noticed that Jack’s companion had not moved at all. He was probably waiting for the signal from his captain. Good lad. Good pirate. Perhaps he wasn’t such a landlubber after all.
“I’ve never had any hard feelings for you, Jack. Surely we can leave the past in the past and be friends.”
Jack looked at his companion, then back at Nagaraj. “I think not, mate. But we can be two ships, like, passing in the night as it were. You leave and I’ll not follow, savvy?”
“Think again, mate. You know I can’t be leaving a tavern at your behest. Especially not in Tortuga. Every pirate worth his salt would hear of it. Now, I’ve been out of these waters a while, and I’m looking to re-establish a reputation. Can’t have a whelp like you showing me down now, can I?”
“You calling me out?”
“No, mate, live and let live. My sword can’t beat you, I know that better than anyone. I trained you myself. You’re the finest. Except,” he said meaningfully with a slight wave toward the young man standing behind his left shoulder, “that man there. I trained him too, you see. Fast, Jack, and deadly accurate he is. Young too. I doubt you could keep up with him for long. Savvy?”
Will Turner would not take this sort of threat sitting down. He stood suddenly, almost overturning the table, ready to draw his sword. He wheeled around to face the challenger.
He instantly recognized the fugitive from so many years ago.
Nagaraj felt his mouth drop open in surprise.
There he was. The youth from Port Royal. God, he’d grown up since those few nights so long ago. Innocent, he’d been. So innocent that Nagaraj had not even considered taking him into his bed. It probably had not even occurred to the lad what Nagaraj had wanted to do to him. He’d been so painfully chaste and unsullied, even Nagaraj would have felt a cad to force himself on that lithe, tender body. Virginal.
A poor blacksmith’s apprentice. He’d offered his guest the best mattress and slept on the straw one. He’d given up half his food to feed a poor man with no money or prospects. He’d been thrilled to learn a little from Nagaraj about the art of sword making. And when Nagaraj stole away in the night, having stayed a night longer than he should have, because he knew the soldiers were catching up to him, he’d known the boy wouldn’t say a word about him. Honourable, the lad was.
So young he’d been then. Slighter than now. Prettier. He’d grown into his prettiness in a manly way. His jaw was stronger, chiselled even. His cheeks, which were delicate before, looked less fragile, and possessed an exquisite curve to them. His eyes, oh God, Jehovah and Allah be praised, those rich chocolate pools had a steel to them now that made the soft colour jump out at him.
He remembered, after he’d fled from Port Royal, he’d gone inland for a while to avoid the authorities. There he’d run into a welcoming tribe who’d introduced him to the wonder of drinking chocolate. The first time he looked down into a wide shell of steaming, rich cocoa drink he’d thought of those eyes. Exquisite.
Virginal. Honourable. Exquisite.
Which begged the question. What the devil was the lad doing with Jack Sparrow, of all people?
Will’s eyes widened in confusion, narrowed in suspicion, and bracketed the deepest, most perturbed eyebrow crease Jack had ever witnessed. But Jack could only spare a second to glance at it. He had to keep his eyes on the treacherous Nagaraj, who he thought he’d never see again.
Nagaraj spared a glance at Jack. He’d grown up as well. He took in the kohl, more carefully applied than he’d ever seen it before. The black hair, the hair that used to be so soft and sinuous, was twisted and braided and beset with baubles and trinkets. The two, neat braids in the beard suited him so well. He wasn’t as pretty as he used to be. He was stunning, though. Stunning in his own way. Far more dangerous than the last time Nagaraj had seen him.
Drunken haze. Recriminations and threats. A real lovers’ quarrel. But there’d been no kiss and make up. No tearful reunion. Jack had stormed off the ship in the deep of the night, somewhere along the coast of Patagonia. Nagaraj had counted on running into Jack at some point in time, but this was unexpected, to see him with this lad. Will, he’d said his name was. Will Turner.
He must have been the son of Bootstrap Bill. That would explain it. Nagaraj had never met Bootstrap Bill Turner, but he’d heard the tales of the Black Pearl. About the curse. About Jack. About Jack and Bootstrap.
He turned his attention back to Will Turner, who by this time had his sword half drawn. What a sight. What he wouldn’t give to go back in time to those nights when he hid in the smithy. If he’d known that the lad would go and get himself defiled by the likes of Jack Sparrow, he wouldn’t have been so reticent. He’d have taken what he wanted.
He’d be content to settle for a night now. Preferably this night.
The scrape of steel being pulled out of the scabbard drew his attention to the boy behind him. Charles. How could he have forgotten. He grimaced. Charles was, and always would be he realized with regret, a poor substitute. He’d been looking for the same boy, the same exquisite boy, all these years. Charles was bright, he was fast and skilled, he was beautiful – no one could deny any of that. But now that Will was standing in front of him, the Charles paled in comparison.
There was a degree of honour at stake. Honour among thieves. Honour among pirates. Jack had left him unfairly. Chafing at his apprenticeship. Unwilling to submit fully to Nagaraj’s will, as was demanded of him. No one had ever left before. Nagaraj always chose when the apprenticeship was over. When the apprentice was sufficiently broken. Jack, as pathetic as he’d been when he was brought on board, had refused to be broken. Snake, he’d called Nagaraj. Devious, vile snake.
Jack Sparrow owed Nagaraj.
Will stepped forward, placing his body slightly in front of Jack’s, directly opposite Nagaraj’s. “I doubt either of you could keep up with me,” he stated plainly, pulling his sword out the rest of the way. “And you’ll be leaving this tavern before the night is through.” Will stared at Nagaraj and then at Charles.
Jack was perturbed. Will was coming to his rescue. That couldn’t be right. Jack was both angered and terrified by the sudden appearance of Nagaraj. He wasn’t sure how he would actually be able to handle himself in a battle with his old captain. It was impossible that Will could understand all this.
But Will, somehow, did understand. All too well.
Nagaraj could practically sense the hairs standing up on Will’s neck.
Will’s lovely mouth curled into a sneer. “Savvy?”
Next: Chapter 75 A Duel For Honour
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