Chapter XII - Dance and Drink, Though Not Necessarily in That Order
 
 

    Following the return of the Turner siblings, morale aboard the Black Pearl was at an all-time high. The gold Delphine and Will had retrieved, sparing the portion that the sister and brother kept for themselves, went to badly-needed repairs and a hefty restocking of food and drink. John was so overjoyed with having a full pantry to work with again that he offered to cook whatever the captains wanted. They requested tomato soup.
    The left-over gold was calculated, most of it stored for future expenses, and the remaining split up as a bonus to the crew. Except for Redtail, who had missed the Pearl's departure from Turtle Island on account of being gagged and tied to a bed back at the inn. As a result of this most unfortunate incident, Stede was promoted to second mate, a fact the old sailor was very proud to remind his fellow crew of.
    During this stretch of time in which the three pirate ships sailed South along the African coast there was very little to recount. Pirates did what pirates did best, which was pillage, plunder, rifle and loot, and there was little variation to how this occured time after time. Additionally, so as not to garner a high profile, they kept their attacks to a minimum, which left a lot of empty time with a deep desire to be filled. In most circumstances this would require a very soap opera-esque series of events to occur with a select few among the pirate crews to some penultimately dramatic moment. Unfortunately, real people were disinclined to accede to the rules of literature more than outside parties might think, so what ended up happening in the weeks at sea was a whole lot of nothing.
    They were attacked by pirate hunters twice, admittedly. The first of the two, the Vanguard headed by Captain Robin, caught them unaware and was able to inflict considerable damage on the Blessed William before the Black Pearl and Tirghráthóir were able to respond with their cannons. The second, the Blue Traveller under Captain Osprey, didn't stand a chance, especially after Inigo invoked his title to justify slaughtering her crew en masse.
    Delphine resumed her lessons under Jack, and for the first time began to show genuine improvement. Will, meanwhile, was lagging behind, due to certain things --and one certain person-- diverting his attention. This problem was made worse by the fact that, even though her disguise was gone, Ashley Trinity still insisted on acting like a boy.
    Fezzik kept with his rhymes. Anamaria kept ordering people about. Captain Kidd provided polite company and sang Scottish folk songs in the late evening hours. Granuaile, curiously enough, avoided contact with Jack and Inigo and remained holed up in her captain's quarters aboard the Tirghráthóir. This hardly escaped Jack's notice, but as the island of Madagascar approached and his lessons with Delphine occupying much of his day, he could devote no time to discerning what it meant.
    Over the course of these weeks at sea it did not escape Will and much of the crew that Delphine was growing more like Captain Sparrow with each day. It went further than her physical appearance --that was passing at best--; she was starting to swagger like him, she was absorbing his mannerisms, and, yes, she was even swashbuckling like him. And that said nothing of how she acted around other women.
    "I know what you're doing," Will told her from behind, as the two worked with two other crewmen to hoist the anchor one morning.
    "And what is it I'm doing, Will?"
    "You're starting to think you're Jack, admit it. You like pretending you're him."
    "Aye, I be thinkin' meself Jack as much as I'm a sea urchin."
    "There's no sense denying it, Delphine."
    "That's Jackal to you."
    "No, it bloody well isn't," Will said, as the anchor the two siblings were helping to pull up finally broke the surface of the water. "You're mad, Del. You're completely crackers. Fraying at the edges. Losing your marbles. Just watch, you'll be thinking you're a bloke same as him next. Not that you don't already. What would Mum and Dad think..."
    "Mummy and Daddy," the Jackal said in sing-song, "don't even remember who I am by now."
    "I would not speak so ill of them if I were you."
    "I'll speak as ill as I like, kid. Thanks very much all the same."
    Eventually Will Turner III resolved to drop the subject, and for a long time this seemed to settle things, or at least rendered them less of an issue. But all bets were off when, just outside of the Beira, the Tirghráthóir sent word saying it had spotted a merchant vessel and that, according to the Code, it was the Black Pearl's turn to lead the attack.
    Jack responded to this in perhaps the strangest possible way.
    "You're leading this one," he told Delphine.
    Normal such a situation called for Delphine to do only one thing right then, which was to spontaneously lose all semblance of confidence and beg for his assistance.
    The problem was, Delphine didn't read much.
    "All right," she said.
    Jack hadn't been prepared for this. "That's it?"
    "What's it?"
    "Nothin', nothin'..."
    The Jackal executed a short bow to give herself leave, and, with only the slightest spring in her step, went off to address the crew, something that involved climbing the mainchains and eventually up on the support of the main mast.
    Inigo, who had not so much overheard as been a bystander when Jack was talking, wasted no time.
    "You can't possibly be serious."
    "Aye, and why's that?"
    "It-- she-- Miss Turner's not even got an official rank! She has no right to lead an assault on that ship, and you've no right to give it to her."
    "What're you so worried about? That she'll outshine ye?"
    "Hardly. I am sizably concerned about her sinking our ship, however."
    "Oh, do go on. I won me first ship when I was half 'er age."
    "And that was, when, twelfth century?"
    "You are treading a fine line, Mister Roberts..."
    Somewhere else on deck:
    "Will!"
    The boy jumped as Delphine swung down on a rope beside him, completely out of nowhere. "What?! What?!"
    "Get some pen and ink and a spare Cotton," his sister ordered. "M'gonna dictate somethin' to you."
    "What, now?"
    "Yes, now."
    "We're about to attack a ship!" Will exclaimed, quite needlessly pointing the vessel out across the water.
    "Your point? I'll run this siege any way I like, right?"
    "You, leading the attack? Is this some kind of joke?"
    "No time for jokes, Will. Paper, pen, and parrot. Now."
    "All right, all right!" Young Will Turner said quickly, hurrying off.
    Jack, who had witnessed this peculiar scene, picked his way across the deck, dodging other sailors scrambling to complete their own assigned tasks, and approached Delphine cautiously. "Might I ask what it is you're plannin', love?"
    "Not worth to trouble yeself with it, mate," she replied. "Spyglass on your person?"
    "Oh. Here." She took it from him and extended it halfway, twisting the lens to focus. Jack watched this with a bit of unease, and took a breath. "Delphine--"
    "Jackal."
    "--Right. Look, I'm not bailing you out if you run into trouble, savvy?"
    "Wouldn't expect ye to."
    "You say that but you're not really takin' it to heart, lass. Listen to me: you botch this, and it'll be no second chances."
    Delphine lowered the spyglass from her eye and gave Jack a condescending smile, which twisted into something far crueler with the aid of her scars. "If y'weren't confident, then why'd you send me on this, hey?"
    "Because," Jack stammered. "Because it's a chance y'ought to have."
    "Will'll be next, aye?"
    "No. Just you."
    "I can't abide by this favoritism, captain."
    "If it's anything I'm guilty of, love, it's nepotism."
    Delphine chewed her lower lip. "Can't say that word rings many bells, sir."
    Jack deflated. And here he thought he nearly had a way to tell her, some means of getting his point across without having to come out and actually say it... "Right, well, on your way, then," he managed, as Will returned with some stained parchment and a bright green parrot perched on his shoulder.
    A few minutes later, with the green parrot, Cotton Twelve, fluttering off toward the distant merchant vessel, Delphine gave the order to stand by to hoist anchor and lower sail for the other ship. By now the crew was becoming thoroughly puzzled, because no command had been given to load any of the cannons, or even prepare some of the rifles, even with a red flag raised.
    Delphine paced the deck for several minutes, with almost uncanny Jack Sparrow likeness, until Cotton Twelve reappeared with a new slip of paper tied to its leg. She read the note's contents to herself, then crumpled the paper into a ball and stuffed it into a pocket in her trousers. She gave the command for the Black Pearl to set sail, and for the red flag to be replaced with Jolly Roger. This being done, she stalked back along the keel toward the stern, to where both Jack and Inigo stood in patient observation, and kindly requested Jack loan her his hat.
    When the Pearl came into shouting range of the merchant ship, Queen and Country, an English vessel bound for the Americas, Delphine climbed up onto the starboard rigging in full view of Queen and Country's crew, and tipped her hat theatrically.
    "The Black Pearl bids you a good afternoon, sir-gents!" she announced in as gruff and mannish a voice as she could pull off. "Captain Jack Sparrow at your service!"
    By the stern, Jack's jaw dropped. "What?" he hissed. Beside him, Inigo was struggling not to snicker.
    "Your captain has chosen well to surrender quietly," Delphine continued, "and with respect for this my crew will leave you completely unharmed while setting about in the pilfer and looting of your vessel. Consider yourselves lucky, mates!" She grinned at them with a mouthful of gold.
    It was a while before any of them spoke.
    "'Ere," said one of the sailors. "You're a lady."
    After that, it all fell apart.

    Jack and Inigo were careful in how they traversed the Queen and Country's deck. The ship had taken more than a fair beating, and was nearly in a point of collapse.
    "Not saying it doesn't have merit," Inigo was saying, as they stepped over a large hole in the floorboards. Water was steadily rising up through the punctured hull below them. "I am merely saying it was a violation of principle, especially after you said you wouldn't come to her aid."
    "M'afraid I don't know what you speak of, Roberts," Jack said, climbing over the remains of the foresail. "Watch the rigging. S'all over the place."
    "I saw you nudge the main mast so it would finally give and tip over. That's interference, Jack."
    "Look, it was right there. What'd you want me to do, spoil the fight for everyone?"
    Inigo was growing impatient. "Don't ever let the Jackal head an attack again, all right?"
    "Well, that was abrupt. Why?"
    "Do you know how absolutely terrifying it is to have two of you running amok? One is scary enough." Jack hid a grin. "I will say this for her, though: she really does have her father's talent."
    Jack turned toward him, shocked.
    "I'm not dense, Jack," Inigo said, tapping his temple with a gloved finger.
    Jack laughed that off. "Then I suppose it's your word 'gainst mine, isn't it?" They rounded the shattered remains of some crates. "Hullo, lass."
    Delphine looked up from the open chest she had been inspecting. She held up a brightly-colored bottle in each hand, beaming. "There's loads more of this," she informed the two captains. "What say we treat usselves tonight?"
    Jack grimaced. He couldn't rightfully say that he wasn't the least bit intrigued by a chest full of fine wines, but the prospect of another menacing dream loomed in his mind. And abstaining while others drank never turned out well. Rather, it didn't turn out at all.
    He shrugged. "Gimme the hat first."
    How bad could the nightmares be, anyway?

    One of the major failings of human society is the development of the belief that title dictates behavior. This is the belief that a job description inevitably attaches some general characteristics and personality traits, an unfair oversimplification of the human psyche in that it prescribes and validates bias in the beholder's mind. It is through this that we find children are snotty, precocious brats, policemen are cocky and invariably inept, farmers are slow-witted and humorless, waiters are stuff-shirts, and Frenchmen have an aversion to bathing.
    It is also where we gain the belief that "pirate", a job description the same as any other, becomes a term to describe a brash, tough ne'er-do-well about as approachable as a rattlesnake, with fewer morals than teeth and brains to match. This stereotype is not without basis, but is so prolificated because the reputation of a pirate is itself anything but favorable.
    What is not well understood is that piracy, as has been stated, is a job, like any other. Wherever you find someone who is a pirate because of the anarchy, terror, and everything your mother warned you to stay away from, you'll find a dozen others that do it because of the good hours and health benefits.
    (It's a little known fact that piracy is among the first careers to offer a health plan and provide compensation for injury in the line of duty. It was also one of the first to be unionized.)
    There is no way to say what it is that pirates like, because all pirates are different. If some small generalizations were to be made, it could be said that pirates like money. But then, such is true for most humans, even among those whose currency is still in the form of fig leaves.
    It is just as unremarkable to say pirates like drinking, because this, too, is something inborn in human society.
    But few drink with as much vigor as pirates to.

    "'We extort, we pilfer, we filch and sack. Drink up, me hearties, yo ho!'"
    "We already sang that verse!"
    "'Maraud and embezzle and even hijack. Drink up, me hearties, yo ho!'"
    "You're pronouncing the 'h' in 'hearties'!" Jack complained. "Quit doing that!"
    "I'll pranunce anythin' the way I damn well like!" Inigo said defiantly, slamming his brandy bottle down on the upturned barrel set between them. Then, he lifted his head back, like a wolf howling to the moon. "'Yo ho, yo ho! A pirate's life for me!'"
    "I should never have taught you that song..."
    The black-clad pirate laughed heartily. "Oh, do lighten up, Messer Sparrow. Worryin' gives you wrinkles."
    "Funny. Pass me that bottle."
    Inigo picked up the torkay Jack had been swigging earlier, and hesitated. "Don't you think you've had anuff?"
    "This from a man who once drank brandy for months solid. Just give it 'ere," Jack said, extending his hand. Inigo reluctantly handed it over, and Jack subsequently up-ended its contents into his mouth.
    "Y'know, I think you're meant to savor fine wines," Inigo said blandly, watching this disinterestedly. "Just 'n idea." When this earned him an emphatic scowl he redirected his gaze to his brandy bottle, swirling the last of its contents at the very bottom of the container. He threw it over his shoulder for it to splash into the dark water somewhere over the starboard railing.
    Although it meant they wouldn't arrive at Libertalia until the following evening, the three allied pirate ships had decided to weigh anchor for the night and enjoy some of their new spoils, which largely meant getting drunk and trying to out-drink everyone else. The Blessed William was very quiet in this regard, as its captain was disinclined to join in on the fun, but the Black Pearl and the Tirghráthóir dived into it headfirst, with both decks now lively with cajoling, contented discussion and a wide range of games breaking out at random intervals. The crews visited each other, or shouted to each other across the water. Once in a while, someone plucked a guitar, though it could scarcely be heard above the chatter.
    Jack shook the empty torkay bottle, hoping vaguely it would magically refill itself, and then with a "bah!" cast it aside and pulled himself from his makeshift chair. He swayed uncertainly, appearing for a moment on the verge of throwing up, and then announced, "Right. Be gone for just one second, mate. Need to go take a piss."
    Inigo waved a hand permissively, head bowed toward the impromptu table and a fresh bottle of brandy. Taking his leave, Jack wandered away sternward, keeping to the railing for support, and the crowd around him thinned into nothing as he climbed up the stairs above the captain's quarters and over by the unmanned helm. He rested against the railing with both arms, trying to wait out a sudden bout of vertigo, although watching the water swirl around the Black Pearl's rudder far below probably wasn't helping in this regard.
    He was dimly aware of someone laughing and running up the stairs behind him, and ignored it as some sailor passing through, until the person in question collided with him.
    "Jack!" Delphine said between giggles, as the pirate captain steadied himself again. "'Tis all right if I call you Jack, right?"
    "Y'have before," Jack muttered, rubbing his forehead. "Can I help you?"
    "No, I'm jus' hiding from Mary. Hey, listen, Jack? I think I really, really like working for you. D'you 'spose I can stay aboard after you're through here in Africa?"
    "Before I answer that-- Izzer a reason yer so tipsy, lass?"
    "Oh, I don't drink a whole lot."
    "You're a barmaid."
    "Yeah, exactly."
    Jack considered this. "Ah."
    Delphine leaned closer, earnestly. The liquor on her breath was almost overpowering. "Jack... Y'know, I din't come to keep Will outta trouble. That was just a... what ye call it... excuse. I..." She swallowed. "I really like it 'ere. S'prolly the best bloody thing that's ever happened to me. Ever."
    "That's... good," Jack said awkwardly.
    "M'real grateful fer all ye've done for me," she went on. "Me dad woulda never, ever... I just..." She was really close now, locking eyes with him. "S'funny, y'know?"
    She kissed him. Without warning, or prompting, or ceremony or anything else, pressing her lips against his while he stood too stunned to even think.
    And then she backed away, smiling drunkenly, not saying a word.
    Jack was finding it hard to breathe.
    "Oi. There you are," came another voice, as Mary Read ascended the stairs. She walked daintily to Delphine's side and pulled at the girl's arm. "Not hiding away from me, are you?"
    "No," said the Jackal, still smiling up at her captain as the other female pirate dragged her away. Down the stairs. Out of sight.
    Jack stared for a long time at those stairs, seeing the Delphine-shaped hole that existed there.
    He needed some more to drink.
    He needed a lot more to drink.

    "Well, maybe your math is wrong," Inigo tried out of desperation.
    "The math isn't wrong," Jack said into the table. He had laid his head down upon it and covered it with his hands. "Young Will even told me 'er birthday, so I know the math is sound."
    "It could have been someone else in the same time frame," Inigo suggested.
    "Lady Elizabeth is too high-born for infidelity, Roberts. Someone had to con her into it. I conned her into it. Jesus, Mary and Joseph...!"
    "It wasn't... by force, was it?"
    "In all honesty? We were too drunk to be sure."
    Inigo cringed. He pinched the bridge of his nose, although he didn't get very far in this with his mask in the way. "Maybe if you simply explained it to her..."
    "Damn it, man, I've tried. It's no walk in the bloody park. She still thinks I'm... well... normal."
    Sighing, Inigo reached across the table and patted Jack on the shoulder. "Perhaps you should call it an early night."
    "Think about it, Roberts. She thinks m'ten, twelve years older'n her, at best. What's she gonna think when those ten or twelve years pass and I'm still th'same?"
    "Her brother was understanding enough..."
    "An' what of twenty years' time, or thirty? She'll be old an' dead and I won't've aged one goddamned day! And how many like her? How many kids've I out-lived simply because I was too bloody selfish to die proper?"
    "I really think some rest would do you good, Jack."
    "An' Gracie. Poor ol' Gracie. 'Fraid to so much as look at me 'cause here she's gone and grown up from bein' a little girl to old an' dyin', gone through three husbands and half a dozen kids..."
    "Jack..."
    "I should've married 'er, Roberts. Should've while I had the goddamned chance."
    "Things happen, Jack. Times change."
    "They shouldn't have to!"
    Inigo fell into silence. Absently, he took the brandy bottle from by his feet and took a long gulp. It was a sign of resignation. He'd done all he could do.
    Not provoked into speech, Jack stayed quiet, staring at nothing but the barrel's wood grain. Around them, the crew chattered on, gabbling about inconsequential things while their speech grew progressively slurred and unintelligible.
    That is, until something penetrated through the din, clear as a bell and sharp as a needle. Music.
    Jack looked up.
    "I know this song," he said, staring into space.
    Inigo lowered the bottle from his lips. "What?"
    "I used to hear this all the time," Jack continued, getting up from his chair. He took a few experimental steps forward, scanning the crowd on deck for the source of the noise, and then, suddenly, whipped around and looked out across the water. Inigo, thoroughly intrigued now, left his seat and joined him, and followed his gaze out to where the Tirghráthóir lay anchored, her deck a great halo of golden light lit up from innumerable lanterns. "They're startin' up a dance," Jack said, and, unless Inigo's ears were mistaking him, he sounded very excited. "Spyglass-- Where's a spyglass?" He patted his pockets hurriedly.
    "Here," said Inigo, withdrawing his from his belt sash. Jack accepted it and quickly set it up. "What is this that's playing?"
    "It's Rinoa's Gigue. Popular Irish song," said Jack, grinning at what he saw through his telescope. He passed it back to Inigo, who accepted it hesitantly.
    Inigo raised the spyglass to his eye and peered through it, going along the Tirghráthóir from fore to aft to see musicians set up with bagpipes, strings and drums, and a deck filled with pirates --mostly Granuaile's clansmen from Ireland-- dancing in a large circle. And then, toward the back, under the light of a single lantern, was Granuaile herself, bent over a desk engrossed in some maps.
    "My, doesn't she look thrilled," Inigo commented. "What self-respecting pirate can't allow herself a reprieve from her duties for one evening? Wouldn't you say, Jack?" He waited. "Jack?"
    Below him, there was a splash. Inigo peered over the side in time to see his co-captain swimming in long strokes for the distant ship.
    "I give up," the Spaniard said wearily. He cast the telescope into the closest hands nearby, which happened to be Anne Bonney's, and stalked off toward his cabin.

    Granuaile pinched the bridge of her nose and performed her calculations again, tracing a pair of calloused fingers over the line that charted her ship's course. She checked a stack of papers off to her right, flipping through them hurriedly for some figure that she must have missed, and glancing up only when one of her aides shoved forth another stack of reports for the Tirghráthóir's captain to read through.
    She browsed through them, scanning the angular Celtic text, and immediately handed it back. "Arbith, arbith," she said. "An taobh contráilte." The aide nodded quickly and took them away.
    Granuaile sighed and shook her head to get back into her previous frame of mind, and pulled out a smaller map showing detail of the southeast African coast and Madagascar. Libertalia was not marked on it, of course, because this was a map she had liberated from the British navy, and besides that, the pirate city of all pirate cities would not last long if it was easy to spot. Of the four pirate captains sailing for it, only Jack and Kidd knew its precise location.
    It would be easier to concentrate, the Irishwoman felt, if not for that music. Rinoa's Gigue had a way of bringing up unwelcomed memories.
    She unrolled a map of the Indian Ocean, and began measuring the distance between Madagascar and Bombay.
    As the band near the bow ended its refrain of Rinoa's Gigue with broken notes and left in its wake a silence before the next song was selected, a spot of water splatted down onto Sri Lanka. Granuaile stared at it for just a second, debating whether it was real, and then snapped her head up.
    He stood there, in a puddle of water, wet as a dog with his clothes clinging to his skin and black hair hanging like damp strands of rope around his head, although the kohl around his eyes had not changed.
    He held out his hand.
    There was no hesitation or reluctance. She took it immediately, rising up from her chair to join the dance.
    One last night. She might as well have this.

    The Jackal and her two friends from the Tirghráthóir sat by the starboard railing of the Black Pearl, with Delphine and Mary Read sitting together on a crate and Anne Bonney sitting on the railing, peering through the spyglass Inigo had hastily handed to her earlier.
    "You silly tosh," Read said to Delphine, picking at strands of the girl's hair as she leaned on her shoulder. "Goin' off like that. Gave me and Anne a real fright."
    "I'm sure," Delphine replied to Read's breasts.
    "Well, y'know, ye hadn't told us you can't take your drink, sweetheart. S'dangerous goin' off by your lonesome when you're off your rocker onna ship. Could fall off, an' then where'd we be?"
    "S'all right. I can swim. Like a dolphin."
    "Is that right?"
    "That's what my name means, you know. S'French. For dolphin."
    "Hones'ly, I thought y'made it up."
    "God's truth," the Jackal said. "French."
    "Is she going to be all right?" Will, who had been sitting across from them, asked Read.
    "Oh, sure," said Read distractedly, giving him a dismissive glance. "But now toddle off and go mind your own, kid. Me and your sis are busy."
    "What do you know about watches?"
    "Come again?"
    "Watches. You know. Small clocks. I've got one and I'm curious why it's gone and stopped, see. I've tried winding it but nothing happens."
    "Could be the gears're rusted," Read suggested. "Not that m'an expert of clocks, mind you. S'just a thought."
    "No, the gears are fine. They look brand new."
    "Well," Read said at length, "y'could always just take it to a clock maker in Libertalia."
    Delphine coughed out something resembling a laugh. "There's clock makers in Libertalia?"
    Mary Read's face had gone disturbingly serious and sober. "There's everything in Libertalia."
    "You've been there?" Will inquired.
    "Aye, with ol' Rackman." Read's eyes seemed to glaze over, as she thought back to distant times. "It's a beautiful place, Libertalia. Shining, golden city, full of everything y'could ever imagine. All matter o' shops, the finest inns an' taverns, real bona fide changers buyin' and sellin' your loot, take and give any kind of coin from any nation of the Earth. All languages, all peoples, workin' together as brothers... Tortuga, New Providence, none of those got nothin' on it. Houses o' marble 'n' silver. Even the poorest man lives as a king... There's a sayin', y'know: 'when a pirate dreams, he's not dreamin' he's died and gone to Heaven, he's dreamin' he's gone back to Libertalia.'"
    "Wow..." Will murmured.
    Anne Bonney, still looking out across the water with the spyglass, drew her arm back and nudged both Delphine and Read on the arm, before turning her hand palm-up. "Pay up," she said.
    "No way!" Read exclaimed, standing up so abruptly that Delphine nearly fell over, though she, too, joined Bonney in peering at the distant Tirghráthóir. "Give it here," said Read, snatching the spyglass from her and sighting it along the Tirghráthóir's deck. Her shoulders slumped; she passed the telescope to Delphine, who had a similar reaction. They both procured their money pouches from their trouser pockets and began counting out shillings.
    "What are you doing?" Will asked.
    "We made a bet," Delphine explained ruefully, "on which one Jack'ud go for."
    "'Go for'?"
    "Aye. An' me and Mary lost. And I really thought I'd spotted it!"
    "See for yeself," said Bonney, offering William the spyglass.
    The young man took the telescope up in his hands and held it up to one eye, swerving it around until the Tirghráthóir's deck came into view. He scanned the port railing, not sure what he should be looking for, until the spyglass gave him an eyeful of Granuaile colliding with Jack and laughing so hard he had to brace her arms to support her.
    Will hadn't allotted much of his life to the study of romance, fiancée or no, but it seemed to him that this was something he might like to try on Trinity one of these years, if the opportunity presented itself. As he continued to watch as Granuaile led his captain through the steps of the dance, slower than everyone else, and kicking his shins when he trod on her feet, Will began wondering if he should be taking notes.
    "Don't feel so put out over it, duck," said Read to Delphine. "I thought I'd hit the nail on the head with Anamaria. I 'spose it did seem a bit too perfect."
    "Del?" Will said experimentally, still watching the dancing couple. "If Anne was betting on O'Malley and Mary was betting for Anamaria, who were you siding on?"
    "Roberts."
    Will dropped the spyglass.
    "Look at that," Bonney tsked, as a splash was heard below. "Now y'have to go in after it."

    "Why, Jack Sparrow," Granuaile said breathlessly, taking a pair of steps back, clapping her hands twice and spinning on a heel, then watching her partner do the same, "I think you might finally be getting the hang of this."
    "I've always been a fast learner, haven't I, lass?" Jack said with a hint of pride, taking her hand and raising it above his head as she danced around him.
    Granuaile laughed. "Not since I've known you!"
    She spun around so her back was to him, and in this way they joined hands, dancing along with the music.
    "Have you always had this tattoo?" Jack wondered, examining the equal-armed cross on the back of Granuaile's left shoulder. It had a solid border, with the interior designed from Celtic knotwork, similar to one he had on his right shoulder.
    "I got it after you left," she explained.
    "Didja, now..."
    "From Seaghda, you know, the man who did yours," Granuaile elaborated, going into a spin and coming to face Jack once again. They'd transitioned into the part of the dance when the partners took turns with their steps, and Granuaile slipped into her boot-stomping jig with practiced flare and grace.
    "Were you mad when I made off back there?" Jack asked, while clapping in time to the music.
    "At first," said Granuaile, taking Jack's hand as the couple swung around to change places, and Jack began his set of steps. "You'd always said you'd come and go at any time, so it was no surprise really."
    "I wanted to come back," Jack told her, as they switched places again. "But by the time I could, I 'eard you'd married that O'Malley bloke, so I din't think it was my place."
    "Even if I would have fully supported... whisking me away and running off together... to a distant shore?" Granuaile said, breath growing limited. "He was... a bit too much of a coward to... follow, you know."
    "Gracie, you all right?"
    "I'm fine!" she gasped. She faltered slightly in her steps as she said this. "It's just... you know... a very long... dance..." She tripped again, trodding one foot with the other, and before she even realized what was happening, she was falling backwards, the world around her blurring and moving as if in slow motion.
    She jerked, her head whipping back as Jack's arms caught her around the shoulders and waist only a split second before hitting the deckboards. He eased her carefully onto the floor, propping her up against the railing, and as he did so, the black cord necklace he was wearing around his neck slipped out from underneath his shirt. The glinting silver charm tied to the end of it grabbed Granuaile's attention; she reached out and snatched it up in her fist, pulling it close to her to examine, and consequently pulling Jack closer to her as well.
    It was a small, sterling silver ring, made for a lady's hand. The front of it took the shape of a heart, topped with a crown, surrounded by a pair of hands.
    "My claddagh..." she whispered.
    "I meant to give it back to you," Jack said warmly, grinning.
    She glared at him with fierce green eyes. "You stole my claddagh?!"
    Jack's smile dropped. "I, er, ah..."
    "Do you know how much I searched for this after you'd left for Bermuda? I thought I'd hidden it somewhere and forgotten it. I turned my family's castle upside-down looking for it! I had to pay for a new one when I married O'Malley; these things are expensive to have made, you know!"
    "Well, pardon me for being a bit o' a romantic," Jack shot back testily.
    "That's always your excuse!"
    "Is that all you've got to say? Not a day's gone by I haven't worn this, lass. Never taken it off."
    "That's a lie," Granuaile sniffed. "It's too clean."
    "Maybe I just keep it clean, hey?"
    "But this is you we're talking about. You repel cleanliness."
    Not one to take a comment like that lying down, Jack drew himself up and was about to make his retort, when a large, bright orange parrot landed on his head.
    "Mandarin?" Granuaile said in surprise.
    "Raaaarrrk," the parrot croaked. "Message from Captain Kidd. Whee-oo."
    This statement puzzled Jack Sparrow, who was used to his parrots communicating by what he felt as far more direct means. "What d'you 'spose that meant?" Jack asked, lifting the parrot from his head onto a hand.
    Granuaile stared. "It means he's got a message from Captain Kidd."
    "Ohh..." said Jack, nodding slowly.
    "What's the message, Mandarin?" Granuaile asked the bird. On this cue, the parrot lifted off from Jack's hand and perched itself up on a cross-section of the mainchains. It gave an imitation of clearing one's throat, and bowed shortly.
    "The captain requests the attendance of Lady O'Malley and Lords Sparrow and Roberts aboard the Blessed William for light supper and a celebratory drink to commemorate a safe journey to Malagasy waters. That is all. Raaaarrrk." It bowed again, and then turned around to flap off toward the Black Pearl.
    "Show-off," Jack muttered. Granuaile nodded in agreement.

    Inigo lolled over in his bunk at the second knock. "Come in!" he bellowed.
    The door creaked in, letting yellow lamplight flood into the dark cabin. "Er, Mister Roberts?" Will said, holding Mandarin on his forearm. "Message for you, sir."
    "Why are you all wet?"
    "No reason, sir."
    "And what's this message? I was sleeping."
    "Beg your pardon, sir. Captain Kidd requests your presence aboard his ship for dinner."
    "Jack an' Grace going?"
    "Yessir. And... sir?"
    "What?"
    "I hate to pry, sir, but... You and Jack, sir, you do sleep in separate bunks, right?"

    There was something about the Blessed William that set Jack at unease, probably in the way it was very much in line with his former first mate Barbossa's decorative tastes. It was elegant, or at least in an after-the-fact, sea-weathered sense, with brine salt caked onto the silver candlestick-holders and the satin curtains always just slightly damp. The only way in which it really differed from Barbossa's style was that it was a bit brighter and warmer. Well, a lot brighter and warmer. The man was as jolly as Father Christmas when he wanted to be.
    "Ah! Captain Sparrow. So good of you to come!" Kidd exclaimed, rising from his chair to receive Jack and Granuaile. He shook Jack's hand fervently. "I say, a little wet there. Went out for a little late-night swim?"
    "Got me in one," Jack said, smiling nervously.
    "And Lady O'Malley. A delight to see you once more," Kidd went on, turning to the Irishwoman and shaking her hand in turn.
    "So, ehr, you two got yer differences behind ye?" Jack asked the pair.
    "Most definitely, yes," William Kidd said pleasantly. He tilted his chubby head to see past Jack's shoulder at who had just emerged through the door. "And the Dread Pirate Roberts himself," he said, bustling past Jack to greet Inigo, who might've appeared sleepy if his visage wasn't obscured by his face mask. "You honor us with your presence."
    "The honor is ours," Inigo said cordially, speaking almost on autopilot. "Thank you for such a gracious invitation."
    "Shall we, then?" Captain Kidd flourished a hand toward the long table set up in the middle of his office, well-laden with food set on silver platters, under a glass chandelier whose candles cast refracted rays of light around the table's surface.
    The four pirate captains slid into their seats around the table. Kidd's valet, a young boy of about twelve, detached himself from the wall and poured each of the captains their wine. Jack regarded it warily.
    "I thought you were off from this stuff, Bill," he said skeptically, while his mind struggled with the calculation of just how much he had drunk so far tonight in the effort to determine whether this would put him over a humanly tolerable limit.
    "Normally, yes. But we must all loosen our belts sometimes, wouldn't you agree?" Kidd asked, chuckling heartily and patting his stomach. He raised his glass. "Besides that, consider that we are but a day's travel from the shores of Libertalia, greatest of cities, my friends. That in itself is enough to celebrate, is it not?" He nodded graciously to Jack. "What do you plan to do upon reaching your destination, Mister Sparrow?"
    "Call a meeting with the Brethren," Jack answered immediately. He'd been thinking about the answer to that question for some time now. "Let them know the severity of the problem and see if we can sort somethin' out."
    "And after you have given your say, what then?"
    "I'll follow this thing until it's dead and gone," Jack said firmly. "The rest of you can do as you like, but so long as there's a threat I plan to do what I can to stop it."
    "If that is truly your intention, you have my sword," Granuaile said, leaning across the table to meet his eyes. "I will always fight for you, Jack."
    "May I sooner die a thousand painful deaths than turn my back on so long-standing an ally," said Inigo. "Besides, you still owe me a ship."
    "It seems men will follow you to the ends of the Earth, Jack," Kidd remarked appreciatively. "Very well then..." He held his glass aloft. "For Scotland."
    "For Spain," said Inigo, lifting his as well.
    "For Ireland," Granuaile added, doing likewise.
    Three sets of eyes turned expectantly toward Jack Sparrow, and he, a man with no country or homeland, no distant horizon not yet reached, no treasure yet found, looked back at them in desperation. What could he dedicate his fight to when he had everything?
    He studied Granuaile's green eyes, bright as shamrocks, and suddenly, he knew.
    Jack Sparrow lifted his glass and said, "For the Moon."
 

End Chapter XII

Chapter XIII

Chapter XI