4Audience? What are you doing staring at a blank screen, Audience? Well prepare for the epicosity levels to skyrocket, because at long last I have an update for you!
I apologize once again for the wait. I was working on about a dozen projects at once, all with the same deadline, and of course there was much unneeded drama culminating in a police report for harassment (and a counter report), and many damaged relationships. Ugh. But let me not bore you with the troubles of my life. That's not what you came here for. Let us delve once again into the search for Jack's missing elements in the quest to reunite them into his single and singular being. The story comes back to its roots once more in the Pirates realm. Enjoy!
Chapter One: Fear and Loathing in Tortuga
James squared his jaw. She was giving him that look. That little half glare, half kicked puppy look. Why did she have to be so stubborn? "I have no wish to go anywhere other than onto a ship and out to sea," he attempted to reason with his young relative. "My fervency to visit any realms other than my own is waning."
"Oh. Well why didn't you just say that in the first place?" she replied cheerfully. He fought the urge to facepalm. "We could do with some sailing—I'm surprised Jack's crew have stuck around for this long! It's been a few months."
"I was intrigued as well. It seems that the portion of reward money from Lusee that Sparrow gave them was substantial enough to sustain them most of this time."
"Come to think of it, I haven't even seen Mr. Gibbs yet—you would think I'd have gone and said 'hi', but I haven't."
"You would also think that a pirate crew would have left for a town with more bars and brothels, but they haven't either."
"More bars?"
"Oh dear," James actually facepalmed this time. He'd said too much. He knew exactly where her mind was going, even without hearing her thoughts.
"You know what else I haven't done?"
"Don't say it..."
"I've never been to Tortuga."
He glared. "You just said it."
"We should go."
He had to put his foot down and draw the line somewhere. "Absolutely not! Tortuga is no place for you. It's a lot uglier than Jack's fond memories describe it. And the number of drunken, lusting sailors makes it a dangerous place for a young woman like yourself."
"The crew needs to stay happy, and in order for that to happen, they need to get back to what they do best."
"It is not up to me, and especially not up to you to lead them back into piracy. And I'm sure Jack would not be too happy that the Pearl was taken abroad in his absence."
"Exactly. Which is why I conjure a turtle-ship or a galley or something, let them sail under Gibbs and have some fun there, and then mysteriously sink it in the night once they're all back here."
"We're still not going to Tortuga," he replied firmly.
"We? It started out as me. What's up with you? Never been?"
"Oh I've been, all right. Far more often than I should. And I do not think the barkeep was very fond of me by the time I left."
Thinking he had attempted to close the bar on a Commodorely basis, she did not think much of this statement. "Is the barkeep your only problem?" she asked, eyebrow raised.
"It's that whole blasted port," he snapped. "Every bloody rock, broken bottle, and grain of sand—there is nothing about it worth visiting. It lures the unsuspecting to paradise and then chains them there in their own prison." Not thinking on the last statement, either, she gave him her best kicked-puppy face. "No. Oh no, not the face..." He set his jaw, crossed his arms, and they stared each other down. "No. You are not getting me to go to Tortuga."
—
"I cannot believe you got me to go to Tortuga," James grumbled sourly, looking at the island on the horizon through his spyglass. The lass stood beside him on the reddy-brown deck and chuckled, crossing her arms behind her head.
"What can I say? I'm a convincing person." After reading and re-reading several books on ships, she had successfully managed to conjure this ship, a small, two-masted, gaff-rigged schooner. She hadn't realized until James made a comment that schooners hadn't been invented yet.
The unique sails flapped and billowed in the zephyrs—unique in their colour, shading from a deep, bright red at the tops to an orangy, shining gold at the bottoms, illustrating with the Sunrise'sname the 'red in the morning sailor's warning' part of the adage.
It felt great to be on a ship again, after so long, although even if she had tried, she could not have made it faster or smoother than the Pearl, and hopefully the crew would prefer sailing on Jack's ship to this.
They floated into port, dropped anchor, and after Gibbs had set up the watches all going ashore disembarked.
Amy wandered the dusty streets, admiring the old buildings and comparing them to the concrete jungles she was used to. It was a remarkably clean town, for all the abuse it received in its nightly hours. To spend their daily hours, she suggested that they check out the local library—being as eager as she was to explore the literature of the time and the Realm. James, being equally not eager to be in town, agreed in a heartbeat. As it were, there were many interesting volumes, and at length, Amy shrank one to the size of a deck of cards and stuffed it into her boot. It was the first thing she'd ever stolen, although the complete silence and loneliness did not make it a difficult task in the slightest. She concluded that she might find pleasure in pursuing Jack's profession, and was about to take another book when a great hand wrapped around her wrist and she looked up to see James looking down at her with a dangerous look on his face. She nearly squeaked in surprise and fright. She'd been caught. There was no way she could defend herself, and she knew he didn't approve. Above all she didn't want him to be angry with her. Not when she'd dragged him here when he hadn't wanted to come in the first place. But he said nothing; just put a finger to his lips and jerked his head toward the back exit. She followed obediently, not asking any questions.
"Sorry to cut our reading short," he apologized distractedly once they were outside again. "A pair came in that I didn't quite like the look of, and I thought a hasty retreat would be a bit less messy than a confrontation." She nodded her understanding, calmed that she hadn't been caught. Then she gasped in horror. "What? What is it?" He whirled around in alarm, hand on hilt. There was nothing but a startled and very disgruntled goat.
"They've got a bunch of kids with them—those men. They might be in trouble."
James sighed in exhasperation. The last thing he wanted was to get involved in Tortugan affairs. "All right. Wait here, and I'll see what they're about." He turned away, drawing his sword, and stalked toward the entrance the men had come in. He paused near the door and carefully angled his head to see in. There were the two men. And just as the girl had divined, there were five boys with them. The men dressed in a mottled finery; the boys were dirty and dressed in rags. All seven were gathered around a small pile of plunder, which was quickly growing as pockets and bags were emptied onto it.
"We've a nice haul for this week, lads," one cackled, and they began to divide up the spoils. "Get yerselfs cleaned up, boys. Good disguise, the 'omeless orphans beggin'. Wunnerful distraction while we robbed 'em blind, eh?" They laughed.
"So do we go in with swords blazing?" Amy asked beside him.
James jerked to look at her. His brows came down frustratedly. "Not at all. Those boys are in no danger from the men. They are a band of pickpockets and bandits. I thought I told you to stay behind."
"Got bored. Why are they here?"
"Library's deserted, as we saw for ourselves. They must use it as a hideout. Let's go."
"You're not going to do anything about it?"
He turned back to her. "Like what?"
"Like catch them for stealing."
"If I went around trying to arrest every soul in this port guilty of stealing, there'd be no one left." Amy felt her ears burn, remembering the book she had stolen. "Besides, I don't think anyone would thank me for interfering outside my jurisdiction—that is to say, if I even have jurisdiction."
"Those boys would."
"Would they? I don't think they would. There are no orphanages on Tortuga. Those boys are healthy, well-fed, and have a roof over their heads. My stepping in would only take that away from them. The lines of justice are very blurry in a place like this, I find."
Nodding, she followed him into town.
—
Night fell quickly, Tortuga brightly aglow with lanterns. Amy wandered through streets that were now soaked with rum (and some with blood), the forms of men already passed out beginning to litter the gutters. The yells and shouts of a brawl at one bar mingled with the loud, energetic music from another. Once again, pirates had the governor tied up in the well, demanding to know where the town's treasury was, and lowering him underwater when he refused to tell them. Ames wondered how often this happened to him, and how he had survived thus far. Perfume and rum perforated the air, and she breathed deep the proliferous bouquet that was Tortuga.
She swung open the doors of The Faithful Bride tavern and paused to take it in. A small fight was going on in one corner, although no one seemed to be taking much notice. She stepped further in. The conversation at a nearby table halted, and the three men who had been having it quietly rose, eyes gleaming with glee at this unsuspecting present that had walked into their grasp. They began to follow her slowly, waiting for their opportunity. She spotted Gibbs having a drink at a table not far away. She saluted; he raised his tankard merrily. His smile disappeared as she turned and continued, noticing the suspicious figures following her. He rose, his hand on his cutlass, but hesitated. The goons were snickering to themselves, about to pounce, when strong hands came down on their shoulders. They froze in their tracks, then turned. Their faces turned to horror, and they fled, quarry forgotten. James's glance flickered to Gibbs, whose hand was still on his sword. They nodded to one another, and the latter returned to his drink.
He drew closer to her, protectively. Sensing him, she turned to face him—who was looking down his nose at her, arms crossed, fixing her with the same intimidating expression he'd given the drunks. Her cheer fled, and she almost felt as though she should run away too. "Uh... Are you okay?"
A muscle tightened in his jaw. How oblivious could she be? "Fine," he growled.
"I'm going to get a drink. You want any?"
"You are not old enough."
"I just want a taste. The idea of getting drunk or even tipsy isn't at all appealing."
Knowing he could easily overpower her and drag her out of that horrid place was tempting, but before he could decide whether to argue or not, she had already turned toward the bar, surveying the intimidating men gathered around it. "Any tips? How am I supposed to look?"
He sighed inwardly. This experience might be good for her. The drinking, no. The procuring it: perhaps. "Keep a hand on your hilt—just let it relax there; you only want it to draw attention to the fact that you are carrying a weapon. And don't go putting your hand on your hip as you tend to do."
"Okay." She started off, and James caught her by the shoulder and brought her back to him.
"And when you get to the bar, make direct eye contact with whomever you are talking to."
"James—."
"And don't go sticking your rump out if you lean on the bar."
"I wouldn't do that any—."
"And try not to wag like you have a tail. Save it for another realm."
"Big brother instinct too much!" she finally cried. Her eyebrows raised at him. "Jeez, boy, I have some common sense, you know. I'm a generally calm person, and I'm really not all that girly. I'm just getting a rum. I'll be fine."
He took a deep breath, still uneasy at being there. "Fine."
"Listen, I'll keep the brainwaves open if you need anything or if you think I need anything. But seriously—I'm more competent than you give me credit."
He bit back a scathing reply concerning her levels of alertness, and leaned against a wall, crossing his arms and taking up the intimidating stance of a slightly tipsy pirate who would rather not be bothered.
She watched him for a moment before taking up her posture and making her way toward the bar. She agilely sidestepped a small fight that had broken out and managed to maneuver her way through the drunken crowd to the bar without losing her composure. However, even the lack of danger she felt did not diminish the nervousness swelling in her breast. But her countenance remained composed. James, watching her from his shadowy corner, observed her level of alertness—nothing went unnoticed—she was smart enough to use all her senses for help: If a person pushed another, or if a drunk tripped on his clumsy feet, and she was in the way, even if her back was to them, she knew he was there and could anticipate where he would end up, always managing to elude that pending accident. He wondered why she hadn't noticed the men following her. But then, they had been at a greater distance. It had even taken him a minute to realize their intentions.
She leaned her hands nonchalantly on the grimy bar, meeting the gaze of the grizzly barkeep. "Rum," she ordered, pushing a penny his way. He gave her an odd look, but her confidence convinced him she wasn't kidding around.
"Don' serve children."
"Morals in Tortuga? Half a pint. Come on, now." Muttering to himself, the bar tender swiped up the coin and retreated to get her drink. She tipped him another penny, lifting her mug to him and taking a small sip. Upon deeming its flavour praisable, she made her way back to her nephew. "Well?" she asked with another sip.
His unfriendly countenance did not waver with conversation. "You're not dead or injured, so I suppose that was well-executed." She smiled casually, leaning beside him against the wall and taking another sip of rum. "Don't go drinking too much of that. I don't want to have to deal with a hung over teenager tomorrow."
She chuckled. "You didn't honestly think I'd drink a whole half a tankard, did you? It's good, yeah, but I'm not that stupid. I'll stop after a while."
"Yes, well, beware. Alcohol tends to act much more quickly in those of smaller stature."
A muscle tightened in Amy's jaw. Did everyone have to mention her size? Her major growth spurt had been three inches in the fourth grade. Now, she was five-two and basically finished growing at the age of fifteen. "You want the rest, then?"
He shook his head. "I haven't touched hard liquor in years. Wine and coffee, whenever I am at sea."
"What—did something happen?" She had a feeling that bad memories were about to be unearthed and braced herself.
"I do not like what it does to me." He had wanted to end the conversation there, but her enquiring expression and knowing eyes propelled him onward. "I—it... The last time I had rum, it felt like every bad feeling I could feel about any given thing, even if only slightly—or perhaps even without my acknowledgment—all the bitterness, all the anger and misery in the world was burning inside of me, and I had to take it out on anyone and everyone in my path." She looked up at him thoughtfully, took one last swig of her drink, and then went to turn her tankard upside down. "Wait," he grunted, taking it from her. "It would not do to waste your pennies." He downed what was left of it. When he lowered the tankard, he felt lower than he'd felt in months. He burned with shame, and already there was cause for bitterness, even without the draught's effects.
The girl was perhaps ignorant of all of this, grinning at him. Perhaps she thought his baring of himself had been a joke. Perhaps it was better that way. "Now, let's find a place to get some cheese."
"Cheese?" his eyebrows drew together. "Why cheese?"
"Because I'm going into cheese withdrawal and I need my fix. Come on." With a sigh, he followed her out, placing the tankard on the tray of a passing bar girl, and rolling his eyes at Gibbs, who had noticed their exit.
Gibbs smiled and raised his tankard to the man, chuckling, "A woman is always in charge—especially when yer related to her."
—
They had successfully procured their cheese, and were now munching as they strolled along the border between town and beach, chatting about this and that—stupid things, things that didn't really matter. There was an air of cheerfulness about them, as though nothing could go wrong.
After wiping the grease and crumbs from their hands, they climbed down a wooden retaining wall to continue their stroll in the surf. The tide was coming in, and they were able to wet their boots only a few yards away from said barrier. In many places, thickets and grasses—even a tree or two—grew out from between the logs and planks, creating black shadows in the moonlight. The more and more of such places they passed, the more afraid of them Amy was becoming. She couldn't understand why she was feeling this way. Common sense soon calmed her, although every instinct was telling her to run or hide.
"James," she finally said, clutching his arm in her fright. "I'm scared."
He paused mid-stride, surprised: This was the first time he had seen her afraid—she who seemed to fear nothing. "What of, pet?"
"I don't know." Hmmm. Maybe she was afraid of nothing. "It's just this feeling—like there's something waiting there to get us."
"And you think it's waiting for us specifically."
"Could be. And it might have friends."
"So you think that there is something, or perhaps more than one something, lurking in the shadows and waiting to attack us?" James sighed. "Amy, you are a pioneer of paranoia."
His confidence reassured her, and she eventually suppressed the fear. Their stroll continued so far before they doubled back and followed the same path back. (They would have been following their own footprints had the surf not filled them with sand.) With the passing of time and cheerful conversation, her fear disappeared. And now, as they approached that same place, she pushed that fear to the back of her mind and plodded placidly beside her escort.
However, their roles had switched. As they drew nearer and nearer to a large copse growing out of the barrier, apprehension began to beat faster in James's chest, although his countenance did not betray that feeling. Thus, as the couple were passing said copse, he suddenly stopped and pushed her protectively behind him, senses alert. "Wha—?"
"Shh. I heard something."
"Could be a squirrel," she suggested.
"No, it was bigger than that. Something is watching us."
"Now who's being paranoid?"
He turned around, grasping her shoulders irritatedly. "I know what I heard, and I've experience enough to tell its size. Now shush." He turned back around to analyze the situation. After much consideration, he said, "It would be much better for us to face it than to risk running and having it come after us. Stay behind me."
They crept in near silence toward that fearful place, boots hardly making a sound over the sand. The light of the full moon set their path in a silver twilit glow, and though it was bright, it only served to deepen the shadows in the place where they needed to see most. Slowly, cautiously, they approached the copse. They passed back and forth along its perimeter, never daring to set foot inside. At one spot, something moved as they passed, setting fronds and leaves quivering. "Who's there? Come out at once." Nothing happened. "Give us some light, Amy." She snapped her fingers and a small ball of light appeared, floating several inches above her palm. Its light caught the movement of something attempting to recoil into the shadows.
"It's a man," she realized. James drew his sword.
"Then put that light out. Quickly!—Do you want to be tried at the stake again?" he hissed. She gave him a meek expression and allowed the bobbing light to become a normal, flickering lantern. Norrington proceeded to call out to the hiding soul. "Show yourself. There is no use hiding now that we know you are in there. Come out of we'll set the place ablaze." Nothing. "You've had your warning. One." There was a great commotion in the bushes. "Two." The noise grew louder as the man struggled toward the open world. "Three. Ten." A form exploded from the copse, falling at the former Commodore's boots and pleading frantically for his life. "Why were you hiding in there?" James demanded.
"I-I was hiding, s-s-sir," the fearful form stammered.
Norrington kicked him off of his boots. "Yes, but why?"
The man sat back up on his knees, and they could see his face. His clothing was torn and tattered. His hair, where it should have been long and dreadlocked, was short and stringy, eyebrows and moustache frazzled, beard inexplicably short. His eyes were wild with fear and sunken into his face a little, with bags beneath them. Tremors of barely-controlled panic shook his countenance. "I-I w-w-was a-afraid." It was Jack.
With what can only be described as half laugh-half sob, Amy threw herself at him, arms wrapping about his neck. "You're back, you're back! We were so worried about you." However, at her touch Jack struggled out of reach, stumbling back and looking at her like she was some monster. "J...Jack? What's wrong?"
"Amy, I do not think that is Jack," said James, brows knit together, sheathing his sword and replacing his pistol. "Pardon out hastiness. Will you give us the liberty of asking your name?"
"No. Y-you frighten m-me," not-Jack mumbled.
Ames and James exchanged excitedly shocked expressions. "Fear!" they chorused. Another emotion!
However, their excitement served only to frighten Fear more, and he bolted. "Wait!" the lass cried after him. "We want to help you!" But he was not coming back. "Just great," she turned to her companion. "Now we have to find Fear in Tortuga."
"I'm afraid that is a feat which rivals the existence of a cursed Aztec treasure in probability." They looked back at the town, aglow and crowded, the first rays of sunrise streaking the sky. It would be a long search.
And there you have it! A long chapter to end a long break. Thanks for reading. Bless your face. If you sneezed during this update, bless you. Peace off! Doo-doo doo-doo doo-doo doo-doo DO REVIEW! Outro of darkness, then redness, then whiteness! Boop!