Marooned, 31
In Which Jack Sets a Course
by
Gloria Mundi
See Chapter 1 for full headers
Originally Posted: 1/31/05
The Sorciére was a light wench, and she wasn't happy at being stolen. Commandeered. She pitched and yawed as though she were storm-tossed, though the afternoon was mild and there was only a gentle swell out of the south-west to rock her. Jack Sparrow called out more remarks on the trim of the sails: his new crew, no more'n a dozen of 'em and all good lads, looked at him as if he was mad, but did as he told them anyway.
Jack was deliriously happy. He was out on the water once more, his own man and master, flying for his life before the sluggish (and, frankly, far from well-captained) French warships that'd been despatched to face this latest foe. The wind on his face, the blue horizon rushing towards him: white canvas (but black was only ever for his beloved) booming and sighing above him, solid oak bucking beneath him. And, ahead in the east, hull down, the Ariel.
Ah yes, the Ariel. "We'll meet up in Tortuga," Norrington had said. No: "I'll see you in Tortuga."
Jack grinned. Easy enough to give him the slip, and sail instead for Nassau or Trinidad or, oooh, Batavia. Hanoi. Copenhagen. He was a free man, and he had a ship once more—never mind that she was a feisty tub—and all the world was his.
Every glance at the compass reminded him of that old fever-dream: North, Norrington. The Commodore (ah, but he wasn't that any more) coming to claim Jack, all certain and sure and direct, hands on the humming latitude-lines to feel his way to where Jack lay. Coming, anyway, to his rescue, and in more ways than one.
The memory of that delirious night back on the island—and of the various rescues he and Norrington had performed, one on the other, since he'd left the place behind—made Jack smirk. That crosshatch of lines that covered all the charts wasn't a net or a trap, he saw now. Oh no! It was a gaming-board, laid out for their little game: for several games, in fact.
There was the game that Norrington was playing, no longer so desperately alone, with the French and all their allies. (The Sorciére pitched sharply, and Jack slapped the helm and pulled her back to her true course, murmuring nonsense to her.) A risky game, yet vastly more enjoyable when every prize won him not only wealth and gain—or, as it might be, more sugar, cloth, soap than he'd ever wanted—but Norrington's ... approval? Friendship? Jack notched his forefinger at the corner of his mouth, thinking. Neither of those was quite right. It was not about approval (Jack was determined to find out Norrington's limits) nor friendship, though friendship was part of it. It was more than that, and Jack didn't have a label for it, not just yet.
So: that game, against the French and what remained of the Spanish. And there was the other game, 'twixt Norrington and himself: a friendly game but a fierce one, played out between allies. Equals. Speaking of which ...
Jack raised his glass to his eye, and swore. The ocean before them was empty, though a quick sweep to the west showed that he would have company, of the foreign sort, before much longer. Company, and the Ariel fled: for Norrington knew his ship, and knew how to make her fly.
"Come on, you simpering witch!" cried Jack to his ship. "Going to let a Navy man outsail you, eh?"
"Sir, I—" began Woodhouse, bravely.
"Raise the topgallants!" Jack ordered. "If we don't catch the breeze, it's a French jail for us all, gentlemen: and I don't need to tell you the state of their jails. And anyway," he added, sure of their attention, "the French won't dare come into Tortuga."
By Tortuga, the Sorciére would be his in truth. In Tortuga, he'd send the men out into every tavern and brothel where sailors might gather, bidding them let slip the name of their captain: then the Sorciére would have her complement. In Tortuga, he'd seek out Norrington and persuade him to share his plans: and then, maybe, Jack Sparrow would surprise him with a plan or two of his own.
Beneath his feet, the Sorciére gave one wicked, sudden lurch: and then, set free, began to race east over the dark, concealing sea.
-end-
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