Merely Players

Act Five

by

Hippediva & Elessil

Norrington grunted and lay flat on his back, his snores getting louder. Jack decided it was time for round two and dove under the silken coverlet.

James flinched a bit, lashing out in his sleep and narrowly missing Jack, then his eyes flew open with a start. "What are you—"

There was a loud knock on the door. "Mr. Jefferson, Mr. Jefferson!"

He cursed fluidly and slid out of the bed, alternately glaring at Jack and his own erection.

Jack giggled and hung over the far edge of the bed, his golden arse in the air, searching for the chemise. He found it across the room, under one of James' shoes and cosying up to a bust on a pillar that glowered at them both.

"A moment, if you please!" James called out, sorting through the array of stray clothes on the floor, tossing the woman's at Jack while quickly dressing in his. "Get under the blanket," he hissed, then half-opened the door. "Yes?"

Jorge, the Commandante's valet, was panting at the door, a lantern in hand. "Por favor, señor. Help me, please. We have a problem downstairs. We need every man in the house. Follow me." He danced about outside the door like a large insect on stilts.

"Of course." Inwardly, James cursed, half-afraid that Thompson had recognised him and that guards would be waiting to arrest him, but any refusal would only be more suspicious. "Dearest, stay where you are. I will be back presently." He followed the valet, wishing that he at least had his sword.

Jack sighed and went to the wardrobe. The Commandante had provided a fluffy dressing gown of apricot coloured silk, awash in lace and drenched in Eau de mimosa. He held it between two fingers with a grimace, then hauled it over his shoulders and sulked for two minutes because there was no rum. There was a soft knock and he brightened, hoping to coax James into a raid on the smoking room's decanters.

James however was being led through a maze of hallways, out into an inner courtyard which seemed dark and peaceful. No guards, but no uproar either, and Jorge still gestured for him to follow.

Instead, the door admitted Don Jaime, uniform immaculate, a leer as dark as during the reception still on his face. He smirked. "Madame."

Jack smiled and backed away. "Señor, sir, really this is most irregular." He recognised the shape of the bottle in the man's grip and decided it was worth a flirt or two to get hold of it. "My husband called away in the middle of the night and you here. With ample refreshment?" He pushed the door open.

"I would never visit a lady without a gift." Don Jaime was rather like Jack, too close when he should not be, looming as tall as Norrington. He did not seem to care much for the bottle, simply putting it down on the dressing table and sliding his hand instead around 'Mariella's' waist.

Jack ducked and slid out from under his arm, uncorking the bottle and waving it with a seductive smile before taking a very long swallow and setting it back down. "I love your gifts, but without glasses we will have to share." He took a step back, tripped over James' other shoe and found himself in Don Jaime's eager arms. He gulped. "Sir, my husband..."

"Is otherwise occupied and won't be back until a goodly time has passed. It is difficult enough to make him leave your side." One of the Commandante's hands slid up to his 'breasts', the other still around his waist, hitching him in close and allowing no escape, when there was another knock on the door.

Jack batted his hand away and slithered free. "Hide! If he finds you here he'll kill me!"

He pushed Don Jaime into the wardrobe, took another quick drink and answered the door. "Governor? Sir, what it is? My husband has been called away urgently and I'm terrified!"

The Governor smiled. "I thought you would be." He too, stepped closer. "A young woman such as you should not be alone."

"Oh sir, it is late at night! What has happened to my James?" Jack's eyes darted towards the slowly-widening crack in the wardrobe door and he kicked one of his shoes towards it with a wild shake of his head. "What is happening?"

He let the Governor past him into the room and clasped his hands together, trying to rearrange the neckline of the gown.

"I am certain he will be back by dawn," the Governor assured her. He was less forward than Don Jaime, but the look on his face was as clear as any touch. "I thought, Madame, that perhaps you would enjoy... company?"

Jack smiled helplessly. "I always enjoy your company sir." The wardrobe door creaked and he leaned against it, hard. "I hardly know what to think."

There was a hiss from behind the door. The Governor was still smiling and took a step closer. Being backed up against the wardrobe wasn't good at all.

"Perhaps there should be less thought and more... action?" He lifted a hand to brush a strand of hair from Jack's face, lingering on the cheek, his meaning perfectly clear.

Jack tried to bolt but the Governor was surprisingly agile for so large a man. He was smothered in kisses and strained away, trying to laugh. "Sir, please! My husband..."

The Governor froze as there was a loud and urgent knock at the door. "Oh God, he's back. Quick. Hide! No! Not there... behind the dressing screen! Hurry!"

Jack smoothed his ruffled ruffles and took another pull from the bottle before answering the door.

It was one of the maids, young and now timid, staring wide eyed at him, shivering. "Ayuda. Por favor. The footman. Your husband helped me before. Please, is he there?"

"Footman? That was at th' Governor's? Which footman?" Jack stared at her blankly. "Que pasa, hija? Wot-what?"

The little maid looked at him imploringly and he sputtered, "My husband is attending urgent business. What can I do?" He poked his head back to see the Governor's eyes peering over the screen and hissed at him. The wardrobe door creaked.

The maid went to her knees and clutched Jack's legs, wailing pathetically. "Please. Help me. Please."

Jack jumped back and almost landed against the pillar, the bust wavering dangerously. He clamped both hands on it, staring down in horror. "What can I do? Tell me."

"Follow me, Señora, please, please." The maid took his arm. "I implore you."

"Awright! Awright. I'm comin'." Jack took a moment to grab another swallow and check his hair in the mirror. He fluffed it out and shook his head madly at the Governor, who was peeking again. The wardrobe door moaned on its hinges. Jack shut it and followed the maid out the door.

The wardrobe door creaked open and the Governor peered from behind the dressing screen, but the moment they were about to sneak out, the door opened again to admit Thompson. His little distraction manoeuvre had succeeded.

He was methodical, ransacking the dressing table drawers, leafing through the stage scripts, then putting them back in frustration. The Governor was about to attempt sneaking out once more when Thompson went to his knees to check under the bed.

There were urgent steps outside. He cursed and swiftly slid underneath at the same moment that Jack erupted through the door and leaned against it, panting.

Don Jaime was feeling increasingly uncomfortable in the narrow wardrobe. It was full of powder and lavender and he needed air. He burst out of it precisely as the Governor peered over the dressing screen again.

Don Jaime's gaze went dark and he stepped closer to 'Mariella'. "Governor. What a coincidence."

"Sir, I must ask why you should be here in this lady's chamber?"

Jack looked from one to the other and wordlessly handed the bottle to the Governor.

Don Jaime glowered. "I insist upon an answer!"

"I fail to see how my reason should be any more doubtful than yours!"

"Are you gonna drink that?" Jack asked plaintively.

The Governor handed the bottle back.

"I heard a commotion. Sir, I keep order in my own house!"

"Particularly in married women's bedrooms?"

Jack took a long pull and handed it to Don Jaime. "Both of you, stop it! You're makin' me-my head ache!"

Don Jaime drank and bowed. "Forgive me, my lady. It was only on your account that I lost my temper."

"I know, you're adorable. Thank you." Jack took another drink and passed it along to the Governor. "And you, too, for taking such good care of me. Now please, can't we just try to forget all this an' get some sleep?"

Don Jaime glared. The Governor glared. Thompson nearly choked under the bed.

Jack smiled coyly. "Any lady would be thrilled to be so chivalrously cared for." He thought about the maid and her sudden declamation of Juliet's 'Five Dangers' speech and took another drink.

There was a moment of silence in which Don Jaime and the Governor glowered at each other and smiled at Mariella, and the even, measured steps outside were clearly audible.

The Governor wordlessly slid behind the dressing screen again, whereas it took a curse and a push to propel the Commandante back into the wardrobe.

Jack turned, wondering who of the house inhabitants would seek refuge here this time. It was James.

Jack whirled to sit on the bed, hiding the bottle on the floor in front of Thompson's face.

"Oh, it's you. Wherever have you been?" 'Mariella' sounded relieved—and breathless.

James' brow drew tight. Why did Jack fake his voice? "It seems that the grand danger was naught but a stray dog. There is naught to concern yourself over."

This was strange. The urgent matter in the middle of the night, Jack pretending to be a woman when they were alone. He stepped closer and sat down on the bed as well, whispering into Jack's ear. "What is wrong?"

Jack laughed a trifle hysterically. "Seems there's been a crisis in the maid's quarter. She wants to be Juliet. James, I'm feeling rather faint. Can we go down to the garden to get some air. Got comp'ny!" Jack hissed, pretending to nuzzle his neck and blasting him with the very strong fragrance of rum and mimosa.

James caught himself at any further question and instead he rose. "Anything you want, dearest." He frowned at the coat appearing by itself from behind the dressing screen but did not comment and instead led his 'wife' outside.

The Governor chose to abandon the field. In the morning, he would claim victory and trust that Madame Jefferson would not be the kind to defend her honour, especially with Don Jaime in her wardrobe.

There was one enormous problem with the wardrobe: Don Jaime had to hunch over to stand in it. This condition was thoroughly uncomfortable and he had little hope that the teasing wench would return without her husband. Another plan foiled, but what was difficult to reach only was all the sweeter. He, too, abandoned the field. For now.

Finally alone again, Thompson reached out for the bottle, so wonderfully left directly by his hiding place. He took a large gulp. Perhaps the strange duo of actors did not have the papers, but the husband was to be pitied.

James led Jack outside, into the quiet of the courtyard. "Behind the dressing screen. Don Jaime, I take it?"

"No, that was th' Guv'nor. Don Jaime is in th' wardrobe. An' the maid! Oh good God! Doesn't anyone sleep 'round here?"

"Maybe they are not all as worn out." James grinned lopsidedly. "Are you all right? Did anything happen?"

"Le'see. I've been compromised twice in a quarter hour, subjected to an audition and all I wanna do is sleep!" Jack complained. He shivered and James gallantly pulled his coat off and draped it around 'Mariella's' shoulders. "Suppose we should go back. And things were just gettin' interestin' again." he mourned.

"I was dragged several times around the house in search of a dangerous 'wolf' which doesn't live in the Caribbean in the first place. Likely so that the good Don Jaime would find you alone." They turned back towards the house. "Why did you let them enter at all?"

"Didn't much have a choice, luv. Mos' persistent buggers." Jack decided that telling James about the much-desired rum would only get his feathers ruffled. "C'mon. I'm chilly an' I wanna get warm again." His fingers danced across James breeches.

James rolled his eyes. "Like a cat in heat. Little wonder you have so many suitors. A minute ago, you wanted to sleep."

After all, this certainly should not become a habit.

They returned to their room and James' hand lingered on the door knob. "Do you think we left them enough time to get out?"

Jack prowled the room, the gown's ruffles fluttering as he checked the wardrobe and the screen. "Seems awright." He poked around, looking for the bottle and found it on the pillar, next to the bust of some Roman.

He blinked. He'd been sure he had stashed it next to the bed. "Here. Y'may as well have some. Everyone else has!"

James took the bottle. "I believe my question why you allowed them inside is answered," he muttered, tossing it back for a large swallow, then another with which he emptied it.

Jack sat on the bed, picking at the ruffles over his 'bosom'. "How in hell am I supposed t'perform like this? I'm a bloody artist." He grinned at James. "Now," he slipped the robe and chemise off and pulled James onto the bed, "where were we?"

Jack had just found the point where he had left off—somewhere near James' navel—when there was another knock on the door. James ignored it. It banged open, revealing Fernando in the doorway.

"I completely forgot to tell you... that..." his voice trailed off. "You're playing Hamlet tomorrow. Good night." The door barely closed before they could hear Fernando laughing like a hyena.

Jack groaned and lay flat on top of James. "I bloody surrender!"

"Yes!" Fernando beamed. "Isn't it beautiful? I am sure your dearest spouse loves it." He grinned. "If not, he will definitely love getting you out of it."

Jack stared into the grainy looking-glass and groaned. It covered enough, but it was the cheapest, thinnest calico, worn by years and distinctly transparent. Worse, the right sleeve kept falling over his shoulder, displaying a lot of dark amber skin and the inked flying flags of the ship on his bicep. "Mate, I think we're gonna need a few pins."

"I am certain your husband will be glad to pin you down," Fernando chattered.

James glowered, the perfect image of a broody Hamlet. In truth, he was afraid. Certainly, he recalled many a passage well enough from his time as pupil, drilled to remember by his tutor, but to perform it on stage, in front of everyone, with his life at stake? He took the skull prop and made sure Fernando could see it. "Alas, poor Yorick." He shrugged. "Such is the fate of a jester." Fernando gulped and stopped teasing for the next half minute.

Jack's temper reached its boiling point. "Damn you for a pox-ridden whoreson, get yer arse over here!" he hissed urgently.

Fernando grinned, ambled over and turned his arse to Jack. "Not as pretty as yours, though."

Jack collared him, one silk fern drooping in front of his face. "Pin this thing up so it's decent! An' I swear t'you, one more bleedin' flower an' I'll stick ya headfirst in the privy!" He blew at the offending plant matter.

Fernando surreptitiously hid the hairpin decorated with chrysanthemums and decided that perhaps, Ophelia could do without. For this performance, at least.

Jack looked at James and gulped. This wasn't half so much fun as the Shrew thing and at least Lucrece got to hold a sword for a scene. He was beginning to chafe under the charade and had sulked the whole day memorising this dizzy jade's moaning. James looked like a rabbit in a snake's basilisk stare.

James put on his night coat for the first scene, looking as though he had seen a ghost already until he swallowed and straightened himself with a miniscule grin.

"Then let us take arms against a sea of troubles..."

Fear and courage were enough to carry James' Hamlet through the first act, a far too believable performance of growing helplessness and insanity. The dialogue was passable, and from deep in his childhood memory, he recalled the soliloquies. Fortunately, the Spanish audience did not notice when he left out lines.

O, what a rogue and peasant slave am I!
Is it not monstrous that this player here,
But in a fiction, in a dream of passion,
Could force his soul so to his own conceit
That from her working all his visage wann'd,
Tears in his eyes, distraction in's aspect,
A broken voice, and his whole function suiting
With forms to his conceit? and all for nothing!
For Hecuba!"

Little did Hamlet know. To be on stage was not merely such a fiction. To stand there was a thrill of fear and pride, seeing all those assembled to watch and knowing their expectations. Knowing that one had to fulfill them. An actor's life was not normally at risk, but these people lived for it. And in that moment, it was all that counted. If they wanted Hamlet, then Hamlet they should have.

James had thought the same, that what mattered was the play, an amusing pretense. But standing there, it was all serious, even the comedies.

Jack peeked out from the wings to watch, smiling. James wasn't half-bad. He remembered seeing Hamlet in Barbados once, where the leading actor had outweighed the Pearl and squeaked. James looked deliciously melancholy in his black clothes, scrabbling together some forty years of fashion and makeshift adjustments by less-than-inspired hands. It did not seem to matter one bit; the straight, noble posture spoke of royalty, the shabbiness only seeming to make him more distraught and brave and mad. His Hamlet had the courage of terror, the ache of real fear lurking beneath a most laudable performance.

Zelina, playing Gertrude, gaped over his shoulder. "Lor! This should make my scene wif him interestin' indeed! Who woulda thought it!" She hurried to the other side of the stage for her entrance giggling. Jack retreated and waited, entranced.

James narrowly passed by 'Ophelia' on his exit. He was actually trembling with relief for the brief pause and had to fight his laughter at Jack's costume. "Break a leg."

"With this bloody rig, I prob'ly will!" Jack growled, then he leaned forward and pirated a quick kiss. "Yer wonderful."

He grabbed the ragged bouquet of weeds and ran onto the stage, stopping halfway to the centre and looking about as if surprised to be there. He sang and dithered, rounded the courtiers with open curiosity and darted to speak into their faces, too close for comfort.

" And pansies." He paused and smiled angelically. "That's for thoughts." His voice went darker and suddenly ragged, "There's a daisy; I would give you some violets... violets..." It quivered perilously, then continued, trance-like, "but they withered all when my father died." He had a momentary flash of his own Da' and swallowed a smirk.

James watched from the side, amazed. Jack acted so like he normally did, but it was deliberate. Each sway fit perfectly, planned, and James had to wonder if the regular swagger was not exactly as much of an act. Suddenly it didn't look clumsy anymore, instead graceful. The singing wasn't the bawling he had feared, a bit light, but actually... passable.

Jack seemed insane, but Ophelia even more so, her voice passing from high pitched shrieks to the softest whisper. Oh yes, Jack Sparrow was an entertainer, entrancing as much attention as he could from everyone.

Jack staggered offstage and hissed, "Rum!" Zelina giggled and passed him her flask. He was panting and eyed the 'litter' meant to bear Ophelia to her grave; two sticks and what looked like a piece of a mainsail? He rolled his eyes.

James plucked the flask from his hands and took a large gulp. "What an excellent singing voice you have, Ophelia." He peered down at Jack's crotch. "Did something happen since the last time I saw this?"

Jack glared and grabbed for his prick protectively. "Still intact." He laughed and settled his weedy wig. "I gotta go die now. Don't step on me please."

He lay down on the bier and two of the stage hands fussed to drape a length of wretchedly tatty lace over him to the waist as a 'shroud'. "Burial at sea, James. Promise?"

"Of course. I cannot leave the flowers unwatered."

"Bastard!" Jack laughed as James was shoved onstage by Antonio as a limping Horatio, the wound in his left buttock hampering his steps.

James was lucky he was holding Yorick's skull when the first cannon boomed. He blinked and flinched. A fight on the docks? If only he could so much as see what was going on. Perhaps it would serve as a distraction for an escape?

Jack's head poked up but Fernando shoved him back down and he was carried onstage, his heart pounding. Zelina was tossing flowers on him when there was another volley. His eyes flew open.

The Pearl.

It took every bit of control he possessed in this lifetime or any other to stay still while James and Fernando as Laertes argued above him, James' voice ringing in his ears "This is I, Hamlet the Dane! "

Jack thought he really didn't have to shout so loud. Then there was scuffling in the audience. He was dying to peek but remained motionless.

The "grave" was rather large and shallow, allowing for Ophelia to lie in it while Hamlet and Laertes struggled.

However, James was certain enough that Thompson had not been cast as Laertes.

Nor should he have a sword with which he was trying to run him through.

Jack got kicked in the ribs twice, opened his eyes and Ophelia was forgotten. Apparently, James' stentorian tones had been recognised. He leaned up and punched Thompson soundly in the groin, pushed him out of the way and grabbed Antonio's sword, tossing it to James.

There was collective gasp from the audience. This was a variation of the play none of them had ever witnessed before, but their eager eyes lit up, watching the swordfight on the stage, uncaring if it was real. It certainly was entertaining, and that was what they had come for, after all.

Then there was another volley of cannonfire and the square was overrun with torches and familiar, if disreputable men. The entertainment degenerated into chaos, people running madly to every available street. Screams and shrieks echoed and Jack grabbed the one of the courtier's swords, covering James' back and shouting at the top of his lungs, "Gibbs!"

Suddenly James lost sight of Thompson in the uproar, and the next second he was behind Jack, sword leveled at his throat. "Drop your sword, Norrington. You wouldn't have an innocent woman pulled into this, would you?"

Jack's eyes met James', flashing fire and he grinned.

James began lowering his sword, careful not to betray anything on his face. "No, not a woman."

Jack stomped down on Thompson's foot with one high, red heel, viciously elbowing him in the gut at the same time. He broke free, dancing away, his sword scraping along the startled man's. "An' certainly not innocent, mate." He lunged forward and parried the wavering attack.

This time it was James who appeared from behind and thumped Thompson over the head with his blunted theatre sword's hilt. Thompson slumped and James quickly draped the unconscious man over his shoulders. "Let's go!"

"Not without my effects!" Jack yelled, heading backstage.

He held the shocked Fernando at sword's point. "Where th' hell are they? Me boots, me HAT!"

Mutely, Fernando pointed to one of the trunks. Jack dropped the sword and pulled on his breeches and waistcoat, tying the sash and yanking on belt and baldric with incredible speed. He hefted his own cutlass, shoved the pistol in his sash and stuck the hat on his head. "If I don't have my coat by the time we sail, I'll come back an' find ya!"

He helped James hoist the unconscious Thompson, hollering all the while for Gibbs.

Jack grabbed an armload of costumes and shoved them into a trunk, sweeping cosmetics and wigs into various bandboxes. "Get the troupe t'gether. James, is he still out? Tie him up wif this!"

He threw Lucrece's funerary veil and a long bit of golden rope used to tie her gown, then turned to Fernando. "Mate, I'm really grateful for all your help and I'm willin' and able t' keep you lot safe. But we gotta get t'me ship, savvy?"

Fernando gulped and nodded. He had never been silent for so long, and his voice sounded quite different when he was not joking. "Thank you."

Then he rushed off to gather the rest of the troupe. Solomon only stared and saw the coins sinking into the sea while everyone clamoured to save themselves. Better than a Spanish jail, perhaps.

Jack hefted trunk after trunk onto one of the wagons as they tore down the sets and tried to salvage as much as possible. He moved methodically, well-used to loading up plunder in a hurry.

He stole to the hitching posts, threading his way through the screaming throng, grabbed two likely beasts and led them back to the wagon, hitching it up and shoved Solomon towards it.

"Ah, San Felipe. Farewell!" Solomon D'Yves made a final bow to the overturned benches in the ravaged square.

Jack stole another two horses and hoisted Fernando on one. "Take someone behind and wait fer my signal."

He watched James dump Thompson over the withers and mount with a grin. "Awright. Let's get t'the Pearl."

James smiled lopsidedly. "If Hamlet can survive pirates, so can I."

Jack led Fernando down the back lanes, where the guards would not be posted. Most of them were too busy running around like madmen or looting the shops. Jack scowled. He didn't like civilians stealing his plunder. The two wagons creaked under their loads and, slowly they made their way to the dock.

There was a tall figure blocking their path, and the dark gaze was, for once, outraged rather than desirous. Don Jaime's sword was drawn and his eyes flared with injured honour. "You perverse bastard! You will pay for this."

"Oh, it's you. Hello, luv." Jack grinned at him, pushing the hair and flowers out of his face. His cutlass was up and ready. "Don Jaime, I do b'lieve you've been followin' me."

Don Jaime snarled and lunged, blind with fury. "Hijo de puta, I am going to kill you!" His eyes were almost popping out of his head.

Jack stuck out one foot and tripped him, spun and clobbered him on the head with the hilt. "Y've no sense of adventure, mate!"

Swiftly, he took the length of rope Zelina tossed from the wagon and trussed the Commandante up like a Christmas goose, tying a ragged lace handkerchief around his mouth. He paused a moment and leaned down. "Darling, you really must learn to control your ardour."

They left him in a doorway puddle of slop.

"An' that'll be the last time ya trifle with Captain Jack Sparrow!"

"Let us hope so for him and his sanity." James grabbed Jack and hauled him on the horse. "A true artist knows when to quit the stage. Which is now."

The Governor peered from the safety of his barrel, waiting until the wagon was far out of sight to untie the Commandante. It took exactly two curses and the promise of several bottles of fine wine for them to agree to never speak of the incident again.

"Bwwwwaaack. Roses are red! Red sky at night, sailor's delight!"

Anamaria was fighting with a donkey carrying a heavy load, dropping the reins when she saw Jack.

The chemise was crammed under his waistcoat and into his breeches like a shirt, a woolen breast peeking out, lopsided and framed by flowers drooping from the monstrosity of his wig.

"Daft!" She pointed her finger accusingly before laughing helplessly.

Jack thrust out his lower lip, then looked down. He tore the breast away and glared at her. "Just get things loaded. We've had a bit o' business miscommunication here. And get these folk aboard."

She was still laughing and he stamped his foot. "DAMMIT!"

Gibbs approached from the side and muttered to Ana. "'s terrible bad luck t'ave a woman aboard, 'specially when she's throwing temper fits."

"It seems your crew is not very respectful, Captain Sparrow."

Jack looked at Gibbs, exasperated. "Don't stall, man. There's a full militia there an' right now they're havin' fun doin' your work!"

He turned to Fernando. "Get th' ladies aboard and you dogs, load in that cargo." He stalked to Ana. "I'll tell ya later. Jus' get 'em all back t' the ship and let's get outta here."

She grinned. "Aye, Ma'am!"

He made a most obscene gesture. "James, can ya help with the trunks. First, let's get him in th' brig."

He helped Norrington ease the unconscious Thompson from the horse and carried him to one of the longboats, shouting orders, his sharp eyes everywhere at once.

The Pearl roared a single shot and the crew straggled back to the dock, bearing all manner of goods and helping to get the wagonloads into the boats. Amid the pandemonium, James and Jack had traveled back and forth from the Pearl to shore five times.

Finally, they weighed anchor and set sail, leaving San Felipe in chaos and the remains of a stage sagging in her plaza. It was a performance that would not be forgotten for many years.

Jack took the helm as the Pearl's sails filled and the last San Felipe saw of Mariella Jefferson, she was checking her bearings, long curls not her own adorned with a small conservatory blowing in the breeze under a battered leather hat. It was a fitting exit for a legendary star.

"Most matters are better than the death of everyone involved." James said quietly. He'd had time to think while they sailed out. "And what is the intent of the pirates with Hamlet in this version of the play?"

"We've set sail fer Port Royal, of course. James, we're takin' you home." Jack looked genuinely surprised that there had been any doubt. "Wot else would I do with such a brave and noble husband?"

He grinned and called to Ana. "Take the wheel. I'm gonna get below fer a spell." He pointed at her. "Not another bloody word! C'mon James. I wanna introduce you to the Black Pearl."

Ana did not precisely say anything, but her gestures were more than eloquent.

The Great Cabin had been hastily converted into suitable quarters for the ladies of the troupe, the men doubling up with Gibbs and the other crewmen in hammocks.

Jack's hands ran over the dark wooden rail affectionately. "She's a peach, ain't she James?" He kissed his fingers and pressed them to the lips of the grinning cherub over the lintel as he led James into his own cabin. "We may end up havin' t'share a bit, but that can wait. I want a bit of a breather."

James froze. Now certainly was not the moment to blush, but the sight of the giant monstrosity of a bed in the cabin had that effect. "You mean I am to stay here? In your cabin?"

"Where else would ya stay?" Jack looked confused. "Yer my guest, James. You saved my neck. Where'd ya think I would put you?" He pulled at the wig, disentangling pins with impatient fingers.

"I do not know." James admitted. In their frenzied escape, he hadn't had any time to think of that. He helped with the wig pins to distract himself and keep from shuffling his hands nervously. "It isn't the expected end for the play 'James and the pirate'."

Jack shook his head to free of any stray pins lurking in its depths, looked up from the massive dressing table and smiled. "The pirate may be kind an' the wife may be true enough." His eyes were gleaming in the lanterns' light.

"You do realise that we are not, in fact, married, nor are you pregnant?" James said dryly. "Or are you?"

Jack's face crinkled into a grin and he shrugged. "If I am, 'twould be a miracle indeed. Wot d'you say t'calling our offspring Vladimir?"

He rose, shedding the waistcoat and pulling the leaf-and-flower-strewn chemise over his head, tossed it aside and pulled James close. "That were some fancy swordplay. Most impressive."

James arched an eyebrow. "A husband must be capable of defending his wife. And himself." He smiled. "Thank you, Jack."

Jack's lips curved against his neck. "Thank you, James." They were still stained rose red and it was infinitely apparent that Mariella's roguish eyes were not any act.

Nor was their kiss a stage kiss, but it was interrupted by Fernando banging the door open. "All right!" He threw it closed again.

Jack giggled and his long fingers danced over James' collar, amazingly clean, even the nails scrubbed and buffed. "Damnation. One o' these days, we're gonna have t' find the time an' place for some privacy, mate."

The Pearl laughed at him and shuddered a little, then pitched him at James. She knew all about the marriage of true minds.

He cut the envelope open and unfolded the letter. More of that unfamiliar hand. He grinned.

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