Patreon LogoYour support makes Blue Moon possible (Patreon)

The Only Rules That Matter (TheCorsair, Madame Mim)

Sunday
First of August
Year of Our Lord Christ Seventeen Hundred and Six

My Dearest John,

Your letter was well-met as always. To be honest I worry while you are away at sea and it is always a relief when your letters come in the post. Once again we have sent you all of the letters we have written between the last letter and this one. You should have seen the pride on Jack's face when he read your letter and saw how proud you were of him and how well you liked the hat he sent. I am afraid, however, that he's taken your charge to protect his sisters a bit seriously. After a lengthy exchange with Mrs. Stevenson we've had to have a talk about what is and isn't appropriate in his duties to his family.

~*~

"Well obviously Jack hit him first." Lila Stevenson was tending to her sniveling son's bleeding nose as Jenny held Jack's hand firmly. They had gone over for Jack to apologize but the conversation had taken an unexpected turn. "You ought to teach your son to control his temper better, Mrs. Sparrow, if he's going around hitting other boys unprovoked like that."

"Unprovoked?" Jenny raised an eyebrow and tried to keep her tone calm. "Is that what Paul told you? Because that's not what's happened." Mrs. Stevenson straightened and squared her shoulders.

"Oh? And what does Jack say happened, pray tell?" she demanded, putting a hand on Paul's shoulder.

"He called my sister chicken legs!" Jack shouted from next to his mother.

"Did not!"

"Did too!" Jack blew an enormous raspberry, still gripping his mother's skirts firmly.

"Jack's a liar!" Paul insisted.

"Mrs. Sparrow if my son says Jack started it then I believe him," Mrs. Stevenson said firmly, pressing her lips into a thin line. Jenny met her gaze evenly.

"Well, Mrs. Stevenson, I believe my son when he tells me that Paul called his sister names. He shouldn't have hit him, but your son shouldn't be picking on those less fortunate."

Mrs. Stevenson's nostrils flared. "I beg your pardon? I think perhaps you should be teaching your son not to lie, or to be so violent. My Paul would never say such terrible things to a crippled girl; we've raised him better than that."

"My sister's not crippled she just can't walk!" Jack protested, glaring up at Paul's mother.

"And talking out of turn," Lila added. "Saying such silly things. Crippled means she can't walk, Jack. Perhaps if his father were around more your son would be more well-behaved, Mrs. Sparrow."

"In our house," Jenny said with forced patience, "we avoid negative words like 'cripple.' And for your information, Lila, John is out to sea to help his family by making an honest living. A damn sight more than I can say for Mr. Stevenson down the pub every day spending what little he makes drinking and gambling and eying the dock whores like he's never had a family in his life!"

Jenny stormed away, son in tow. Once at the Nest Jenny sat down with Jack to explain that while he should protect his sister, he shouldn't resort to violence unless he was hit first. He ought to show Christian charity and forgiveness to those who would harm him and his sisters. Then they knelt together and prayed for forgiveness, the both of them, for showing such impatience and wickedness.

~*~

Is it true what you wrote to Jack or are you making that up for him? Do they really have rivers for streets in Venice? That's so incredible I find it hard to believe. You must take me to see the wonders of the world some day. I wish I could see what you have seen, and that I could join you to see the pyramids in Egypt. Hopefully this letter finds you well there. I'm glad the hat found you well and in time. I find it a funny thought to imagine you with the beads tied in your hair, but I'll give you an honest opinion when you come home. I think whatever I think, though, Anne will be so glad to see it that they shouldn't be taken out anyway.

Captain Teague arrived here on Friday. He says he's proud of you for sailing to support your family, even if it isn't with him. He warns that the sea is a seductive mistress, though. I suppose if the sea is your only mistress then I've nothing to complain about. He's been teaching Jack how to play his guitar and he's actually been picking it up very quickly. I think perhaps our Jack might be a musician yet.

I've enclosed a small painting to perhaps ease the burden of our separation. Don't worry, it didn't cost much. A man down the pub said he was a painter and offered a portrait for a few drinks. I think it's a good likeness and hope you find it a comfort in your lonely moments.

~*~

"Anne quit squirming." Jenny managed to shift Brigid in her arm to be able to reach over to squeeze her eldest daughter's shoulder. "I'm sorry."

"Almost done mum not to worry." The scruffy-looking man smiled kindly. Finally he took the postcard-sized portrait from his easel and showed her. "Still wet so don't touch it yet. Don't do you much justice but I suppose yer husband'll like it."

"It's beautiful, thank you." Mrs. Sparrow smiled and shook the sailor's hand before showing him out the door.

~*~

Keep it with you always and you'll never have to long for your family. I miss you, John. Even after I've said evening prayers with the children I kneel by our bed every night to pray for you more. I cannot wait to taste your kiss, to feel your arms around me, your body against mine. I still have trouble sleeping without you by my side. When you come home I'm going to wear you out so much we'll both sleep for days, and that will be enough to make up for the sleep I miss now.

Captain Teague took Anne and Jack out fishing, but they've just come back. Anne is so incredibly proud of the minnow she's caught. Jack and Captain Teague caught enough between them that I must close here and start preparing them for dinner. I count the days until you return to me. I love you, John, and I'm yours body and soul. You and I are bound beyond life together for all eternity. I remain

Eternally Yours,

Jenny

~*~*~

Dear Daddy,

Do they reely hav rivers in Venice insted of streets? That's so neet! I want to take a boat on a river street. Can I com with you next tim you sail so I can see all that stuff too?

Grampa Teeg ses he's never ben to Egypt to see the farro but he's seed a sea turtle. He ses they live in the oshin not in rivers so I don't think you'd see them in Venice. He took us fishing today. Anne only cot three minnows and a anchovy but I catched 2 trowts and a perch. Grampa Teeg catched more then me but it was enuf for 1 fish for everyone.

I give all the girls hugs evry day for you. Cuz you made me man of the house. I love you Dad.

Love
JA CK
 
"My Darling Jenny,

"It seems that your hands have been full with our son Jack. While I am gratified to hear that he is taking his responsibilities seriously for his age, I am saddened to hear that he may have been overzealous in his actions. I trust things turned out well with the Stevenson family, however? Noah Stevenson is a bit of a layabout, but Lila has always struck me as a reasonable woman.

"Turning to happier subjects, it is very much true that Venice has rivers for streets. Although, canals would be a more accurate word. The people of the city diverted a river for reasons I have not fully come to understand, although I suspect they may simply have grown weary of cleaning up after seasonal floods. And someday, when I have made us our fortune, I will bring you to see both the canals of Venice and the great pyramids of Egypt. Although I am told that they are actually much smaller than the mountains they resemble, I can assure you that they are a spectacular accomplishment for the works of human hands. Here: I have made a sketch of them, which I fear does not do them justice...

"
Figure6.jpg


"The thing in the foreground is a statue the locals call a 'ssfinks', and is intended to represent a lion with the head of a man. To put the scale of it in perspective, look at the steps on the ssfinks. Each reaches from the soles of my feet to my shoulder.

"And, speaking of pictures, I have received the one you sent me in good condition. I had not realized just how much I have missed you and the children, until I was able to look upon your features once again. I look forward to the day of our return, and I assure you that you will sleep well once we have finished celebrating that joyous day.

"I will write again soon, as I am about to embark on a short journey down the Nile - and how magnificent it is to be able to say that! Humble John Sparrow, voyaging on a river I once only knew from Scripture! But my duties as assistant supercargo are ended for a few days, and I go to seek out the mumia I made mention of in my last letter. Having discussed the venture with some of the crew, Hector and Barnicle Bill and Three-Leg Willy and Captain Beawes have each agreed to join hands with me in procuring the medicine. This will increase the amount we may specualte on, and the wealth we may earn from it upon our return to England. It has also been agreed that a portion of my share will be taken in kind, for my own use.

"When next I write, both my letters and I will be homeward bound. I eagerly count the days, gleefully watching as each one fades into sunset, as it brings me that much closer to the home that I miss and the wife that I love above life and above all the treasures of the world. I remain,

"Yours, body and sould, for all eternity,
John Sparrow"


"Are ye ready to go, Gentleman Johnny?" Hector Barbarossa's voice boomed across the deck.

"In a few minutes," John shouted back. "I've one last, quick letter to write!"


"Dear Jack,

"Grampa Teague says that sea turtles don't live in rivers? Well, as he has been at sea longer that I have, I shall have to trust his experience in this matter. It would explain why I did not see one in Venice. Sadly, I did not see one when we crossed the Mediterranean to arrive in Alexandria. I will continue to look for you, however.

"I'm glad to hear you did so well fishing! Your father took a hand at it as well, and very nearly caught a great beast with a sword for a nose. It proved stronger than my line, however, or I would have brought the nose home to show you.

"I am also glad, and very, very proud, to know that you are acting the man of the house and taking care of your sisters. You will be a man one day, Jack, and you will be strong and tall. Always remember to use that strength to help and protect others, but also remember that your mind is your greatest strength. Many threats and obstacles that cannot be defeated through brute force may be easily overcome by a man who thinks and who is clever.

"I love you, Jack, and I should be home within the next month. Winds willing, of course.

"Love,
"Your father."



John sealed the second letter into the envelope, then tucked it into his jacket pocket as he rose. Outside the small cabin, Hector was shouting again. "Hold your water!" John shouted back, opening the door. "I'm coming!"
 
"Took ye long 'nuff," Three-Leg Willy grumbled as John scrambled topside and into the longboat they'd packed with supplies. "River ain't got rapids far 's I know. Should be a smooth go, we'll be there by midday."

"Then by all means, let's go," Captain Beawes instructed, helping to push away from the ship and paddle toward the river mouth.

To the sailors' surprise, the mighty Nile didn't run north to south like every other river in the world but south to north. Unfortunately this meant they couldn't just let the river carry them but had to paddle the entire way. At least, they reminded one another, this meant that they could simply do that on the way back when they were likely to be more tired from a day of collecting their mumia. Contrary to Three-Leg Willy's prediction, they arrived outside Cairo to the site of the pyramids long after midday. In fact the sun was beginning to set as they pulled the longboat to the shore.

"And you're certain this is the only way to collect it, John?" Captain Beawes asked dubiously, glancing sidelong at the young surgeon's assistant as they trekked through the sand toward the pyramids. "Doesn't seem right. Doesn't put us much above common graverobbers."
 
John shrugged, trying not to reveal that he'd had similar thoughts to the captain's. "It really isn't," he answered, using the same argument that he'd rehearsed for his own conscience. "We're not looking for gold, or planning to pry gems out, or anything of the sort."

"Naw," Three-Leg Willy agreed. "Jes' cuttin' the corpses open an scrapin' their guts out, right?"

"No!" John answered, almost horrified. "That's not it! They ancient Egyptians pulled their guts out and put them in jars, and then packed the cavity with bitumen. That's what we're after!"

"It still sounds like grave robbing to me," the Captain muttered.

"Yeah?" Hector sneered. "Don't look like yer conscience is botherin' ye all that much, Cap'n."

They crested a hill, finally reaching the stairs that led up to the necropolis. Captain Beawes spat. "Always a pragmatist, aren't you Mr. Barbarossa?"

"Seems ta me that's a necessity, in me line o' work."


They had to hike further into the necropolis than they'd expected, before they found a likely area. An entire side of the valley, with low loaf-shaped tombs built on the floor and man-made caves with stone doors set into terraced walls. The air was hot and dry and still, with the sun now low enough on the horizon to make it clear that the afternoon was well spent. John checked his tools one last time - mallet and pry bar, empty cask, knife, scraper. "So... meet back here in one hour?"

There were a chorus of agreements. John looked along the valley, and sighed. "I'll head down that way," he said, pointing deeper into the necropolis. "It was my idea, after all."

Captain Beawes and Three-Leg Willy shouldered their own tools and began climbing up the valley to reach a higher tomb. Hector hung back until they were out of earshot, then pulled a short-bladed sword from his sack and handed it to John. "Here ye go, lad. I've no likin' fer this place, an' that'll serve ye better than yer knife, if there be trouble."

John took the cutlass, and awkwardly belted it on. "What sort of trouble are you expecting?"

"The worst kind, John. The kind ye don' see comin'."

John stared at him for a moment. "Right. Well, hopefully it's also the kind that doesn't arrive."

"True," Hector agreed. "But ye've gotta admit, better ta carry steel an' not need it, then carry nothin' and need it a lot."

Drawing a deep breath, John held up a finger to begin a rebuttal. Then, swaying just a little on a deck that wasn't there, he decided against it. "I'll... just go this way, then," he said, pointing down the valley.
 
The tomb was dark and cool. There was an echo of scuttling somewhere down the tunnels but otherwise it was silent. Strange pictures adorned the walls. If John had a torch he would be able to see them as he walked. If he didn't...he would be wandering through pitch black.

Eventually the tunnel led out into a large burial chamber. A long-dead king slept in his golden sarcophagus, guarded closely by the gods. For the first time since the witch's house there was that little voice whispering in John's ear.

Get out, John, it pleaded. It isn't safe here. The mumia isn't worth it. Stay away from that tomb or terrible things will happen. Get out John, get out now!
 
Cool, dry, dust-laden dead air. Strange animal-headed carvings that seemed to move in the torchlight. Picture-like writing that felt uncannily like something he should be able to read. Shadows jumping and flickering, behaving like figures hidden in the darkness. John licked his lips, pausing on the threshold of the final room, and decided that he had no interest in tomb robbing as a profession.

The crypt itself didn't make him feel any better, although there was nothing overtly ominous about it. Just a square room, covered with ancient painted frescoes and filled with a squat stone tomb. But there was an air of dread about the place, and his nerves were strung so taut that he seemed to hear voices. Get out. It isn't safe here. The mumia isn't worth it. Stay away from that tomb or terrible things will happen. Get out John, get out now!

"Nerves," he told himself, squaring his shoulders. "Damn Hector, and his talk of trouble."

Still, he walked softly as he entered the room, as if fearing to wake something. But some noise couldn't be helped as he worked his prybar under the lip of the tomb, straining to lift the edge enough to work a steel spike into the gap. He did this five more times, each time holding his breath as if expecting something terrible to happen. But nothing did, and he finally was able to shove the lid aside.

It crashed to the floor with a sound like thunder, and Jack jumped. He looked around wildly, waving the torch. Nothing.

"Nerves," he told himself.

The coffin within the tomb was ornate, plated with gold and set with semi-precious stones. The gold was a temptation, but he resisted. As he'd said, he was there for a medicine. Not for a spot of tomb robbing. (And what's the difference, John Sparrow? asked a traitor voice in the back of his mind.) So, carefully, he pried open the coffin. Inside, he didn't find the body he'd steeled himself to find. Just a bandage-wrapped form, like a cocoon. That made it easier, really.

"Sorry about this, mate," John murmured, pulling out his knife. "But... it's my little girl. She needs what you've got." He made an incision into the abdomen of the mummy, keen knife slitting linen bandages and leathery skin equally. "I'd do the same for you, if our positions were reversed. I promise. But, well, they're not and my daughter needs mummia. So... no hard feelings?"
 
Voices whispered in the shadows as John talked to the mummy while pulling out his knife. Susurrations grew more agitated and frantic as the knife drew closer to the bandages, like the murmurs of a thousand people telling each other secrets. Then as John made the incision they stopped all at once, leaving the slit through linen and skin echoing like a shot in the silence. The skin made the slight puncture-popping sound of a leather sack being stabbed and from it poured an abhorrent stench. The bitter scent of bitumen mingled with the stench of death and a gaseous sort of sound was released as the cavity opened.

A hand grabbed the wrist of the hand which held the knife. The fingers wrapped around John's arm were bony but impossibly strong. If he tried to escape the hand would only clench more tightly to keep him in place as the long-dead Egyptian's head turned to him, a light shining in its eye sockets. Its jaw moved slowly and wordlessly for a few moments, accompanied by the horrid sound of bone grinding against bone. Finally a dusty word escaped its gaping maw.

"Spaaarroooowwww..."

"Why do you intrude upon the peace of the dead, Jack Sparrow?" A deep voice came from behind him. Were John to turn he would see a very displeased-looking being with the head of a jackal and the body of a man, arms crossed. Beside him was what appeared to be a woman with the head of a cat, her tail flicking back and forth in an irritated manner. She, too, looked quite unimpressed.
 
John had experienced a number of strange and terrifying things in his life. But this? This had to set a record of some sort. As he'd slit the mummy open, it had torn free from its bandages and grabbed his wrist with a dry, leathery hand. Reflexively he jerked away, only to find that the dead man's hand was remarkably strong. "Spaaaarrrooooowwwww...." it grated out.

To John's credit, he didn't soil himself with terror. He emitted a high-pitched shriek, though, and he raised his knife to hack at the mummy's wrist....

"Why do you intrude upon the peace of the dead, Jack Sparrow?" A deep voice came from behind him.

Mother of God, John swore. It wasn't bad enough that the dead were coming to life to protect their precious bitumen stuffing? Now some local magistrate had found him in the act of desecrating a tomb? The bribes to get out of this would bankrupt him. So, trying to keep a watchful eye on the mummy, he glanced behind him.

And froze.

Madness walked the night. It wasn't a magistrate, or a guard, or anything like. Not unless they traveled in twos, like a man and a woman out for the evening, dressed in animal masks. (Those aren't masks, John, a voice whispered.) Carefully, trying not to wave his blade around, he lifted his free hand and held up a finger. "It's John, actually," he said, wobbling a little as the mummy jerked his arm and he jerked back. "And... ah... this certainly looks bad, I agree, but I'm no grave-robber."

The mummy, still lying in it's grave, jerked his arm again and made a noise of disagreement. John shot it an angry glance and jerked back. Strong it might be, but it still weighed no more than his son. "See, I'm an apothecary by trade, and I've a sick daughter at home, and I was reading about the efficacy of mummia in treating cases like hers - she can't walk without crutches, and struggles for breath constantly - and since I'm in Egypt I decided to obtain some for her. It isn't as if the dead need all of their bitumen after thousands of years, after all..."

The mummy grunted and rasped in indignation, and the two of them engaged in a tug of war for his arm for a moment. "The dead don't need all of their bitumen," John repeated, louder, shaking the mummy as he did. "But my Anne does, and I've no intention of taking anything else in this tomb - you can check my pack, I even brought thread to sow up the bandages again, should it prove necessary - but I'll not be frightened away from helping my little girl by a dead man..." What was wrong with his life, that he was now saying that? "Or by two mummers in clever masks."

They're NOT masks, John! the voice whispered in his ear.
 
"Masks?" the jackal-headed man barked. Quicker than a blink the woman was inches from John's face and his cheek stung where her claws had swiped across it.

"Did that feel like a mask to you, Jack Sparrow?" she demanded, her voice smooth but low and dangerous. "Do not insult us again, or it will be your last."

"Bastet." The jackal man was unimpressed, angry even, but he did not see a reason to harm the mortal if he would leave quietly. Bastet turned, cowed and tail flicking in irritation, before returning to his side. "What do you know death and the afterlife, Sparrow?" he demanded in his deep voice, leveling his gaze at the intruder. "You are a grave robber, intent on taking what rightfully belongs to the dead; you do not know what they do and do not need for their journey. Your troubles are not theirs, and so leave them in peace. This is your warning."

"All mortals are destined to die." Bastet hissed. "If you are destined to bury your daughter then bury her you shall. Pray to your god for mercy, but do not steal from our dead that you may try to defy His will. Anubis is patient but vengeful; leave now and we shall not harm you."

Leave, John, the little voice urged him. Leave the mummia and escape the tomb before they change their minds.

"Listen to your guardian, Jack," Anubis encouraged, warning still in his voice as he watched the mortal before him.
 
"If I'm destined…?" John spat, then laughed harshly. Drawing himself to his full height, he tugged at the mummy's grip and then stared back at Anubis and Bastet without flinching. "Maybe you've never had children? Never watched them grow, dreamed of the future they'll have?"

He swayed a little, as if he stood the deck of a ship. Or were drunk. "Well, I have. And I've had the nightmare of being told that nylittle girl probably won't see four, and I'm not accepting tha, and let go, mate!"

That last was directed towards the mumm, who hung on gamely as John tried to shake him loose.

"So if you two think I'll back off at the demand of a couple if circus freaks..."

JOHN! NO! shrieked that soft, silent voice.

"Why then, mates," he said, spreading his arms, "you're forgetting one very important thing."
 
“Maybe you've never had children? Never watched them grow, dreamed of the future they'd have?”

“We have,” Anubis answered stoically. “We've had children of our own as well as mortal children. Our mortal children all die, young and old, of sickness or murder or hunger. Never did our hearts hurt so much as they did when your God visited plague and famine upon our land for the sake of slaves. Such senseless murder, the likes of which we had never seen before nor since. ”

The two ancient Gods looked on as the intruder explained that he had been told his child wouldn't live past the age of four. Their sympathies went out to him, but that was no excuse for tomb robbing. They both shifted defensively at being called circus freaks. Clearly the man was as much in denial about their being Gods as he was about his daughter.

“Why then, mates, you're forgetting one very important thing.” He spread his arms wide.

“And what is that?” Bastet asked tersely. “That you are irreverent to Gods older than yours?”
 
"Of course I am," he responded, swaying a little more. "I'm John Sparrow."

As he said it, he spun into action. The mummy wanted to grab his wrist? Fine. John grabbed the dead man's wrist as well and pulled, dragging the leathery corpse from the coffin. The he grabbed the torch and hurled it in Bastet's face, sprinting up the dark corridor as she stumbled backwards.

It was darker than midnight in the tomb as the chamber fell away, but the passage was a straight shot. It was a risk, but worth it. Gods or lunatics, he was tired of talking to the two strangers. The mummy tthumped and banged in his wake, trying to grab something to retard their passage, but John moved too swiftly for the dead thing.

He burst into the open air, heart hammering. Spinning, he laughed down the shaft. "You will always remember this day," he taunted, "as the day you..." With a rasping shriek, the mummy lunged up. Overbalancing, John fell backwards and tumbled down the slope, the bony fingers of a dead man's hands locked around his throat.
 
Bastet hissed and shrieked like an angry cat as John hurled the torch into her face. All but a corner of the room was plunged into darkness as it fell to the ground, but the Gods didn't need light. They watched John's back as he called back down the shaft to the now empty chamber. The sands had cooled and they watched him in the moonlight as he fell down a dune and grappled with the mummy still attached to his arm. Thoroughly unimpressed. The two looked at each other.

"Shall I?" Anubis offered.

"Let him fight a little longer," Bastet growled, mending her singed whiskers. She watched with some satisfaction as the long dead king seemed to have a firm grasp on John's throat.

"You're too spiteful is what you are, Bastet," Anubis sighed with a roll of his eyes before holding up his hand. The mummy suddenly stopped, hands still around John's throat but no longer bent on squeezing the life out of him. He walked over to John, looking down at him menacingly as the sailor lie on his back with a threatening corpse kneeling on his chest.

"It is not your destiny to die here, John Sparrow," he rumbled. "You have disturbed our dead, attempted to rob our tombs, and showed immense amounts of disrespect for the Gods of old. However, your God has great plans for you, and it is not right for one God to interfere in the plans of another. So know this, John Sparrow: you shall live this night...but you shall never return home. This is my curse on you, John, for your sins. Never shall your soul rest with your wife and children in your home. Go now, before our good will reaches its breaking point."
 
John tore at the dead man's hands, fighting for breath and praying that he hadn't broken anything in his tumble down the valley side. It was hard to tell. He was a mass of bruises at least, and his vision was dimming as the mummy's fingers dug into his throat. Then, just as he was blacking out, there was a cracking sound and the pressure relaxed. Coughing and choking, he threw the body aside and gasped for breath.

"God..." he murmured, unsure if he was blaspheming or praying. Then, in his swimming vision, he made out the outlines of the jackal-headed man. Scrambling backwards, he clawed for the cutlass that Hector had insisted he carry.

"It is not your destiny to die here, John Sparrow," he rumbled.

"Damn right it's not," John answered, waving the cutlass in front of him.

"You have disturbed our dead, attempted to rob our tombs, and showed immense amounts of disrespect for the Gods of old. However, your God has great plans for you, and it is not right for one God to interfere in the plans of another. So know this, John Sparrow: you shall live this night...but you shall never return home. This is my curse on you, John, for your sins. Never shall your soul rest with your wife and children in your home. Go now, before our good will reaches its breaking point."

"Not going home again?" John laughed, sheathing the cutlass. "We're bound for England with the morning tide! I'll be back with my family before the fall, I think." He snapped his fingers, dismissively. "So that for your curse!"

Studiously ignoring the mummy, he made his way down the trail leading back to the river.


"John!" Hector called, rising from where he and the others had been sitting. "What happened to ye, lad? Been in a fight?"

John made his slightly unsteady way down to join the others, wincing with every step. He hadn't broken anything, but he'd bear souveniers of this evening for weeks to come. "Something like that, yes," he said. "As a result, I've nothing to show for this night but bruises and..."

"And an intact skin, John," the Captain said, clapping him on the shoulder. "But step lively now, lads. We've got to sail with the morning tide."
 
Dawn saw the Ablemarle pushing out to sea. It was a long, very long journey through the Mediterranean Sea plagued by storms. Still the vessel made it through a little worse for wear but intact. A week and a half after the incident in the tombs the ship was moving along the cost of Morocco and through the Strait of Gibraltar. It was midday when a shot rang out, heard before the cannon ball was seen sailing across the bow and barely clearing it before splashing into the water on the other side and sinking out of sight.

"Pirates off the starboard bow!" came the call from the crow's nest.

"Come about!" the Captain shouted back. "Hard to port! We'll not engage!"

It was common knowledge that while there were some guns aboard for simple protection, the Ablemarle was not equipped to deal with the ship flying no colors which had been spotted off the starboard bow. This was clearly what had been a commandeered Spanish man-o-war. For the disadvantage they were at for their guns, however, she was smaller than the pirate ship and it wasn't unreasonable to attempt to outrun them. The only issue was that the pirates had chosen a clever spot, going through the straights where it would be difficult to escape and lose them in the open water.
 
John lept to the rigging at the Captain's order. This was bad, very bad. He didn't actually know very much about naval combat - what with this being his very first time at sea and all - but you didn't have to be a Francis Drake to recognize when your ship was outgunned. And the Ablemarle was outgunned. Significantly. And clearly, the Captain was gambling that they'd be able to run with the wind, long enough to outpace the heavier pirate man-o-war.

Watching it approach, John wasn't sure they would. The Ablemarle was a sleeker ship, with more rigging. But it was also heavily-laden with cargo, making it wallow and fight the wind as the canvas stretched. The man-o-war, on the other hand, looked to be riding high on the waves. And it looked to be gaining.

There was another distant roar as the man-o-war turned to run with the wind as well, and the heavier ship's chase gun blasted a bit of railing from the sterncastle. Swallowing his fear, John fell back and approached the Captain. "Sir," he said, "they're gaining."

The Captain gave him a sour look. "Aye, I know it."

"Then what..." John started to say, but the Captain cut him off.

"What would you have us do, John? Fight it out? We're an armed merchantman, and we'll run out the guns if we must. But that ship chasing us will tear us apart." He shook his head. "No. The only hope we have is that the wind holds, and that the cargo is packed tight, and that God is merciful."
 
The Ablemarle put up a good chase and actually managed to outrun the pirates for nearly half an hour. But the entire time the man-o-war kept gaining on them. Finally, under threat of being torn to lace by the guns on the opposing ship, they were forced to heave to and prepare to be boarded. There was raucous laughter as the Ablemarle was latched to the enormous ship which, were anyone brave enough to lean over the side to look, had been christened the Barnacle. It was quite an intimidating sight to see at least fifty rugged, ruthless pirates use their rigging to swing over and land deftly on deck. A charismatic-looking man who was quite obviously the captain swiftly found the man in charge and strode toward him confidently.

"Do you know who I am, mate?" he asked with a quiet smile.

"You're Captain Ace Brannigan." The Captain's voice didn't betray any sort of strong emotion as he worked hard to keep it even.

"Well done. So if you know who I am, you know what I do." The Captain nodded. "Good. So this should be as painless for you as possible...if you're a smart lad. You look like a smart lad." Brannigan turned to address the crew of the Ablemarle, sword raised.

"You all have a choice, lads, and I think it's awfully generous of me to give you one. You can join the crew of the Barnacle," as he turned in a slow circle so that all could hear him, his eyes landed on John and stayed there, "or you can go down with your ship. You have until we've finished relieving you of your cargo to decide if your conscience can stand it. You, lad." He lowered his voice and pointed his sword in John's direction. "No, not you. Not you either. You! Yes, you! You look awfully familiar, lad. Have I threatened you before?"
 
The pirate captain's elaborately-hilted saber pointed in his direction. You, lad." Several crewmen touched their chest, looking puzzled. "No, not you. Not you either." A stabbing motion, singling out John. "You! Yes, you! You look awfully familiar, lad. Have I threatened you before?"

He knew he should play it safe. Knew he should be smart, and focus on surviving and getting home to see his family again. But something in him rebelled, hard. He drew himself up, the movement somewhere between a swagger and a sway, and he raised a finger in the air. "I wouldn't say," he said, swaggering forward and resting his fingertip on the blade, "that you're threatening me now." Grinning, he pushed the blade out of alignment, aiming the point at the deck. As the crew of two ships watched, stunned, he leaned forward with his left arm up and behind him as a counterbalance. "'Cause I don't feel threatened by poncy Spanish dogs."

The words hung in the air as the pirates waited to see how Captain Brannigan would deal with the suicidal man and the crew of the Ablemarle anticipated John's blood coating the deck. Brannigan stared at him and then, with a lightning movement, brought his blade up and slashed at John's throat. John swayed back, bending at knees and hips, allowing the blade to whistle above his nose as he grabbed for his hat. Then he danced backwards, steps small and mincing as Brannigan advanced with a backstroke. Twisting, he avoided Brannigan's blade a third time, allowing it to thrust past his chest by the narrowest of margins.

"You dance well, fool," Brannigan said, circling left. John circled right, keeping the pirate captain in front of him at all times. "What's your name?" Brannigan added.

"Jack Sparrow," John heard himself say. "Son of Edward Teague. Maybe you've heard of him?"
 
"Son of Edward Teague, you say?" Brannigan lowered his sword only slightly, studying Jack intently. "No son of Captain Teague's would make an honest man of himself. Except..."

Captain Brannigan studied Jack for a few long moments, squinting at him. He pursed his lips, making a few considerations and doing his best to recall a recent conversation with Teague. After all, no man with a legitimate job like his would claim to be the son of a notorious pirate unless he was. Finally, he nodded at a few of his own crew and flicked his sword idly towards Jack.

"Remember when I said everyone gets a choice, son?" he said as his crew advanced on him. "Well, everyone except you, that is." He chuckled as one of the larger of his crew struck Jack over the head with the hilt of his sword before swinging his unconscious body over his shoulder.

It was an hour or so before Jack would awake to the sound of canon fire. If he were quick enough, he might be able to catch a glimpse of the remains of the Ablemarle and those who had decided to stay with her disappear into the ocean. Fifteen minutes after that, the door burst open with a bang and Brannigan walked in, an old woman on his arm. She held a cane in her other hand and with his free hand Captain Brannigan gestured to Jack on the bed.

"You see? The prodigal son returns," he announced with a grand, swooping gesture.

"Prodigal? What an awfully big word for you Ace." The old woman detached herself from him and used her cane as support to hobble over to the bed, waving a dismissive hand toward the captain. With that same hand she grabbed Jack's chin and forced him to look up at her with a surprisingly strong grip. "Claims to be Captain Teague's boy?"

"Aye," Ace confirmed with a wild grin.

The old woman merely harrumphed and studied Jack more. "That true, boy? You're Ed's son?"
 
John awoke to a throbbing, pounding headache and a roaring in his ears. No, wait. The roaring was outside. It was the sound of cannonfire. With that realization john rolled himself up and out of bed, watching in sick horror as the Ablemarle listed to starboard and began to sink.

Then the rapid movement caught up with the skull-splitting headache, and he retched. Shuddering and aching, he staggered back to the bed and sat down, clutching his head. He was a prisoner. Captured by pirates. The two Egyptian freaks had been right...

Resolve hardened in his gut, and he clenched his fist. He'd show them they were wrong. Show the whole world. He'd return to Jenny and their children, even if Hell itself barred the way.

The door slammed open, admitting the pirate captain and... an old woman. The two of them discussed him like he wasn't there, and then the old woman caught his chin and examined his features. "That true boy?" she demanded. "You're Ed's boy?"

"That would imply he had some hand in raising me," Jack sneered. "But yes, for my sins he, impregnated my mother."
 
"You watch your mouth, boy," the old woman said with a sharp slap hard enough to make Jack's cheek sting but not much else. "He woulda done right by you; he's a good man. Anne was a good woman but she obviously never taught you to mind yer elders."

With a little help from Brannigan she brought a chair from the desk and pulled it in front of the bed. With a groan and a sigh she sat then stared at Jack for what seemed like a very long time, though it must have only been a few minutes. Slowly she steepled her fingers and gazed at him over her fingertips as though a decision had been made.

"You're the spittin' image of your dad, boyo," she finally announced. "Got his penchant for dangling shiny bits in yer hair, too...Jack is it?" She waited for confirmation before leaning back in her chair. "Well Jack, I be yer new captain; Captain Rackham. But in here? In here you may call me Grandmama."

"Welcome home, Jack," Brannigan added with a grin, which Grandmama was quick to slap away.

"Stop that smiling!" she snapped. "Else the crew will realize the dunderhead you really are."
 
John rubbed his stinging cheek. "'Woulda' and sixpence together paid the bill for a shroud," he glared. "'Woulda' and my mother selling herself paid for rent and food." He watched the old woman sit down. "Can't say I give a damn what he 'woulda' done, not when my mother taught me that what matters is what a man can do, and what he can't."

She stared at him over steepled fingers, examining him closely. He returned her gaze, seeing what he could only describe as a viscious old woman. "You're the spittin' image of your dad, boyo." It didn't sound like a compliment to him. "Got his penchant for dangling shiny bits in yer hair, too...Jack, is it?"

He tensed, ready to correct her. He'd only called himself "Jack" when confronting Brannigan, because it sounded tough. But... what had that Egyptian god said? That John Sparrow would never return home? Well then, he wouldn't John Sparrow...

"Yes," he confirmed. "Jack Sparrow."

The remainder of the exchange taught him only that madness clearly ran in his father's side of the family. But he made himself smile. "Well, grandmama... when will we be putting into an English port? I've a wife, you see, and you've got four great-grandchildren, and they're all depending on me to take care of them. And, well..." His expression didn't change. "I'd like to do right by them."
 
"Sparrow..." Grandmama seemed to be considering the name with some distaste. "Anne did yer dad a disservice, then. Shoulda been Jack Teague, but I suppose that can't be changed now. Not like we all got the same name, anyway." She looked him over, considering what Jack had said about his mother. "Ed said she had died. Damn shame. But who do you think taught her that, eh? What a man can do, and what he can't do? S'the family creed, boyo, and you best not forget it."

"Well, Grandmama...when will we be putting into an English port? I've a wife, you see, and you've got four great-grandchildren, and they're all depending on me to take care of them. And, well...I'd like to do right by them." Jack seemed to be expecting his request to be honored, which both pirates seemed to find hilarious.

"Well right this way, Gentleman Jackie," Brannigan said with a gesture to the door, his voice dripping thick with sarcasm. "We'll just get you back on your ship and on your way, shall we?"

"Shut up, Ace." Grandmama stopped laughing and stamped at his foot with the bottom of her cane, landing squarely across his toes, before turning still mirthful eyes to Jack. "Four kids? At your age? Ha! You've been very busy indeed, if you're tellin' the truth." There was a look to her sharp dark eyes which belied her uncertainty at whether her young grandson really did have a fairly large family. "You wanna do right by 'em boyo, you'll send 'em your cut of any loot we get. Sea's your mistress now, Jack. It's in your blood. 'Sides, we only put into England but once a year, and we just came from there; you'll have to wait and so'll yer little wifey. A real woman don't depend on no one but herself anyhow. Anne knew that."

Grandmama stood with a grunt and started to walk away, but something stopped her. Slowly she turned and studied Jack again for what seemed to be quite a long time. Finally she nodded to herself, as though she had decided something. Still squinting at him, she took a step towards her grandson.

"I'll tell you what, lad," she said finally. "Ed said you got a sick little girl, and last I seen of him he was setting sail toward Avalon and we was supposedta meet him there. I ain't so young anymore, and Ace here's never been too sharp."

"Oi!"

"Shut up, boy. Anyway...you go help yer dad with what he needs help for, and you sail with me for a year. Next time we're in England, yer free to go if you want." She smiled wickedly, revealing a tooth with a ruby stud driven through it. "Ya won't want, but you can. Whaddya say? Sound like a square deal?"
 
Jack hesitated, considering the offer. He'd promised Jenny that he'd not dabble with magic any more, and he had no desire to return to England only to be marched straight to the gallows. On the other hand, his only way home - short of a successful mutiny - was through the deal his grandmother was offering.

"All right," he finally agreed, meeting her gaze. "You have a deal. I'll help Captain Teague with his mad delusion about 'Avalon', and I'll finish out my year sailing with you. And then I'll go home." He smiled wickedly. "Because I'm not my father."

He rose, swaying just a little. "And so, I believe wa have an accord - yo ho,yo ho, a pirate's life for me. Where do I start?"
 
Grandmama snorted when Jack insisted he was going to go home, as though she didn't believe him or thought he was being naive. She nodded when he agreed that they had an accord. Jerking a thumb to the door, she turned and began to walk with him.

"You'll start where everyone starts, Jack: at the bottom. You'll get no special treatment because yer kin," she informed him. "Ace, tell Mister Gibbs to change course for Avalon."

It took nearly two months, but Jack would find that Avalon was a real place. Through storms and doldrums, Grandmama was stubborn and insisted that it only meant they were going the right way. After all, places of magic typically don't want to be found. The morning of Anne Sparrow's third birthday dawned grey and drizzly as the Barnacle found port on the isle of Avalon. Through the mist it could be seen that a large ship was already there and Grandmama gave the order to heave to next to it. There wasn't the usual shouting that came with generally being a pirate, but they spoke in soft, reverent voices as though afraid of angering something hiding in the mist.
 
You must log in or register to reply here.
Back
Top Bottom