by K.A. Rose
Pirates of the Caribbean characters et cetera copyright © Disney Enterprises and Jerry Bruckheimer, Inc., 2003. The Princess Bride characters et cetera copyright © Act III Communications, 1987, and William Goldman, 1977-1987. The Adventures of Baron Munchausen characters et cetera copyright © Columbia-Tristar Pictures and Terry Gilliam, 1988. Used without permission, for the purposes of fan appreciation.
Many of the additional characters and locations featured in this work are historical, and therefore I can claim no right to them. The children of Will Turner and Elizabeth Swann are no new concept to PotC fanfiction so I can't claim them either, although their specific character designs as featured here are of my own devising. There are a few negligible minor characters contained within this work that are entirely my own creation, but I doubt anyone cares about them.
Every effort was made for accuracy. I've researched more for the sake of this fanfic than on anything else I've ever written, either fiction or otherwise. Nevertheless, my knowledge of nautical terms and concepts is not what it could be, and for this I apologize.
Ironically, given the story's theme, the biggest issues with accuracy in this work are that of time. Princess Bride characters included herein are the biggest offenders, having been bumped up several centuries from their in-film incarnations, and great liberties were taken in the case of several of our guest star pirates, notably Grace O'Malley. All considering, though, it doesn't hold a candle to some of the things Disney got wrong in PotC, so I'm not going to let it worry me.
Finally, this entire story hinges on a theory of mine that's explained in-depth in the post-story notes. Refer to these (available on fanfiction.net following the last chapter's posting) if you have any questions about the rhyme and reason to what the hell I'm doing.
-----
Chapter I - Third Time's a Charm, What?
The memories surfaced in him as if bubbling up through
the dark tide, washed over with milky foam. Disjointed and unordered, flashing
by in whatever sequence and speed they fancied, sometimes simultaneously
and flashing by almost unintelligibly in his thoughts.
"But Mother," he had said to her, "there's nothing
for me here. I have to go."
"William, I fear for you. I don't wish to see
you go. Please understand me, there is great danger on the high seas."
"I have to, Mother. You know it's the best course
for me."
The conversation drifted away as like a passing
wave, and another crashed down upon him. His father's worry, somehow less
than what his mother had expressed, as if some hidden reassurance lurked
behind those concerned eyes.
"Most people sail away from England to
make their fortunes, son."
"There has to be more opportunity to be had there
than here. I am sure of it."
"Will, I lived in London..."
"That was a different London!"
"London's always the same, son."
And that too faded, heedless, into the dark waters
of memory. There were more, flashes of the seaside, the hot smithy where
his father toiled each day and night, the small bedroom he shared with
his two younger brothers and younger sister...
"Mum says I'm named for a pirate," Jack had boasted
one evening, under the crimson sunset as the two brothers sat on the creaking
wooden docks. "A real famous one, like."
"Doncher go telling lies like that, Jack," he'd
warned his young sibling. "Anyways, everyone knows Mother and Father named
you for a friend o' theirs."
It fell out of sight in his mind, lost in the waves.
Fresher ones now, colder...
"You know how cold it is in England, lad?"
"Anywhere is cold to Port Royal."
"Aye, but you so sure you should be going?"
"I should not have to defend my actions with
you, sir."
"Then come aboard already, son. We're departin'
soon."
Out of nowhere, a chilling, white-capped wave struck
his mind.
"Don't go, Will!"
"Catherine, please don't do this to me," he pleaded,
clasping her hand in his. "I'm going for both our sakes. When I've made
a man of myself, I'll come back to you. Please wait for me."
"Oh, Will..."
"When I return I will be a proper man. And then
we marry. But not until that day, Catherine, because..."
The water was so cold it stung his skin like pins
and needles, a thousand small knives digging into his flesh. He gasped
and struggled, kicking against the torrential current as he strained to
place this memory, until he realized it was not a memory at all. What drifted
around him, kicked up and tossed about in the waves were not the relics
of the past, his or anyone else's, but the shattered remnants of wood planks
and barrels, scraps of rope and sail that were all that remained of his
ship.
A wave drove him under, and he flailed desperately
with all of his limbs, clamping his eyes shut against the stinging salt
water. His lungs pounded, as he'd had no time to draw breath, and when
he finally surfaced after what seemed an entire eternity plus more, he
gasped and took in more water than air.
Coughing, trying to wipe the water from his eyes
for all the good it served, he found his gaze drawn to something reflected
on the water's surface. The night sky was pitch black from the storm clouds,
and though the hurricane had passed them the rain was heavy enough to obscure
the moon even if it were visible. He turned his head, trying to find its
source, and caught just on the edge of his vision the golden lanternlight
of a ship. He could make out at least three masts although the angle made
it hard to tell for sure, and her dark sails were slackened by the rain.
Did they see him? Were they coming to his rescue?
"Help!" he yelled, discovering as he did so that
all the power in his voice had gone out of him. He coughed and tried again.
"Help! Help! Over here!"
Aboard the ship, lights moved.
"Help! Please!"
He tried to swim toward them, but his muscles screamed
in protest, almost frozen in the cold. But he pushed onward, unrelenting,
dragging himself forward.
"Help! Please, help! I'm over here!"
Another wave engulfed him, and then another. The
desperation that already consumed his voice was now competing with fatigue.
His arm reached out, grasping at the dark silhouetted ship that seemed
somehow farther away than before.
"Help... Please..."
Then his vision fell below the waves, and soon all
he could see was black.
"Raaaarrrk. Rum 'n' gunpowder."
"Gerroffa him. 'E's in bad anuff state without nonna
your messing on him."
"Raaaarrrk. Bottle of bombo last me the night."
"Move elong there or mark me, I'll start in wit
the Polly jokes again."
William was vaguely aware of small pinpricks on
his shoulder lessen their weight a bit, and the movement of air by his
face as something feathery took off.
"Donno why that bluddy thing always insists on 'anging
round in 'ere," the other speaker was muttering to himself, from somewhere
off to William's left. "Any bird s'smart anuff to talk ought know when
'e's not wanted, if y'ask me. Bluddy parrots. Donno whut the cap'n's thinkin'
by it..."
William took a breath to stir his body, which ached
terribly as he moved it. The groans of his joints were so pronounced he
wondered if they were audible. He pulled open his eyes, which in itself
required a lot of effort, and fuzzy, indistinct shapes began swimming into
focus.
"'Ere..."
Will turned his head to the left, ignoring how the
pain shot through his neck as he did so. What at first he perceived to
be a rumpled pile of old rags and a frayed hat turned out, in fact, to
be a weathered old man, in an odd assortment of shirts, waistcoats and
bandanas that were possibly as old as their wearer. He had a large gold
hoop pierced through his right ear, and a long white scar ran down from
his brow to his chin, obscured somewhat by his wrinkles.
"Awake, are ye?" His teeth were rotted and dark
as his eyes, save for the few that glinted a metallic yellow under the
lantern light.
"Where am I?"
"Right at th'moment? Yer sailin' South t'wards Bermuda
waters. Our ship picked ya up 'bout thirty leagues North o' Azores, an'
Cap'n Sparrow's presently makin' 'rangements ter getcher back ta Jamaica."
"How did you..." Will broke off as something else
surfaced in his memory. "My papers. You read my papers?"
"Aye. The quartermaster read 'em to the cap'n, on
account the quartermaster's a better reader." The wizened old man gave
William a cracked, rotten grin. "Cap'n Sparrow tain't in th'habit o' goin'
outter his way ta help survivors, ya know. Ye should feel honored, lad."
"It's a seaman's duty, isn't it?" Will asked, nervousness
edging his voice as the implication of the old man's words began to sink
in.
"Oh, aye, yer average sailor, maybe. But yer'd be
hard pressed ta get th'time o'day out o' ol' Jack Sparrow."
"Jack Sparrow, did you say?" said Will, using his
elbows to push himself up into a more comfortable position. "Captain of
the Black Pearl?"
"Aye. That be this." The old man gestured to the
room around him. For the first time Will noticed that the wood planks composing
the walls around them were painted black. No, not so much painted, William
realized, as just black to start with, all the way through the wood.
"I've heard about this ship," he said slowly, the
warmth draining out of him. "It-- But-- That means you're..."
"Pirates s'be the word yer lookin for, yes?" The
man cracked another ironic grin.
"What'll you do to me?" Will whispered. "Sell me
as a slave? Or hold me for ransom? Or make me walk the--"
"Oh, don't ye start in about the bloody planks!"
the weathered old pirate snapped so fiercely that Will jumped. "We only
do that stuff ter encourage th'stories, ya bloody landlubber. No real
pirates do codswallop like that." He leaned in his chair closer to the
young William. "The cap'n's already said. Yer to go home. No ransom, no
tricks."
"But... why?"
"Don't arsk me ter figure how the man thinks.
All I'll tells ya is that once Cap'n Sparrow 'eard yer name, he din't feel
like killin' yer much ahtall."
"But why should that--" Will began. He stopped at
the sound of footsteps in the doorway, and looked up, and had to make an
effort to understand what he saw. It was a woman, well into her fourties,
with dark chocolate skin weathered by rough living and waxen black hair
bound into many small braids. She stood with one hand on the door frame
and another on her hip, and her body seemed naturally bent into a familiar
swaggering posture. If not for several obvious features she would have
easily passed for a man, and when she spoke it was with the most unladylike
voice Will had ever heard. It was like meeting his sweet Catherine's dire
opposite.
"Stede! Why didn't you send up Cotton Third tellin'
the boy'd woken?" she demanded, her eyes livid.
The pirate addressed as Stede stammered. "I-I din't
like havin' no mangy bird around..."
"Those mangy birds, Mister Stede, are the
captain's answer ter talkin' 'cross ship, and you best not ferget that.
Elsewise Sparrow'll use you as the errand boy."
Stede chanced a glance toward young Will. "The cap'n's
only usin' birds because the rats chewed through the speakin' tubes. We
'aven't yet figgered how..."
Will felt the woman's gaze on him too, and turned
his head to meet it. "How're you farin', boy?"
"Er, well, fine, thanks..."
"You're to come with me," she told him. "Captain's
orders for as soon as you were rested up and back on yer feet. Come on,
quick like now..."
William didn't move. "This is a trap," he said.
"If Sparrow was in habit o' settin' traps," the
woman informed him, "you wouldn't of been able to spot it."
The boy had to admit it sounded reasonable enough.
"Forgive me," William said to the female pirate as
they ascended the stairs onto the Black Pearl's deck, "but how does
a lady such as yourself come to work on a ship like this?"
"Matters none to the likes of Jack Sparrow," his
guide said, jutting her chin out a little. "I see to that."
"This certainly is a varied crew," said Will, glancing
around him as they emerged topside into bright afternoon sunlight that
baked the humid air dry. Under blank blue skies, various members of the
ship's crew were milling about on deck. Two young boys, whom Will judged
no older than thirteen, scrubbed the deck on hands and knees, while a slightly
older boy, possibly around sixteen, with ash skin and hair woven into dreadlocks,
shouted orders to them. A couple men, one of them lacking a right eye,
barreled past Will and his companion with a heavy oaken chest between them,
followed after by a small lime-green parrot the woman pirate informed Will
was called Cotton Seven.
"Me and Sparrow have an eye for talent where we
find it, you could say. By the by, I'm Anamaria," she added, leading him
up a set of steps toward the stern of the ship. "But most of the crew jus'
call me the quartermaster."
"You're the quartermaster?"
"And why not?" Anamaria demanded, turning around
and glaring at him indignantly. "I'd've expected better of you, young Mister
Turner. Considerin' your parentage." She practically spat the last word.
She spun back around, braids flying, and resumed up the steps.
William followed after hurriedly. "What does this
have to do with my parents?"
"That's a matter you can take up with the captain,"
said Anamaria stiffly. She stopped short before a door, and rapped on it
with her fist.
"What?" roared a voice from within.
"Young Turner's here to see you, Jack," the woman
pirate yelled into the door. "Stop playing with the parrots for five minutes
and give 'im the welcome he's deserving."
"I thought you said this was the captain's idea,"
Will said to Anamaria.
"'Tis, in spirit," she replied distractedly. She
banged on the door again. "You get out 'ere this minute, Jack! I'll knock
the door down, mark me."
"Don't you bloody touch my ship!" Captain
Sparrow shouted, followed by furious running footsteps. Anamaria backed
away just as the door swung open, and out poured a flurry of green, blue
and yellow feathers as half a dozen parrots with names like Cotton Five
and Cotton Eleven flew for safe haven among the masts. When these cleared
away, what was left was an olive-skinned man with long hair, kohl smudges
around his eyes, and some of the strangest clothing accessories Will had
ever seen. He seemed young, possibly younger than his quartermaster, and
was also shorter than William by a couple inches, although it may have
had something to do with the way he swaggered even while standing in one
spot. For a moment, Will suspected he might have been drunk, but this idea
was dismissed quickly. The eyes were too alert, and besides that, he didn't
smell... well, like a drunk, anyway, although that left open a wealth of
other options.
William was just about to bring up the fact that
the stories told about Jack Sparrow in his mother's storybooks hadn't suggested
a man even remotely resembling what stood before him, when the captain
spoke again.
"Pity. I was hoping you'd take after your father
bit more." Jack slouched away from the door frame a bit and gestured with
a ring-encrusted hand. "Care to come in?"
The young man glanced toward Anamaria, who scowled
at him, and then followed Jack Sparrow into the cabin. The quartermaster
dutifully shut the door after him, leaving Will alone with Jack in the
room.
The cabin was, Will discovered, larger than the
room he shared with his siblings back in Port Royal. It was laden with
decorations of questionable taste, and while it gave the impression of
being tidy in its usual state, seemed to have fallen victim to its owner's
laziness. Old liquor bottles, spare clothes that might come in use once
the captain's present ones disintegrated, odd trinkets, useless scrap and
junk, and plundered treasure were all thrown together in every available
space, accumulating the most in the corners and on the heavy black desk
in the center of the room. Jack's bed could just barely be seen in the
corner, almost completely hidden under a mass of crumpled blankets, yet
more clothes and even more empty bottles. There were also parrot feathers.
Everywhere.
Will came to realize he was being stared at. "What?"
he demanded.
"Don't take this the wrong way, mate, but how sure
are you your dad's your dad?"
"...What?"
"No, nevermind," said Jack, holding up his hands.
"Perish the thought. Forget I said anything. But you know, young Master
Turner," the pirate continued, holding up a single finger to make his point,
"I'd like to know if I'm meant to be your entire family's guardian angel
or just those parts of it that share your name." Jack went to his desk,
opening a bottom drawer out of William's view. "Like something to drink,
young Master Turner? Or does your sweet mum not let you touch 'vile drinks
that turn even the most respectable men into complete scoundrels' and suchlike?"
"But you're a pirate!" Will exclaimed. "Why
would my family have anything to do with the likes of you?"
Jack's head appeared over the pile of assorted junk
heaped atop his desk. "Oh, not this again. I had to talk your daddy out
of that whole bit too, and it's been a while since I've had to wade through
your family's ideology and not something I care to get into again,
savvy?" The captain glanced down. "How's wine strike you?"
"What? Fine. I just-- look," said the young
William Turner, growing frustrated. "Did you know my parents?"
"After a fashion. We all took turns saving each
other's lives once. Exciting couple of days, that. Catch." Will nearly
fumbled the large wine bottle tossed into his hands over the top of the
desk. "Have a seat if you like," Jack added, dragging a huge rickety chair
out from behind the desk with a beer bottle cradled in one arm. Will looked
behind him and found a similar chair, which he sat down in rigidly. Jack
flopped into his own chair and put his feet up on the edge of the desk.
He uncorked his beer. "So how are your dear old mum and pop?"
"How do you know them?"
"A long story," Jack said with a dismissive wave.
"You ask them when you're back in home sweet home, if you're so inclined.
Now... first born, are we?"
Will took a breath. "With all due respect, Captain
Sparrow--"
"By all means, call me Jack."
"--I fail to see why I should satisfy you or your
curiosity when you haven't even said why you took the trouble to rescue
me."
"You're like your mother, I'll give you that," Jack
Sparrow said cordially, raising his bottle toward Will. "It's stubborn
curiosity like that that can lead a man to trouble, mate... Or a woman,
in Elizabeth's case." He took his feet from the desk and edged his chair
closer to Will. The young man, in turn, found himself leaning forward as
well, as Jack said in a low, more serious voice, "The truth is, son, I
owe your parents a couple favors, and your grandfather too. It wouldn't
serve me well to let them down. Savvy?" He leaned back again. "The Black
Pearl was headed for Barataria back from Nova Scotia when we came by
the storm that did your ship in. It was my decision to change course toward
Bermuda after picking you up, but we can't chance a trip down to your old
Port Royal, not on our supplies. So I'm sending a word out to Roberts on
the
Revenge to see about getting you passage."
"The Revenge is another pirate ship?"
"Ally of the Black Pearl," Jack said solemnly.
"The captain's an old friend who'll see to your safety on pain of death."
Will bowed his head. "I suppose thanks are in order..."
"Seems to me there's not much of a need," Captain
Sparrow told him. "You're the third Will Turner whose neck I've saved,
I might as well make a habit of it. Now drink your wine, there's a lad,
and rest up. I should have Cotton Fourteen back from the Revenge
by the morrow."
"Why are all your parrots named Cotton?" the boy
asked.
Jack threw him a curious look. "Of all the questions
you could bring up with the great Captain Jack Sparrow, you ask about the
parrots?"
Will scooted to the edge of his seat, leaning forward
earnestly. "Are you really Sparrow? The man who's sailed around
the world and back, richer than the king of England himself? Who single-handedly
sacked the East India Company's headquarters, laid waste to the entire
city of Havana, commandeered an entire fleet of Spanish galleons completely
on a bluff?" He stopped rather than continue, aware that the pirate was
wearing a condescending smile. "It's not true?"
"If that was all I'd done, I'd think I hadn't done
much with my life." Jack took a swig of his beer. "The books don't know
the half of it, mate."
He grinned as the young Will Turner's face lit up.
"Tell me," Will implored.
"Where to start..." Jack mused, scratching his beard.
"Raaaarrrk." Jack snapped into alertness, his head
darting toward the sternside window of his cabin, where through the cracks
between the panes a small sky-blue parrot was squirming inside. "Raaaarrrk.
Sails
luffing aback."
"Roberts must be closer by than we thought," the
pirate said outloud to himself, getting up from his chair. He went to the
window and helped Cotton Fourteen through. He let the parrot sidle up onto
his shoulder before removing the roll of paper tied to its leg.
"What's it say?" Will asked as Jack unrolled the
paper.
"How good are you at reading, young Master Will?"
"You can't read it?"
"Not all pirates have the benefit of a first class
education, son," said Jack, swaggering over to where the boy sat and handing
him the slip of paper. Will took it and began to read as Jack continued,
"Anyway, Roberts is one of those 'gentlemen pirates'. He uses big words
I half-expect he makes up himself."
"For a man like that," Will said, lowering the paper,
"he's certainly a poor speller. I can barely make out what he's saying.
What's New Providence?"
"Pirate haven."
"I thought Tortuga--"
"Tortuga's losing favor these days," Jack Sparrow
explained. "Poor location, too well-known, and the French are expecting
us to defend it from the English, except on those occasions when it's the
other way round. Most are going elsewhere lately, like Petit Goave or New
Providence. An' what's Roberts saying about that?"
"He says that's where he's headed, before going
on to... I can't read this word. 'Nikroogwa'?"
"Nicaragua?" Jack suggested. "Jolly excellent, he's
probably on a route that'll take him right past Port Royal. Happy chance
for you, hey?"
"He also says he'll turn about and be in sight of
us by sunset tomorrow. At least, I'm assuming that's what it says. This
is ghastly. Is English his native tongue?"
"To the best of my memory. I thank you not to criticize,
if you would please, if only because I don't have a sharp quill and some
red ink for you."
"Well, whatever you like..."
Later that evening, after a rather peculiar supper
with the crew in the mess hall, during which Will nearly clung to the quartermaster
like a security blanket, the young Turner wandered above deck to find it
almost deserted. An old pirate propped up against the railing near the
bow fed table scraps to Cotton Six, and one of the young boys Will had
seen earlier was scrubbing an area of the deck he had missed that afternoon.
Wandering up the stairs aftwards, the boy caught sight of Jack near the
helm, half-leaning against the rail with some strange brass apparatus propped
up beside him. The captain gently nudged one of the concentric brass circles,
causing various internal objects to shift their positions, and then Jack
looked up at the sky. He went back to fiddling with the circles, moving
them only by the slightest fraction of a degree to no satisfaction, stopping
only when he heard William's approaching footsteps and looked back over
his shoulder.
"What is that thing?" Will asked, walking closer.
"This? It's an astrolabe." He backed away from it
to give the boy a better look. "Sailors use it for checking their bearings.
Not much luck doing that with this one, being as it's all bent, see?" Jack
gave one of the circles a prod. It swung downward at good speed, then stopped
abruptly, as if stuck on a hinge. "Rotten junk."
"Did you steal it?"
"Plunder, mate. It's all part and parcel with the
job description. For someone with your mum's interests in pirates you certainly
have some strong ethical objections to their practices." Jack picked the
broken astrolabe up in one hand, examined it thoughtfully a moment, and
then cast it overboard. There was a dull splash far below a few seconds
later. "Now is there something I can do for you, young Master Turner?"
"There's still an awful lot I don't understand..."
"Aye, and there's no need. Once Roberts has you
back home safe and sound, that'll be the last you'll hear of us, assuming
you avoid grave peril on the high seas from here on out. So never you mind
about details, mate."
"But I've read about you my whole life! Same as
my mother! And her mother! And you've said you knew my father and
grandfather. And all the things you've done, the things you told me about
and the things I've read... It-- just doesn't add up!"
Jack had gone poker faced. Under that kohl-smudged
stare, William began to feel as if the deck boards were falling out beneath
him.
Then, just as Will felt himself beginning to cave
in, Jack began to speak. "I'll be square with you, Will. You ask that question
presently on that mind of yours, and I will have little choice but to kill
you." He leaned so close that Will could smell the alcohol on his breath.
"And being as I'd really hate to do that, you just keep that question
to yourself, hey?"
Every inch of William screamed in terror that he
look away, but he didn't. Instead, steel-jawed and eyes aflame, he said,
"If you didn't want that question asked, you shouldn't show people the
way to it, captain. It's by your own admission that I have deduced what
I have. You can't deny that."
Jack raised his chin, staring appraisingly at Will
over his nose. "Hey?"
Excitement tinted Will's voice now. "I've caught
you, admit it!"
"Ah," said Jack knowingly, tapping his temple. "The
thing is, mate, no one ever catches Captain Jack Sparrow."
William was less than awed, which came to Jack as
a slight disappointment. "Yes they do. You just don't stay caught.
There's a great semantic difference there that can completely misconstrue
the implication of the words, made worse by unorthodox inflection and failure
to address the crux of the conversational point of topic in context, thereby
sidestepping a proper, veracious rejoinder."
Jack froze for a moment, then his brow furrowed.
"You did that on purpose."
"Now will you tell me?"
The captain appeared to consider this, if only for
show, and then said, "No, and I'll tell you why." He raised a calloused
index finger. "If I told you, you'd tell your parents. And if you did that,
your dear old dad would want to confirm it. If there's one person I'd like
not to come face to face with again, it's your father."
"What?" Will breathed. "Why?"
Jack pushed himself off the railing, sauntering
over to the helm with one hand digging into the pockets of his trousers.
"It's not something I expect you to understand, lad." He withdrew his hand,
grasping a brass chain. Attached to it was a small metal disc about six
inches wide, with a metal pointer that went all the way through its diameter.
"What's that?"
"An astrolabe."
"But the thing you threw over the side--"
"Aye. But this one works." Jack spun it around his
finger for a moment. "Sometimes the simpler way is better, mate. You savvy?"
The brass caught the light of the lanterns over their heads, and the astrolabe
shone like gold.
End Chapter I