Naked to Mine Enemies
Chapter 3
by
Full headers in Chapter 1
Disclaimer: Pirates of the Caribbean is owned by Disney, etc. No infringement intended.
Disclaimer: Pirates of the Caribbean is owned by Disney, etc. No infringement intended.
The next morning found James shirtless, rowing Jack to the boat. Jack was huddled in the prow with James's shirt wrapped around him like a crude loincloth, considering the best way to defuse the situation. He finally decided on the direct route.
"M'sorry, mate," said Jack.
Norrington said nothing, but the set of his jaw and shoulders indicated that Jack wasn't getting off so lightly. He cleared his throat and tried again.
"S'not like I meant to do it. Involuntary reflex and all. After all those bawdy songs you can't blame me for having it on the mind, as it were."
Norrington was still silent, his eyes fixed on the boat beyond.
"I'll soak it in rum before washing it," Jack offered. "It'll be good as new. Better, even."
"Sparrow, just—" Norrington raised his eyes heavenward and sighed noisily through his teeth. "Shut up," he finished.
Jack bit back a sigh of his own. Navy lads were such prudes. When they reached the boat, Jack helped Norrington hoist the dinghy aboard without comment, and they weighed anchor in stony silence. There were heavy clouds on the western horizon, and Jack was secretly glad that today's sailing would occupy Norrington, since he wanted to be all scientific-like in taking their position. The scrub would have taken soundings if Jack hadn't stopped him with a pointed look. No point in taking soundings when you're in a tiny boat and you can see the ruddy bottom of the sea.
Since Norrington had things well in hand, despite acting as if Jack had despoiled his daughter, Jack made good on his promise and thoroughly soaked Norrington's shirt in rum and hoisted up some seawater to wash. There wasn't much to scrub it with, apart from the sand they'd tracked on deck, but it sufficed. Partially because he knew it was anathema to the Navy man and partially because it was practical, he hung the shirt to dry on the capstan.
As he swung over the weather-rail into the rigging, he sneaked a look at Norrington. He was satisfied to see Norrington scowling at the shirt-draped capstan as if it were a personal affront, which in this case it was.
Much cheered, Jack shinnied up to the crosstrees where he settled himself in for a peaceful watch, as long as the clouds didn't materialize into anything more severe. With the newly raked masts and topsail, they must have been doing eight or nine knots, and they would reach the Bahamas by sundown. It made Jack nervous to sail through pirate territory without even a pistol to his name, but not nearly so nervous as the American coast, given that it was occupied by a race more dangerous and bloodthirsty: the Puritans. But having got on their bad side once already, surely Norrington understood the need for subterfuge henceforth. Perhaps that was even why he allowed his shirt to stay on the capstan.
Jack scanned the horizon and saw a tiny speck on the horizon, no larger than a fishing boat. Still, Norrington struck him as the sort who wanted to know everything, so he gave a half-hearted "Sail ho."
"What is it, Sparrow?"
"Fishing boat heading two points starboard."
"Very good, Sparrow. As you were."
Jack bristled at the condescending, almost dismissive tone. "Why is it always Sparrow this and Sparrow that?" he complained. "You know my name. Why don't you ever use it?"
There was a considering pause from below. "I don't use it because you never gave me permission to use it."
"Posiedon's pizzle, man, you're no longer in the Navy. You don't need permission to wipe your arse. If you want to do something, stop the shilly-shallying and just do it."
Norrington cleared his throat. "Very well."
The bugger wasn't going to do it. Perhaps it wasn't manners in whatever backwater Norrington called home.
The wind shifted mid-day, which reduced their speed, since they were now sailing close-hauled. One early afternoon call of "sail ho" became many as they neared Nassau, a port with even more scum and scallywags than Tortuga. Norrington screwed up his face in disgust as he donned his half-dried shirt. Jack knew he'd rather eat broken glass than appear slovenly in front of a bunch of pirates, and wondered what Norrington missed more, having a full set of clothes or bullion-trimmed jacket and a sword at his hip.
"You know, Jamey," Jack called from the crosstrees. "It might behoove us to stop."
"No."
"Think about it," said Jack. "What sort of impression do you think we'll make when we reach America?"
"Without a store of useful provisions or proper clothes, they will likely take us for subsistence fishermen."
"What about the rum?"
"Very well, brighter-than-average subsistence fishermen who have found an excellent way of dealing with poverty and fishwives. I'm not letting you near that den of thieves, no matter what you say, so do me the favour of leaving me in peace."
"I'd steal you a coat," wheedled Jack.
"No. We stick to our accord, which means steering clear of Nassau and praying nobody notices us."
There was a loud boom, followed by a splash nearly a cable's length ahead of them.
So much for that plan.
Both Jack and James spun to see where the shot had come from. A small brigantine of at least ten guns had hailed them, and James pursed his lips at the flamboyant paintwork that did little to conceal the filthy ship and crew.
Jack groaned. "It's Purple Percy. Where in the name of buggery did that grass-comber get that ship?"
Norrington glanced about the deck. They had no flags aboard, no guns—nothing to answer the hail. Jack seemed to notice it at the same time.
"Jim lad, if I were you, I'd disappear belowdecks right quick and make yourself look as un-Naval as possible, since Percy's brother was one of the many you doomed to the noose. Now, I'll return Percy's hail, and you let me do all the talking, savvy?"
At the mention of his former station, Norrington's stomach clenched. "We keep to our accord," he said warningly as he descended to follow Jack's instructions.
"Jamey my boy," said Jack heartily. "Trust me."
Norrington's answering snort was lost as Jack spun the wheel so as to stop their forward progress. Once concealed by the deck, Norrington kicked off his shoes and peeled off his hose. His breeches were a bit too clean, but at least dingy enough not to be mistaken for Naval whites. His queue was messy enough, and he was confident of not being recognized without a wig in place. He buttoned up his wet shirt and tied the remains of his necktie—his too-pale skin would immediately identify him as someone who usually toiled belowdecks, so he might as well look the part of someone attempting to keep up appearances, even on a pirate vessel.
He seized his tool box and a quantity of oakum, smiling at the pleasant childhood memories the smell of creosote roused, ostensibly to fill seams in the deck. He tried to keep his eyes down, but immediately decided that this was a bad idea because once again, Jack had removed his trousers. He was standing at the weather rail, nude from the waist down, except for his boots.
"Sparrow," hissed James through his teeth. "Where are your trousers?"
Jack grinned, his smile flashing gold. "Ran 'em up."
James gazed upward and, sure enough, he saw Jack's trousers waving from the topmast like a pennant in the breeze.
"That'll give 'em something to think about," said Jack with satisfaction.
Sure enough, the decks of Percy's ship, which had come up on them quickly, were abuzz with activity. James could just make out an individual flamboyantly dressed in purple clothing that had faded nearly to pink in the harsh Caribbean sun.
"Jim lad," said Jack in an unnaturally loud voice. "Why don't you go aloft and inspect the spars while I talk to this gentleman."
"Aye, captain," boomed James, swinging himself deliberately up the mast, trying to look comfortable, but not too comfortable doing so. Once there, he secured himself to the topmast spar and began to examine it, planing and sanding at non-existent flaws and occasionally tapping it with a mallet.
"Captain Jack Sparrow!" exclaimed a reedy voice. "How very nice to, ah, see you again."
"Captain Percival Packett," returned Jack. "How very nice it is to be seen."
"Indeed," said Percy, who took several steps forward, giving James a good look at him. He was short and skinny, though clearly he wished to disguise this with his French-style heeled shoes and heavy, lace-trimmed jacket, and his face was covered with the black velvet patches women frequently used to cover pox scars. He peered at Jack through a pair of gold pince nez. "I heard you was dragged down to Davy Jones's locker."
"Davy Jones forgot there were sea turtles there," said Jack with a saucy wink. "And if that was the last you heard, then you've missed out on a great deal."
"Some of us have been advancing our professional prospects," said Percy, gesturing at his ship.
"And a very pretty prospect it is," acknowledged Jack with a nod. "The paintwork is especially nice. Very you."
"And seventeen guns!" exclaimed Percy. "With a pair of thirty-two pounders that are the terror of the Caribbean!"
James just managed to hold back a snort. Such heavy firepower the brig might have, but he doubted they could be fired without causing structural damage to the decks.
"I imagine they've come in handy," said Jack, clearly thinking along the same lines as James. "One wonders at the lucrative trade that furnished such luxury."
"Slaves, naturally," said Percy. "The new world has an insatiable appetite for the black gold."
"I'm satisfied with my small armada," said Jack, with only a trace of irony. "The Swan's a sweet sailor for my own needs, and the Pearl is bound for Florida with my first mate seeking a legendary prize."
Percy looked down his nose at them. "Under your command, I'm sure," he said. "And this conveyance, I'm sure, carries a sweet quantity of rum."
Jack ignored the sneer. "I mean, look at the gun ports," he said loudly, gesturing toward the smooth side of the boat. "So perfect set they're practically invisible. Takes enemies by considerable surprise, it does, especially those who take her for granted," Jack's sharklike smile broadened. "That's what one gets for having a proper carpenter to build and keep her in repair."
Norrington swore inwardly. The last thing he wanted was for Purple Percy to take notice of him, which of course he did when he found himself unable to ascertain the location of the nonexistent gun ports.
"Dashed clever, that," said Percy, blinking owlishly at Norrington, who was knocking at the iron hoop that secured the topmast to the mainmast with his mallet. "I say, Sparrow, would you be a dear and loan us your carpenter for an hour or two? I'm considering a refit at Nassau and I'd like to know what repairs are most pressing and would be glad of some expert advice."
To his credit, Sparrow seemed to grasp the enormity of his error almost immediately and covered it with a bland smile. "I regret that I'm unable to spare him, as we are in something of an all-tearing hurry. We're being pursued by the Flying Dutchman, and—"
"Poppycock!" exclaimed Percy, even as several of his crew members made various gestures against evil at the mention of the feared vessel. "Jones is dead and the Kraken with him." He gave Norrington an imperious glare. "Come over, my good man, and look snappy!"
One of Percy's crew laid a plank between the ships, and Norrington made a show of creeping fearfully over it. His mind was reeling. Of all the confounded bad luck—now Sparrow would be at liberty to steal his boat, recruit someone expendable from Nassau, and find the fountain on his own. He cursed himself for the worst kind of fool for telling Sparrow as much as he had. If Sparrow were feeling particularly devious, he would probably sell him to Purple Percy for a tidy profit. He glanced back at Sparrow, who looked forlorn, pathetically naked from the waist down and to all appearances aggrieved at the possibility of losing his carpenter, but James had been taken in by Sparrow's appearance more than once.
He gave himself a mental shake, reviewing all of his experiences from two decades previous and hoped it would be enough to maintain his cover as a ship's carpenter for however long he would be stuck aboard Percy's ship.
Percy was drumming his fingernails absently on the taffrail and gave James an appraising look. "What is your name, young man?"
"Jim, sir," said Norrington.
"Jim lad, I wish to mount my thirty-two pounders on either side of the forecastle here," he said. "What would be the best way to do it?"
"Beggin' yer pardon, sir," said James, adopting his native accent, "but you could mount 'em however you please, but it'd still spring her poor seams to do it," he said, gesturing at the ship's timbers and stomping on the deck for emphasis. "She's a lovely old barky, but she's not built to carry that kind o' firepower."
James smiled inwardly as he caught a glance of Sparrow's unflattering disbelief at his performance. That had to be a good sign. He was glad of it, because Purple Percy's face was living up to Jack's dismissive epithet.
"Are you sure you're a carpenter, sir?" he asked, spitting a little on his plosives. "For I've used those guns several times in battle already to great effect."
"I believe you, sir," said James knowingly. "I also believe you've likely had a foot or two of water in the well ever since."
A murmur went up from some of the men, and James fought to keep his expression bland.
"Now if you like, sir," said James placatingly, "I can rig up a right solid-looking truck that'll raise 'em above the fo'c'sle. If you keep them ruddy guns all bright and polished like they are now, just the sight of 'em will make most slow merchant vessels run up the white flag, if you take my meaning. Now, I'll be 'appy to take a look belowdecks and see if I can't do something about her poor leaky knees, if I could borrow one or two o' your crew?"
James at first thought he'd allowed a bit too much command come into his voice, but to his surprise, Percy thought for a moment and made a gesture at two of the men who had been watching. "Master Jim, we took an unlucky shot below the waterline that could use a better plug, if you would be so kind."
"'Appy to oblige, sir," said James, relieved to be doing relatively rudimentary repair work that was well within his scope. "Now, me tools are—"
"We will see that you are well-provisioned," said Percy, and he swept off towards his precious, useless guns.
True to his word, James was presented with handsome tools, hemp, and a full cask of creosote, and he set to work, hewing a new plug that wouldn't improve the ship's looks much, but would hold indefinitely. Fortunately, his orders kept the assigned men too busy to ask him questions. Besides, Percy's crew might not have been much to write home about, but he clearly inspired a kind of pride in his men, and they'd come into some share of wealth, which went a long way toward building loyalty. They probably looked down on him, for all his skills, for his association with Jack Sparrow, perennially the captain without a ship.
The repair was dirty, hot work, and Norrington was dismayed by the state of the ship's timbers, horribly stressed, the spirketting sprung in places from the abuse, but he patched, plugged, hammered, and reinforced to the best of his ability. Some time later, the captain appeared at his side and asked to see what James had done, and James showed him, recommending what timbers ought to be replaced on the next refit, nearly all of which had sustained some damage from the recoil of the thirty-two pounders. The captain asked a few questions that demonstrated a near complete ignorance of geometry, and James answered as well as he dared within his current guise.
When he and the captain finally emerged from belowdecks, James was dismayed to see that the sun was low in the sky. He had been below for nearly four hours. Surprisingly, his own boat was still there, though unsurprisingly, Jack and the dinghy were gone. James cursed him silently. If he were abandoned asea, he'd be a sitting duck for the Dutchman unless he swam for lights of the port were already beginning to be lit, and James wondered which tavern Jack was in, hatching a plot with some murderous old acquaintance to steal a bigger ship and sail off, free as a bird. Belatedly, he realized Percy was inviting him to dine with the crew.
"I'd invite you to join me in the great cabin," he said, smoothing an eyebrow with his pinky, "but this evening I shall be entertaining a refined group, including a lady of great distinction."
"Beggin' the captain's pardon," said James meekly, "but I'm done in and should return to the ship. I had watch last night." He added a large yawn for emphasis. He would have to start swimming as soon as possible.
"We have a three-shift watch on the Terpsichore," remarked Percy.
James nodded his approval. It was a far more humane system than a two-shift watch. Not that he and Sparrow had any choice, there being only two of them.
"Not that a carpenter would have to be involved with watch," Percy added, looking hard at James. "If you were part of my crew."
James blinked hard. "Are you offering me a job, sir?" he asked, not having to feign the surprise in his voice.
"That was a tidy bit of work you did below, my dear mister—sorry, I don't believe I caught your surname?"
"Boggs," answered Norrington promptly, giving the name of his maternal uncle.
"Boggs," repeated Percy. "I could offer you a far more comfortable position than Jack Sparrow. And you wouldn't be idle by any stretch, and as carpenter, you'd be entitled to a generous share of all treasure. And I assure you, Mr. Boggs, we do very well aboard this ship."
James thought quickly on his abrupt change of fortune. He hadn't considered the possibility of going on without Sparrow. If, as Sparrow had opined, his former lover was sending the Dutchman after Jack as revenge on the Pirate Brethren, then perhaps he would be safer with Percy's crew. Provided the Terpsichore wasn't wrecked in a storm or crashed atop a reef, he was unlikely to meet with the Dutchman while part of her company. And if Percy did trade in slaves, it was likely that he was frequently in Massachusetts delivering his cargo, so perhaps he could find the fountain on his own. He had seen the map, after all. Best to strike when the iron is hot, of course.
He opened his mouth to accept Percy's offer, when he was interrupted by a familiar voice drifting across the water, punctuated by the slap of oars on the water's surface.
"We kidnap and ravage and don't give a hoot!
Drink up, me hearties! Yo ho!"
Sparrow. Damn the man. Damn him to a thousand hells, the cheeky, sodding bastard, who had the audacity to stay true to his word for once.
"I'm much obliged to your honour," said James, bowing obsequiously to Percy to hide his smile, "but a ship's carpenter ain't a ship's carpenter without a warrant, and Jack Sparrow inherited my warrant when he took my old captain's ship. 'Owever, my warrant's up once we reach America. Iffin you think you'll ever be over Portsmouth way, I'll look for you."
"Your warrant?" exclaimed Percy. "What ship was you on?"
James paused. How much to give away? "Interceptor," he said, after pausing only a fraction of a moment. "I were aboard on surgeon's orders when Sparrow captured it."
Norrington felt a lump rise in his throat when he saw Percy's face darken in response to the ship's name. "If ever I owed Jack Sparrow thanks for anything, it was for bringing about the downfall of that black-hearted, thrice-cursed Commodore of Port Royal," he growled. Fortunately, the anger passed quickly, leaving only a sour sneer behind. "But if you think Jack Sparrow will release you according to your warrant, you obviously haven't had many dealings with pirates," said Percy. "More likely than not, he'll never let you touch foot on American soil."
"Aye, I reckoned that," said James, risking a wink. "That's why I told him my warrant was up when we reached Canada."
Percy stared at him in disbelief for a moment, then broke into shrill tittering laughter that quickly devolved into coughing. One of his crew members discreetly thumped him on the back, dislodging his pince nez.
"My dear Mister Boggs, we shall most certainly look for you in Portsmouth."
"I'd be most obliged to you, Captain," said James with a small quirk of the lips as he dashed across the boards to his boat, abandoning all pretence of being a landsman.
There was a squeal of pulleys from aft, and James ran over to help Jack hoist the dinghy up.
"Much obliged, Jim lad," said Jack, whose glittering eyes and rank breath supported James's assumption that Sparrow had been patronizing the local public houses. "Brought you a pressie!"
Sparrow staggered out of the boat and tossed James a jacket that looked to be nearly the correct size. Thankfully, it wasn't Navy blue, but a pale bottle green. Unfortunately, there was also a black tricorn that would have looked downright naval with a bit of gold trim atop a white powdered wig. James secreted the hat inside a coil of rope, hoping Percy hadn't seen it. However, James was grateful for the jacket, especially since the sun was moments away from setting, and the perspiration from his hard work was fast evaporating.
Jack nodded in satisfaction. "Thought it'd look well on you. Goes with your eyes. You done with Percy's boat yet?"
"As you see," said James, gesturing at the crew who were withdrawing the planks between their ships.
"Huh," said Jack. "I reckoned he'd have offered you a job."
"He did," said James. "However, we have an accord, you and I."
Jack drew back and gave him an exaggerated look of suspicion. "He'd have taken you to America."
"Yes, but so will you, and we've resolved to take the most direct route."
Jack gave him a lazy smile. "That, and if anybody on that tub recognized you, you'd be walking the plank fast as kiss my arse."
"That, too," said James. He was about to comment further when Jack's face closed, taking on a look of calculation.
James turned to see a frigate, a beautifully trim frigate with snow-white sails adorning its three proud masts, sail magnificently out of Nassau toward them, and he swore. "It's the Halcyon. She was under my command in Port Royal but was usually off cruising."
"Aye, that it is," agreed Jack. "A Naval vessel of some reputation for being fast and manoeuvrable So what in the name of all that's holy is it doing in Nassau?"
"Didn't you see it in harbour when you went ashore?"
"Didn't make it that far," said Jack. "I just liberated a few items from shipboard clotheslines."
"And your general state of intoxication?"
"Aw, that's just for fun, innit?"
James glanced at the Terpsichore, where, he was surprised to note, Percy was watching the Halcyon's approach through his glass with something like pride. James turned back to the approaching ship, his ears straining for the bosun's trill or shouted orders, but upon closer examination, the ship was decidedly not in Naval trim. There was even a loud clunk aboard and a flurry of shouts when she dropped anchor a cable's length or so from them. The sails were also being doused clumsily, as if by a crew who had never done it before. And yet the ship was as pristine as if she'd just come out of the Naval boat yards.
How could she have been taken? An absurd memory crossed his mind of the way Sparrow and young Turner had taken the Interceptor, but surely his replacement in Port Royal would have heard of that infamous action and not allowed it to occur again. Unless, of course, he had been bamboozled by some far subtler ploy.
One of the Halcyon's boats was lowered with surprising grace, containing three figures—two in rust-coloured jackets pulling rhythmically at the oars, and one slim figure in brown who Norrington recognized with a grin. Sparrow shifted uneasily next to him—clearly he recognized Captain Swann, even at this distance.
"Percy said he was entertaining a lady of importance this evening," commented Norrington.
"I think I'll just secret meself belowdecks," said Jack, wheeling about. "No need to vex her unduly. You might consider doing the same, mate. Last time she saw you, you were busy dying."
"That's quite all right, Sparrow. I should like very much to speak with her."
"Suit yourself, mate. But don't blame me if you end up manacled somewhere inconvenient."
"That's a risk I'm willing to take," said James blandly.
As the dinghy neared, James's eyes sought Elizabeth's, and he fancied he saw the moment she recognized the boat she had seen in her dream. Fortunately, she was savvy enough not to call notice to it, and allowed her eyes to sweep the deck without calling particular attention to it. She was close enough now that he could see her radiant smile when she noticed him. His answering nod let her know that all was well.
The Terpsichore's crew lowered a ladder as the boat neared, and James approached the weather rail to watch Captain Swann's ascent and reception by Purple Percy, when, to his horror, he heard his name being called.
"Commodore! Commodore Norrington!"
Elizabeth's crew in the rust jackets were standing in the dinghy and waving their arms like drowning men. One of them whacked the other gracelessly.
"He's not Commodore anymore, remember?" he said in a stage whisper.
"Sorry, your Admiral-ness," apologized the other, removing his hat to reveal a head of dark ginger hair that James recognized with a jolt. Of course. The two had been Marines at Port Royal, and later dispatched to the Dauntless, and still later to the various ships during his titular command under Cutler Beckett. Mulroy and Murtogg, if he remembered their names correctly.
"It's just like old times in Port Royal," Mulroy went on, hardly chastened. "You, us, and Miss Swann, pardon, her Majesty-Captain."
"Belay that chatter!" shouted Elizabeth, who leapt gracefully aboard the Terpsichore frowning. At least someone understood the situation with a fair amount of clarity.
James glanced up to the deck of the Terpsichore, hoping by some miracle Purple Percy hadn't heard that exchange, but his hopes were in vain. Percy was staring at him in openmouthed disbelief, but it quickly faded into mauve-faced fury.
"Norrington!" he spat, pulling a pistol from his pocket. "Prepare to meet your maker!"
He fired, and even though Norrington knew the bullet couldn't wound him, years of training led him to leap aside, rolling across the deck as the ball whistled past his ear.
"I thought your invitation was to a party," said Elizabeth to Percy, with no small amount of disdain.
"Aye, a boarding party," growled Percy, knocking one of his crew members aside to seize the plank so recently lifted from between the ships. "An eighth of the next prize to the man who brings me that man's head!" he shouted, pulling his sword from his scabbard.
James leaped to his feet to push the plank off the ship, but Jack was there before him.
"Gentlemen," said Jack, bowing sarcastically to the men, his foot poised on the edge of the board. "Let this be remembered as the day that you never even came close to killing Commodore James Norrington." With that, he neatly kicked the plank aside, sending two unlucky men into the water below. He pulled two pistols from his belt and aimed them at Purple Percy, which brought the boarding crew up short. "You'll find the anchor's been weighed, Jim lad," he whispered out of the corner of his mouth. "I think it's time we made a hasty getaway, don't you?"
Norrington didn't need to be told twice. He sprinted to the helm and spun the wheel to set them on their previous heading. The sails obligingly filled with wind, and the boat leapt forward like an impatient horse.
"To the great guns!" howled Percy, furious that his quarry was getting away.
"Hey, it's Jack Sparrow!" exclaimed Mulroy from the dinghy "Just like in Port Royal!"
"Hallo, Captain!" called Murtogg. "We told Barbossa it weren't right to take your ship!"
"It got us marooned for our trouble," added Mulroy, "but 'Lizabeth needed a couple of—"
"Marines!" shouted Elizabeth, swinging back down to the dinghy. "Fire at will!"
"But he's out of range."
There was a loud thwack.
"Ow! What was that for?"
"For being a blockheaded nincompoop!" shouted Murtogg.
"I ain't none of that!" protested Mulroy. "She said 'Fire at Will,' and Will's on the Flying Dutchman, which is at least two miles west northwest, and therefore out of range."
James fancied he heard every head within earshot of this proclamation, including his own, turn to the west, and sure enough, the dreaded ship was bearing down on them, close-hauled and sailing at top speed.
"Back to the Halcyon!" shouted Elizabeth, and the two Marines put their backs into it, splashing and pulling for all they were worth.
"FIRE!" came a bellow from belowdecks on the Terpsichore, and one of the gun crews managed to get off a shot that whistled overhead but left only a small hole in the jib. The deafening report of the great gun followed a split-second later, but James kept to his course.
A moment later, Jack appeared at his elbow.
"If you will pardon the interruption," said Jack, knitting his fingers together in a gesture of false supplication, "but we seem to be sailing right at the Dutchman, which, I'll remind you, has two gun decks to Purple Percy's one, and actually has the ability to remove you from this world permanently."
"That's true," said James, "but you're missing a large part of the equation, that being a Naval vessel at least as fast as the Dutchman, with more guns than the Terpsichore, and a captain twice as shrewd."
"Shrewd, she is at that," said Jack, frowning. "And about as trustworthy as a sea snake."
"I've found sea snakes to be quite gentle creatures that only bite when cornered."
"And you think you're immune to Captain Swann's bite, do you? Has it slipped your mind that her bloody husband is captain of that ship?" Jack shouted, putting his face very close to James's.
"Not at all. In fact, I'm rather counting on their engagement," said James, indulging in a rare pun.
Sparrow threw up his hands in frustration.
"Calm yourself, Sparrow. If you want something to do, adjust the windward braces. I don't like the way the wind is letting up. We may have to change course."
"Fortune forbid we should actually sail away from our enemies," said Jack sarcastically, stomping gracelessly over to the ropes.
"Percy won't rest until he's convinced I'm dead," said Norrington pleasantly. "Thus, Nassau is closed to us. Great Abaco lies a mere forty miles north, and once past her shallows, we will be in friendlier waters. All we require is a few delaying tactics from Mrs. Turner, which I'm sure she will be happy to provide."
Jack sputtered for a moment, trying to decide which of Norrington's statements was more objectionable and finally decided on all of them. "A particularly smelly and painful pox on bloody-minded ex-Commodores!"
The Terpsichore was firing regularly now, but their lucky heading and cooperative wind put them out of danger from a broadside. James risked a look over his shoulder. The Terpsichore had weighed anchor and was changing course, and Elizabeth's dinghy was being hoisted back aboard the Halcyon. They would be along soon. Percy's crew may have been more experienced, but James suspected that Elizabeth was still a significant force to be reckoned with.
Norrington listened to the wind, and as he had feared, it was flagging, swirling in a less helpful direction. On the bright side, Percy was in the same wind, and his ship wasn't nearly as manoeuvrable as their boat.
"Wear on my signal?" Norrington asked. Sparrow was in a proper strop, to be sure.
"That'll put us under the Halcyon's broadside," said Sparrow unhappily.
"That's right."
"And the Dutchman's nearly on us, too."
"As you see."
"Well," said Sparrow, reluctantly rolling up his sleeves, "maybe we'll get lucky and they'll crash into each other."
There was a boom from the west, followed by a chorus of whines that left a messy grouping of holes in the sail.
"Of course they're using grape shot," said Jack distastefully. "It'll pass right through you, but could be downright deadly for me."
"Not very sporting, is it?" asked Norrington. "But I don't think they'll be firing on us much."
"How'd you reckon?"
"Once Turner realizes that's his wife's ship, he may have a crisis of conscience."
Sparrow ceased sulking in his surprise. "You cheeky, cheeky bugger," he said. "Now would you stop gloating and turn the bloody boat already?"
As Norrington complied, there was an enormous explosion of splinters from the fore of the Halcyon, and he and Sparrow ducked as they rained on the deck, even as the report reached them. The Terpsichore had fired one of its thirty-two pounders at them, but missed them and hit the Halcyon.
"What the—" began Sparrow, but his query was drowned out by a quick reply from the Halcyon.
Norrington couldn't hold back an admiring grin at the accuracy of the Halcyon's guns. The shots had come from the great cabin, probably long nines that weren't quite as powerful as the Terpsichore's thirty-two pounders, but they still made a mess of the Terpsichore's forecastle, and their recoil wouldn't tear the ship apart. And the array of twelve-pounders in in the upper deck's gun ports were all raked high enough to avoid the Swann while taking a good shot at the Dutchman, if Turner should be so foolish as to continue the attack.
To James's amusement, Elizabeth had hoisted her own pennant that was similar to Jack's in that it wasn't a standard jolly roger, but one that looked like nothing so much as a lady's evening gown.
There was a chortle from his elbow and James saw Sparrow looking through his glass at the Dutchman.
"Young Turner's finally figured out who he's shooting at," he said, grinning. "That buys us some time, but it only delays the inevitable."
The Dutchman was less than a cable's length away and had slowed to get a better look at their opposite number. The last rays of the sun had nearly faded from the western sky, which made the hulking Dutchman, sans lanterns, appear as a particularly malevolent cliff.
James glanced up at the Halcyon and was surprised to see Elizabeth peering out one of the gun ports. She caught his eye and gave an impish grin that clearly said "Watch this!" before she withdrew back to the gun deck.
"Sparrow, it would take too long to explain how I know this, but I promise you: Elizabeth isn't trying to bring about a stalemate, she will give us cover."
"Sink us, more like," grumbled Jack.
"Do shut up and prepare to tack on my signal."
"Tack where? There won't be room," complained Sparrow querulously. "And what signal? What exactly are you—"
Jack's whinge was abruptly cut off by a deafening boom from the Halcyon as one of the twelve-pounders sent an iron ball over the top of their rigging.
Ears ringing and senses addled from the sudden blast, James couldn't hear exactly what Sparrow was saying, but he doubted it was anything complimentary. James shook his head to clear it and went to the weather rail to see exactly what damage Elizabeth's shot had done. To his amazement, the Dutchman's crew were running about the deck like infuriated ants, all shouting at one another. Will's face was crumpled in confusion, and Norrington was nearly as confused as he was. There were no holes in the Dutchman's sails. Where on earth had the shot gone? She hadn't missed, had she?
There was a loud groan of timber, and Norrington's eye fell on the Dutchman's mainmast, and he suddenly saw what Elizabeth's shot had done. She had taken an enormous chunk out of the base, and the mast was weaving ominously, the staysails stretched taut.
"That jammy wench!" exclaimed Jack. "She's done it!"
Slowly, majestically, and with the dignity due its stature, the Dutchman's mainmast wove fore and aft before falling forward, crashing into the foremast and rending the standing rigging and staysails.
James let out a whoop, which was echoed by the crew of the Halcyon.
"Three cheers for Captain Swann!" shouted one of the Marines.
While the Halcyon hip-hip-huzzahed,James caught Jack's eye.
"Mainsail haul, if you would, Sparrow."
Jack shook his head, as if to securely lodge the vision of a lady pirate dismasting her own husband in his head for all time. "Aye, Commodore!"
They slid out from between the Dutchman and the Halcyon behind the Dutchman's stern, which put the fearsome ship between them and the Terpsichore, which had 'vasted firing and was probably trying to figure out what was going on. The Dutchmen hadn't given up trying to sink them and was peppering them with pistol and musket fire, as well as from the long nines mounted in the Dutchman's great cabin, whose muzzles glowed red from repeated firing. Fortunately they were too high up to do much damage, apart from putting a few sizzling holes in the topsail.
It was nearly dark as they beat for the open sea, but not too dark for the Terpsichore to take potshots at them with the thirty-two pounders. However, the wind was at their backs on the new tack, and their fast little boat would soon disappear into the blackness before Percy would be able to tack his ship. For the first time since escaping the seas of death, James welcomed nightfall.
"Oi, Commodore," said Jack, lowering his glass. "What exactly did you do to old Percy's tub?"
James released the helm and stretched his arms in the air, stretching his tired muscles. "Replaced a patch on a nasty hole below the water line and did what I could for her innards, which were in terrible shape from those absurd thirty-two pounders that he insists on firing. Why?"
"No reason," said Jack, with a careless gesture. "But she seems to be riding quite a bit lower in the water. Perhaps it's just a trick of the dark?"
Norrington joined Jack by the taffrail. The Terpsichore's lamps were lit as they continued their futile pursuit, but her beautiful lines were made downright comical by how close her decks were to the surface of the sea. "The old fool's sprung her seams at last."
"On the bright side, at least they'll be too busy pumping to shoot."
"Perhaps the kind thing would be to find them a nice reef to rest on," commented James.
"They'll never make it that far, Jamey," said Jack, his grin clearly audible in his voice.
"What's this, I'm no longer 'Jim lad?'"
"You've been downright resourceful today, so I'm promoting you to Jamey," said Sparrow. "Now, if I can get your promise that you will never do to one of my ships what you did to Percy's, perhaps one day I'll even call you James."
"Jesus Christ couldn't have saved that ship's knees from the damage inflicted by those guns," exclaimed Norrington hotly, until he realized that Sparrow was teasing him.
"No," agreed Sparrow, "but walking on water would have come in right handy."
They sailed on, and the Terpsichore's lanterns grew farther and farther away, until at last they disappeared altogether.
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