Naked to Mine Enemies
Chapter 5
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.
Nearly two hours had passed by the time James returned to the camp site. To his surprise, Jack, skilful opportunistic sleeper that he was, was wide awake and let out a powerful sigh of relief.
"It's about time you came back, Jim lad," he said with deliberate nonchalance.
"No more Jamey?" asked Norrington with a smirk.
"After that addle-pated, half-cocked plan of yours? You're lucky not to be permanently saddled with the title 'lubberly numbskull.'"
"It drew them away from you and got me back safe and relatively sound, didn't it?" asked James, lying on the ground near Jack's bedroll. "Get some sleep, Sparrow. We've got a long walk ahead of us tomorrow."
"It would've been your funeral if it hadn't worked," said Jack darkly.
"Oddly enough, it was," said James lightly.
Surprisingly, that was all the reassurance Jack needed to lie back down on his bedroll and go promptly to sleep.
To ensure that they would leave no trail for anyone who chose to go looking for Jack or James's remains, James insisted that they cross the river frequently. Fortunately, it was shallow and rocky where they had camped, and they were able to hop on the stones for nearly a quarter mile before the river picked up speed and they had to return to cutting a path above the bank. After a miserable morning of helping Jack kill as many black flies and mosquitoes as humanly possible and discovering a plant that made Jack 's skin turn red and itch, they came across an indentation in the face of a bluff, from which a thin trickle of water flowed.
"I think this is it," Jack announced, flipping his compass open.
"The fountain?" asked James, absently crushing a mosquito that had landed on Jack's shoulder blade.
"No, this," said Jack, holding up the map fragment and pointing at a simple line drawing showing a waterfall pouring out of a rock.
James pursed his lips. "I could grow to despise this cartographer," he said.
"It could be that we're not dealing with a deceptive cartographer, merely an incompetent one," commented Jack.
"Regardless, I think it wise to cut due south from here. Don't you agree?"
"That's the way to the fountain," said Jack, slipping into a narrow trail that wound southward through the brush. The imprints of cloven hooves in the dried mud calmed James's nerves—the path they were following was made by deer, not men.
"You do realize that there may not even be a fountain," said James.
"Aye," said Jack.
"And we will never see our boat again."
"I think it likely," agreed Jack.
"Doesn't this bother you?"
"I figure we can seek quarter with Roger Williams and his ilk," said Jack. "No love lost between him and the people who want to kill you. Though we'll have to come up with a better story. Hiding with Puritans isn't really in the right idiom."
"Of course."
They continued on, saying little unrelated to finding their way, and spent an uneventful night camped among the trees, though it took Jack longer than usual to fall asleep, thanks to the itching. The next morning, James roused himself at dawn and wandered over to the stream they'd passed to fill Jack's water skin. However, he noticed something odd through the trees.
Once the skin was full, he returned to Jack, who was sucking on a piece of hardtack to soften it.
"I think there's a dwelling nearby," said James, handing him the water skin, from which Jack drank gratefully.
"Much obliged, Jamey. What did you see?"
"A white wooden fence," said James, pleased to have been promoted to Jamey once more. His sister had called him Jamey.
"Odd thing to find in the middle of the woods."
"My thoughts precisely."
"Do you suggest that we commence with sneaking so as to observe aforementioned fence without being seen ourselves?"
"You took the words right out of my mouth, Sparrow."
They packed their meagre belongings and picked their way quietly through the trees. To James's surprise, they encountered a cottage in the meadow that was straight out of a fairy tale. It was a lovely cottage with whitewashed walls and a thatched roof, and the mullioned windows shone in the morning sun. Bushes heavy with enormous roses flanked the front door and perfumed the air, and the clean white fence surrounded a garden, in which poles for growing beans could be seen. No smoke rose from the chimney, so it was impossible to tell if the house was occupied, but James knew instinctively that a dwelling this well-tended was being lived in.
Jack jerked his head in the direction of the fence, and they crept to the edge of the garden. The bounty in the small garden defied belief. All manner of vegetable grew there, many exotic plants, and most in unnatural stages of ripeness for the season. There were even fruit trees. James had no appetite, of course, but even he could appreciate the sight of tomatoes ripening on the vine. And Jack, who had probably lived on dried bread and beef for most of his adult life, was fairly salivating at the array of edibles. Before James could caution him, he had swung a leg over the top of the fence and hopped nimbly inside.
"Do you think that a wise idea, Sparrow?"
"Nobody's about, 'cept for ourselves," said Jack, seizing a red apple from the nearest tree and tossing it high in the air. "It'd be a shame to let all this good food go to waste."
Suddenly, there was a loud crack, and the apple exploded in mid-air. A shower of apple chunks rained down on Jack, who wasted no time in leaping back over the fence and away from the sharpshooter. James ducked as well and peered through the slats of the fence. The back door of the cottage opened, and to his shock, a stout woman in a linen shirt and long buckskin skirt stepped out of the door holding a rifle nearly as long as she was tall. As she walked, the butt of the rifle rested on her foot while she thrust a ramrod down the barrel. She kicked the gun up and expertly poured a bit of gunpowder down the touchhole, snapped the frazzle into place, and swung the extraordinary weapon upwards, aiming at the section of fence where Jack and James hid.
To James's surprise, Jack raised his hand above the fence, and, when he realized that she wasn't shooting, reluctantly exposed his arm, and eventually his head.
"Parley?" he asked, raising his other hand.
The woman wasn't impressed. "Stand up. You, too," she ordered, gesturing downward to where James squatted. Her round face, which under other circumstances could have been described as kindly, was set, her eyes wary. He slowly raised his hands and stood next to Jack.
"We beg your pardon, ma'am," said James. "Our apologies for intruding on your privacy."
"Privacy, my eye," she said. "He was trespassing and stealing."
"Visiting and borrowing," corrected Jack. "I would have left the apple somewhere nearby in one form or another."
The corner of the woman's mouth twitched, and James felt slightly less tense, for all that the barrel of her gun didn't waver. "So apart from stealing my apples, why are you here?"
"We're looking for something," said Jack cagily.
"What sort of something?"
"A fountain," said James.
"You found it," said the woman, jerking her head toward the centre of her garden. Sure enough, there was a small decorative fountain in the middle of a bed of pansies, not unlike those he had seen in English gardens.
"Not a fountain," said Jack. "The fountain."
"This is the only one in these parts," she said. "It's pretty enough, but it's the sound of it that makes the garden right peaceful."
"What my associate is trying to say is that the fountain we seek is one of legend," said James, "renowned for its restorative powers."
"Well, the folks up in Scituate have some tall tales about it, but you could say the same of me, too. Aw, hell, you might as well come in," she said, lowering her gun. "I can see you aren't the robbing sort. At least," she amended with a wink at Jack, "not robbing them as can't afford it."
A nasty thought occurred to James as he lowered his hands and followed Jack to the garden gate, which the woman opened for them. Perhaps she was correct and the map was a local creation that simply led to her garden fountain. After exchanging hands a few times, it was possible that a witch's fountain could evolve into the fountain of youth, especially if the map was used in bargaining or to settle debts.
"Since you're here, you might as well make yourself useful, longshanks," she said to James. "Reach up there and get me six or seven pears from the high branches. I've a pie to make this afternoon."
"Happy to oblige, madam."
"And take a few for yourself, while you're at it."
"You are too kind."
"And I can fetch you a cup if you must do that," she said, not bothering to look behind her where Jack had stuck his face in the plume of the fountain and was attempting to drink.
"You can't blame a man for trying," he murmured to James as he joined him, red-faced, by the pear tree.
James gave him a hard look and handed him the pears he had picked. They were still cool in the morning sun but their flesh gave slightly under gentle fingers, indicating their perfect ripeness.
Their hostess nodded and gestured for them to follow her into the house, which they did. The cottage's interior was every bit as picturesque as the exterior, with bundles of drying herbs hanging from the rafters, a loom in the corner strung with bright red wool, and a sunny, bright kitchen filled with brightly coloured dishes—a marked contrast to Goody Hardwicke's grey, colourless home.
She gestured for James and Jack to lay the pears on the countertop, and she rested the gun against the table. "Now," she said, tying an apron around her waist, "what do you call yourselves? And you can tell me your real names. I don't give a fig for politics."
"Captain Jack Sparrow and Jim Lad," said Jack promptly.
"Men of the sea," she said thoughtfully, taking a pear and peeling it with a sharp knife. "You've come a ways looking for my fountain. Well, I suppose I shouldn't be surprised, given your friend's condition. I haven't seen a dead man walk that well in nearly a hundred years."
Jack's mouth fell open in surprise, but Norrington's face remained neutral. "You are a woman who sees much."
"Only of what's hidden," she said lightly. "Otherwise, I see no more than most. You don't want that one," she said to Jack who was about to take a bite of one of the pears."Worm-eaten. Have this one."
Jack froze mid-bite and took the other pear, putting the fruit down on the cutting board. The woman slashed at it with her knife, and it fell open to reveal numerous brown tracks marring the creamy flesh.
"At least yours is a practical gift," commented James.
"All gifts are practical, James, if we choose to let them help us."
"You implied, mistress," said Jack, bowing respectfully, "that you had seen a curse like Jim lad's a hundred years ago. Now that, I confess, is a gift that I find quite interesting. May I ask exactly how it was you obtained it?"
"Don't ask questions you already know the answer to," she said. "And none of this 'mistress' fiddle-faddle. I'm Betty."
James made himself useful picking up the pear peels and putting them in the scrap bucket by the door. He caught sight of the garden through the window, its dewy grass sparkling in the morning sun. Surely she wasn't implying that the silly garden fountain was the secret of her youth. It was possible the woman was batty, but the unnatural freshness of her fruit, and the way it bloomed out of season was suggestive, certainly.
"I drank from your fountain, as you may recall," said Jack. "And I'm neither younger nor immortal."
"You wouldn't be," she said absently, slicing the peeled pears and coring them with precise cuts of the knife. "Not when there are material riches to be had."
That statement made both men's heads turn towards her in unison.
"What sort of material riches?" asked James suspiciously.
"Where are they?" asked Jack, grinning.
"About a hundred yards south in the clearing," she said, gesturing toward the far wall. "I think you'll find everything you need to know there. I can't be bothered to dig, myself, but you're welcome to whatever you find there."
Jack wasted no time in hustling out the door, leaving James at a loss for words. The woman expected nothing and continued to prepare her pie. "You don't suppose the fountain could cure me."
"I don't rightly know," she said, slicing the pears into paper-thin slices. "But I'd be surprised if it couldn't."
"But do you think it will?" he pressed.
She looked up from her slicing and gave him a piercing look. "That depends on your friend," she said. "You'd better go make sure he hasn't got into any mischief."
James rolled his eyes heavenward. "The man was made for mischief," he said, sighing.
She was still looking at him oddly. "Aye, that's plain enough. But it might do you good, at some point, to consider what else he might have been made for. Go on after him. I'll be here if you need me."
"Thank you, Miss Betty."
"Missus," she corrected, smiling.
***
James found Jack digging at the bottom of a pit at least thirty feet deep.
"What's this, Sparrow?"
"Buried treasure," said Jack absently. "Just like the good lady said."
"I see," said James, crossing his arms and adopting his most insufferable smirk. "And what led you to that particular conclusion?"
In reply, Jack tossed up an object which landed at James's feet. It was a skull.
"Any other reason?"
Two more skulls followed, and then a third.
"Sparrow, all you have succeeded in showing is that the hole in which you are currently stuck has killed people."
"M'not stuck" said Jack. "There are indentations in the side. You can use 'em to come down here and help me."
James looked at where Jack gestured, and reluctantly climbed down. The hand and footholds were surprisingly stable, and the pit had clearly been built with some grand purpose in mind. There were layers of oak logs every ten feet or so that had been hewed through with considerable difficulty by some other persons. When he reached the bottom, his feet squelched on wet mud, and Sparrow handed him a shovel.
"Where did this come from?"
"Presumably, they belonged to the gentlemen who also owned the skulls. Now, look at that!" Jack tapped with his shovel on the dirt below, which, to James's surprise, made a loud clunk. He scraped aside a thin layer of mud to reveal an inscription of bizarre characters and symbols.
"What does it mean?"
"Only three tiny, insignificant details. One, what do you smell in this hole?"
James breathed deeply. There was the expected smell of damp earth, moss, and decay, but there was also something else. "Salt," he said.
"Salt," agreed Jack. "Which indicates?"
"We're not far from the sea. One of the inlets, perhaps."
"Exactly," said Jack. "The next insignificant detail is the slab upon which we stand. Now, why would such a thing be at the bottom of a hole?"
"Because someone put it there," said James, rolling his eyes.
"Absolutment, ma petite Commodore!" said Jack. "And the third thing is the inscription," said Jack, "and this is privileged information, so I won't make you guess, but I can promise that this is the personal cipher of one of the most notorious pirates to sail the seven seas, excepting yours truly, of course. A pirate, I might mention, whose trove is rumoured to be in the millions."
"You don't think it could be a trap?" asked James. "The treasure is suspiciously close to the fabled fountain."
"Of course it's a trap," scoffed Jack. "The reason we smell the salt is probably because the shaft is connected to the sea, which means it could flood at any moment."
"Delightful. I'll wait up there, then, shall I?"
"Now, don't do that," said Jack placatingly. "Every trap that can be set can also be unset. It's up to you and me to figure how to unset it."
"Sparrow, we're practically in the shadow of a witch's house. I think we're in over our heads."
Jack grinned. "That's another pun, innit?"
"I'm being serious," said James.
"You're always being serious," complained Jack. "When was the last time you indulged in a bit of fun?"
James nearly mentioned all the singing they'd done but was ashamed to admit that it'd been the most fun he'd had since surrendering his post at Port Royal. Instead he sighed, and began to pick carefully around the edge of the carved granite slab.
"There's no chance that you can translate the cipher on the stone, is there?"
"Of course," said Jack. "It says 'Forty feet beneath lies two million pounds.'"
"It does not!" exclaimed James. "You're making that up."
"'Fraid not, Jim lad," said Jack breezily. "Now, we'll need to rig up a block and tackle or three to lift the stone, but as long as you and I are both on the surface when we lift it, we won't be caught in any artificial floods or other booby traps, and in a few short hours, we'll be able to find what that marker is hiding."
Surprisingly, Betty was able to provide all the necessary tools and rope, and between the endless supply of timber, James's superior carpentry skills, and Jack's gold lust, they had rigged a suitable tower. Jack was below, fitting rope beneath the corners of the stone and swearing hoarsely as water seeped beneath his feet, complicating the process.
It was then that James looked at the sun. It was late in the afternoon, and they had been exploring the pit for hours, and Sparrow hadn't stopped for food or drink. Since Jack's profanity required no response, James wandered back to Betty's cabin. He found her in the garden watering her plants with a bucket.
"How goes the digging?" she asked, her tone carefully neutral.
"As well as can be expected," said James.
"I would expect you to be a bit more excited by the prospect of such riches."
"Gold was never what I sought," said James, taking the bucket from her and refilling it in the fountain.
"No, it wasn't," said Betty in a faraway voice. "You always wanted a higher purpose. It began—ah, of course. Your father."
"Maimed in an accident when I was eight," said James softly, handing her the bucket. "I had to support my family."
"Then the war." The water from the bucket spattered softly on the ground beneath the apple tree.
"For king and country," said James wryly. "Then the Port Royal command."
"Protecting the weak and punishing the wicked," she said with a grin. "And how did that turn out?"
"Disaster. Ruin. Dissolution," said James, his light tone belying the seriousness of his words. "I nearly lost my soul trying to get back what I once had, only to find it wasn't what I wanted or needed."
"A change of heart?"
"The heart was always the same. It just got covered up by the external trappings." James's head was beginning to feel fuzzy. He wasn't quite sure what he was saying, but Betty nodded.
"Steadfast. But one thing I don't understand. Why did you take command in the Caribbean when your patron is in the Atlantic?"
"It was orders," said James. "And there were more pirates to hunt. And it was a bally great honour for a young post-captain."
"Aah," she said, nodding in satisfaction. "There we have it."
"What?" he asked, refilling her bucket once more.
"Pride," she said, streaming the water over a row of fine cabbages. "It nearly destroyed you. But now that you have known failure, James, I think you are no longer afraid of it."
He nodded slowly. "I ought to go ensure that Jack hasn't sunk completely into the mud."
"The mud isn't what traps most," said Betty.
"Is it magic?" asked James.
"Not a bit," said Betty sadly. "But it's a trap few men can get themselves out of once the idea of treasure sticks in their heads."
Norrington shook his head. "Truer words were never spoken. That damned fool hasn't stopped all day. Could I trouble you for a cup for him?"
"There's one next to the fountain," she said. She looked as if she wanted to say more, but refrained. She took the empty bucket into the house and paused in the doorway. "There's room in the shed if you need shelter for the evening. I think we'll have rain tonight."
James caught a glance of her over his shoulder as she watched him through the kitchen window.
Jack had just divested himself of the last of Purple Percy's ruined wardrobe, which was covered with black, slimy mud, and was in no mood to suffer cool, relatively clean observers. Especially when those clean observers viewed his not inconsiderable charms, slightly smudged though they were, with perfect, calm impassivity. What did it matter if the man was dead? He still had feelings, didn't he?
Jack was about to lay into Norrington with the sharp edge of his tongue when he saw that the object of his ire was holding a battered tin cup of water. The invective died on his tongue and turned into a whinge.
"The bloody thing must be four bloody feet thick! It's not a marker, it's a bloody monolith!"
"You sound like a Puritan's pamphlet," remarked James, holding the cup out to Jack.
He sat down hard on a stump and gratefully tossed the water down his throat. It was the perfect temperature, and his entire body, which until a moment ago had been hot and sore, felt utterly refreshed.
"Needed that, mate. Much obliged." He stood and stretched. "I suppose the treasure wouldn't still be here if it were easy to get to, now would it? I've got the rope into a couple of notches halfway down that will probably hold if we lift her nice and easy. But I need to make sure what I think the bottom really is. And shave your head while you sleep," he added, when he saw that Norrington was staring at him with a blank look on his face. "Gone somewhere nice, Jim lad?"
"Sparrow," he said faintly. "Do me the favour of wiping your face."
Jack was about to reply with a tart comment when he realized that Norrington was afraid, or near enough to it. Jack seized the jacket he'd abandoned and wiped his face on the silken lining. "Now that I've made meself presentable-like, can you tell me what's got you pale as Caesar's ghost?"
"I don't—" he began. "You—the fountain worked, Sparrow."
Jack's first downward glance confirmed that he had not suddenly been returned to childhood, as he had feared the fountain might do in his private reflection. He raised his muddy hands to his face. Lillith and Morgan, the palm creases did look a bit shallower, and the backs possibly less vein-y, but it was hard to tell. He felt a keen desire to see what had shocked Norrington so, and he took off running toward the cottage to see if Betty had a looking glass. As he ran, he simultaneously realized why he felt so much cooler and why Norrington had been so shocked. His hair, his crowning glory that delighted lovers with its abundance and struck fear in the heart of his enemies, knowing as they did that each trinket represented an antagonist dispatched, was gone. He ripped off his bandana and he sighed in relief when several inches, of glossy brown hair flopped down, nearly to his eyes.
He sighed in relief, and ran back to the cottage. He pushed on the door, but found it locked. Banging on the door had no effect—the witch was probably out. So much the better for her, Jack reflected with a grin, given his state of dishabille. Norrington might have been dead from the waist down—and up—but Betty clearly wasn't.
He tried to steal a glance of himself in the mullioned windows, but the tiny panes of glass fractured his reflection into pieces that made no sense in terms of the whole. He ran around back, vaulted the garden fence, and tried the back door, but it too was locked. He looked around for anything reflective when his gaze fell on the fountain, which sprayed innocently into the air. He ran to its edge, willing the surface to be still enough for him to see. The soft ripples refracted through one another and lost energy, and eventually stilled, reflecting the clouds overhead.
The face that looked back at him was both a shock, and not. The hair was drastically different, of course, cut bluntly across his forehead, as he had worn it before turning pirate, and the face, while hardly pale, had none of the leathery aspect to which he had grown accustomed, or the swarthy colour Norrington had been right—it did work. He'd made the fountain work somehow. But how?
His reverie was interrupted by the sound of the garden gate opening and shutting. Norrington still looked a bit pale, but resolute. He looked so deadly serious that Jack couldn't help trying to lighten the mood a bit.
"Well, what do you think, Jamey? Is it me?"
"You look—" Norrington seemed to struggle for words, "—well."
"That's hardly news, now is it," said Jack, striking a mincing pose.
Norrington acknowledged the inanity of the comment with a wry grimace. "How do you feel?"
"Young. Strong. Stupid," said Jack, grinning. "Euphoric. Thaumaturgic, even."
Norrington glanced at the door of the cabin, and Jack shook his head. "''Fraid we're on our own for the nonce. Which means that we've got some figuring to do."
"You mean why the fountain worked the second time and not the first?"
"Something like that," said Jack, glancing at the sky. "Trust a woman to lock us out with a storm coming our way."
"She offered us shelter in the shed," said James.
"Since when?" asked Jack, picking up his bedroll and bag from the pile of equipment they'd left by the gate that morning.
James followed suit and hoisted his bag over his shoulder. "Since the decidedly odd conversation we had when I filled your cup."
"Oh?" asked Jack, pulling on his own trousers with a sigh. "She didn't happen to mention how to make the fountain work, did she?"
"It didn't come up," said James. "Hang on, let's think about this. The fountain had no effect when you tried to steal a sip earlier, correct?"
"Yeah," said Jack, unlatching the shed door and following James in. It was a tidy little place, with numerous useful tools hanging neatly from the walls. There was even a small cot, presumably used by a hired hand, if needed.
"But the water I brought restored you."
Jack stroked his chin thoughtfully, missing his braid. "I begin to take your meaning."
"And the fruits of the garden," said James, pacing in his excitement. "She gives them fountain water from a bucket."
"So I need to dump a bucket of water on you," finished Jack. At Norrington's pointed look, he shrugged. "All right, or maybe it's the act of giving the water to another person what does it, but I still think we should try the bucket, just to make sure."
It could have been his imagination, but it seemed to Jack that the Commodore's face, that had been as still and impassive as marble since returning from death, was subtly illuminated.
"Far be it from me to impede experimentation," he said blandly, though Jack knew it to be ironic-blandness, rather than bland-blandness.
Curious now, Jack hopped the garden fence while Norrington went through the gate. The sky was completely filled with dark clouds, and the wind had picked up. He wished he'd put on a shirt. Norrington was looking for something around the fountain.
"What did you do with the cup I gave you?"
"Don't remember," said Jack. "Dropped it by the pit, maybe."
"She must have taken the bucket inside," said Norrington. "I didn't see one in the shed, either."
"We'll make do," said Jack. "I think you should try a sip on your ownsies once. Just to replicate the conditions of my success, of course."
Norrington looked at him oddly, but made no objection as he bent forward into the spray. He swallowed and made a face. "It's still like drinking sand," he said. "I'll go back to the site to look for the cup."
"Don't be a tit," said Jack, bending over the fountain and cupping his hands. "Drink. It doesn't take much."
"Your hands are filthy."
"Not afraid of getting sick, are you?"
It hadn't ever really occurred to Jack how much taller the Commodore was until watching him awkwardly kneel beside him and lower his face to Jack's hands. It also hadn't ever occurred to Jack to look at the back of James's neck, just below his collar, where the wisps of his dark hair curled beneath the thick queue, looking like wisps of smoke over snow. But this was soon forgotten as James's lips pressed against his palm and drew the cool water away. It was surely the cold wind that made Jack shiver and not James's tongue seeking the last drops of precious water.
James sat back on his heels, his fingers unconsciously worrying his bottom lip. Jack's eyes never left his face. It could happen in the blink of an eye. Tense seconds passed, but his face didn't change. It was still as marble, but for the occasional blink.
Jack was unprepared for the sinking feeling in his belly, especially since he knew that Norrington was no worse off now than he had been. Still, the water should have worked. In frustration he dipped his hand in the water and splashed a copious amount on Norrington.
He recoiled as the cold water hit his face. "What the devil was that for, Sparrow?"
Jack was unprepared for the flash of temper, and his own roared to life to match it. "Trying to find some other way to save your bony arse, seeing as you can't be bothered!"
Norrington looked at him as if he were hopelessly thick. "Sparrow," he said impatiently. "The sip of water worked."
"No," scoffed Jack. "If it worked then why—" he trailed off as Norrington broke into a smile so bright that Jack nearly forgot the coming storm. "You sod!" he shouted, unable to keep his own grin in check. "You utter sod, you just sat there like a bloody statue! And why in the name of knickers did you get to keep all your hair?" He tugged on James's queue. "Hardly seems fair, does it?"
Norrington ignored him in favour of filling his own hands with water and drinking deeply. A look of deep contentment passed over his face as he swallowed. His eyes were shining with warmth and excitement as he looked at Jack, and Jack felt an answering laugh bubble up in his throat. They'd done it.
"You ought to come in and have some pie before the rain starts," remarked a voice from behind them.
They turned to find Betty standing at the garden gate with a basket full of mushrooms. Her eyes passed over Jack far too quickly for his taste and settled on Norrington. Whatever she saw was clearly to her satisfaction, and her eyes returned to Jack, this time more thoughtfully. Jack had known his share of witches, but he'd never felt so naked under the gaze of one as he did then. Except when he actually was naked, of course, and he was only half.
"We'd be delighted," said Norrington, seemingly oblivious to Betty's perusal.
The obsequious lick-spittle even went so far as to take the basket and carry it inside for her. Jack was grateful as the next man to be young again, perhaps permanently, but there was no point in making a production out of it. Still, once Betty had unlocked the door, he held it open for both of them to enter. No point in taking chances, even if the miracle had already been done.
***
That night found James and Jack huddled in the shed by the light of a lantern James had found hanging in a dark corner. The tallow candle emitted a faintly rank smell as it burned, and an ancient fug of greasy soot darkened the glass, but it was a comforting thing as the storm raged outside. James was glad he'd taken advantage of Betty's offer of food, because as wonderful as it was to eat and drink again, their rations were running low, and there was still the question of what to do next. Scituate was too dangerous, of course, and hardly worth the effort of returning, since the Puritans had undoubtedly seized all of their possessions, including the boat, looking for evidence of his treachery. And the last bit of their accord had been for them to go their separate ways.
Sparrow, damn the man, was lying on the floor on his bedroll, splicing two lengths of rope, looking to all appearances as if he hadn't a care in the world.
"I don't suppose you've given any thought to what you're going to do next," said James, breaking the relative silence.
"Calm a Commodore who frets too much," said Sparrow. "You grind your teeth, you know. Irritating habit, that."
"I wasn't—never mind," said James. "Answer the damned question, Sparrow."
"Not 'til you call me by my Christian name," said Jack, crossing his arms. "If we're to consider continuing our association until such a time as it behooves us to part, I'm not going to stand for being Sparrow this and Sparrow that."
"That's rather begging the question, now, isn't it?"
"Hardly," said Jack. "As I see it, you've got nowhere to go and not a farthing to your name. Whereas my ship lies due south of here, and I have a usually-unerring piece of equipment to take us to her," he tapped the compass beneath his shirt. The sound it made gave James the odd impression that Jack's chest was empty. "So this time I'm calling the shots, mate. Thus, our first job is to coax that recalcitrant pit to give up its treasure."
"If your ship is currently south of here, wouldn't it be in our interest to get to her before she sails away?"
"Barbossa couldn't drag his people through the swamp for weeks and leave without finding the fountain—he'd have a mutiny on his hands. And deliciously ironic as that would be, he would probably just abandon the Pearl and her crew for a whopping great bribe, something we'll be able to provide, once we get to the bottom of the hole."
"I don't like it."
"As if you have any other option, mate." Jack's teeth flashed in the dim light as he lay back, confident in his argument.
"I could leave," said James simply. "I know the lay of the land, and now that I have a pretty good idea of which way the winds of heresy blow, I could easily live among the Puritan heretics for as long as it would take to find a ship's crew to join."
"I'm to believe that a former Commodore of his majesty's Navy and Admiral of a vast East India Company fleet would be content to join a crew as a mere able seaman?" scoffed Jack.
James's first instinct was to bristle, but Betty's warning about pride rang in his ears. He thought for a moment about what it would be like to start back at the beginning, without connections or even a name—holystoning the deck, hours aloft on middle watch, coarse company, and truly poor victuals. But then he remembered how quickly a man could prove himself; how quickly a man could rise on his own talents based on the vagaries of service and the sea. If he were to stay in the Atlantic in merchant service, where it was unlikely that he'd be recognized, he might make a tidy living, and eventually have his own ship once more. The blessings of his god were, of course, not assured, but to be an eager supplicant in his realm would be a pleasure, if not a reliable boon.
"You know, Jack," he said, flipping the name sardonically, "I rather think I would."
Jack frowned—an expression that James noted with satisfaction wasn't nearly as frightening coming from a clean-shaven face utterly lacking in the accoutrements of intimidation with which Sparrow had adorned himself. Given his crew's known propensity toward mutiny, once the novelty of Sparrow's regained youth had worn off, he would likely have discipline problems.
"Curious, isn't it," James remarked. "We thought finding the fountain was the answer, but it seems to have raised more questions than it solved."
"The way I see it," said Jack, "We could go our separate ways and meditate on the fickleness of fate in our unnaturally long lives," said Jack, "or we could continue with the excavation so we can drink champagne and dine on pheasant while meditating on the fickleness of fate in our unnaturally long lives. It's not as if we won't have enough time to do things afters."
"One wonders if that attitude was shared by the poor souls who died in the pit," remarked James. "When one has all the time in the world, perhaps starting on something worthwhile is the most difficult thing."
"If that's the case, then you'd better stay to save me from me own self-destructive tendencies," said Jack, looking up at James with wide, innocent eyes.
James couldn't resist smirking at Jack's attempt to use his baby face. He was a fast study, certainly. "You assume I have some sort of interest in saving you from yourself."
"Stick around, Jamey," said Jack, lowering his voice. "I might surprise you."
Perhaps it was an effect of having been dead for a period of time, but there seemed to be an undercurrent of something in Jack's voice that made James slightly uncomfortable, for all that it wasn't an entirely unpleasant discomfort.
"You might surprise me. There might be treasure at the bottom of the pit. We might take the Pearl. Are you accustomed to receiving credit on speculation?"
"There might have been a fountain of youth," said Jack pointedly. "And it might have lifted your curse. I'd say speculating has paid dividends for you, Jamey."
"You were finishing the job the god sent you to do," insisted James, doing his best to ignore the reaction that his body was having to Jack's predatory tone. "What's to stop you from trying to bargain away my soul the way you tried to before? Or send me out to fight an unkillable foe again?"
It wasn't his imagination. Sparrow was most insistently giving him the once-over. "Then you need to be very careful, my dear Jamey, to make sure that soul is attached to something I want."
James had been at sea long enough to know the look in Sparrow's eye, but there was nothing to do but to make him be explicit. There was no room for misinterpretation. "And how, exactly, do you suggest I do that, Jack?" he asked in his coldest voice.
"You could start by taking off your shirt," said Jack. "I want to see if you're really as pale as that curse wanted me to believe."
James swallowed. His feelings were in an impenetrable jumble, somewhere between outrage and quivering with anticipation, with a bit of curiosity and fury thrown in for good measure. Being dead had been far simpler. However, his fingers moved seemingly of their own accord and he untied his necktie.
Jack's eyes glowed like coals as he pulled the tie gently from the collar of his shirt. "That's a lad," he said softly.
James's fingers were shaking and clumsy as he undid the buttons and pulled open his shirt, exposing his chest. The shed wasn't warm, but James knew it wasn't the temperature that caused gooseflesh to ripple over his skin.
"Knew it," he said with satisfaction "Rosy as a milkmaid." He cocked his head at him, regarding. "But not a maid, are you, Jamey?"
"This cannot be what you want," said James, grateful his voice was flat, despite the fact that his heart was hammering in his throat.
"You don't know that. I don't know that. But we can try to suss it out together, can't we?" Jack reached out and ran his thumb over the nub of James's chin, and the pad of his finger dragged gently over the nascent stubble that was beginning to grow in. "Good to see this," he said. "Unnatural to see you without. Made you look like a boy—a statue of a boy."
"I know what you mean," said James wryly, glancing pointedly at Jack's youthful face.
He smiled. "Ain't it luck for the both of us that I don't have to look at meself, then? B'sides, I reckon I'm around your age, so now I'm just right."
"Just right for what, Sparrow?" asked James, unconsciously reverting to the more familiar name. If Sparrow didn't do something soon he was going to have an apoplexy.
"Just right to give you my favour and, if you like, receive yours in return," said Jack, his face flashing mild impatience. "Is that what you wanted to hear?"
At last, the words James longed for and feared. His blood was pounding in his ears, and he felt as if his breathing was having no effect. He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. He swallowed hard and was ashamed to feel tears rising in his eyes.
His eyes widening in alarm, Jack took his arm and gently helped him down on the cot. "I'm sorry, Jim lad. P'raps I misread the situation. I'll, ah, go take a walk. Or something."
James seized his hand in an iron grip. "Don't," he said, scarcely recognizing the heated whisper as his own. "Don't leave."
Jack returned his frown, but when he looked into James's face, he clearly saw something encouraging, because he broke into a smile that made James's heart swell.
"Why, Commodore," he said, "I fear you've been overcome."
"Not yet," said James, slipping back into his characteristic dryness. "But I do hope that's something you will be remedying in the near future, Sparrow."
Sparrow, James thought as the man lowered his lips to his own. What a delightful word.
For several glorious minutes, his mind was too pleasantly occupied for further contemplation when Jack attempted to break the kiss, only to be thwarted by James firmly suckling his lower lip. Belatedly, he released Jack's mouth, which was reddened from the exercise.
"Do we have an accord?"
"Wha—?" asked James.
"An accord," said Jack, planting a noisy smack on his forehead. "A mutually agreed-upon course of action—" another kiss on the tip of his nose "—between two interested parties." the third kiss landed on his chin. Tease.
James shook his head, as if to clear water from his ears. "I haven't the slightest idea what we're meant to have an accord about."
"Our plans," said Jack throatily in James's ear.
Jack's hot breath on the skin of his neck made him shiver, and James belatedly realized that Jack was attempting to distract him from their earlier disagreement. Well, two could play at that game.
"Item," said James, propping himself up on his elbows and kissing Jack gently on the lips. "We leave this place immediately in search of your ship."
Sparrow froze. "I don't recall agreeing to that."
"Subparagraph A: Two men cannot efficiently excavate the pit. Evidence: numerous skulls, human, of varying degrees of age."
"You know how to kill a mood," complained Sparrow, flopping down next to James on the cot.
Encouraged, James kissed him once again, this time more firmly. "Subparagraph B: Barbossa seeks the fountain of youth. You will convince him to surrender the ship and crew to you in exchange for leading him to the fountain. Evidence that you will succeed: your lovely, sweet, unnaturally young face." James couldn't resist ghosting his fingers over Jack's beautiful cheekbones and cradling his jaw.
"Well, when you put it that way," said Jack, leaning into the caress.
"Item: We resupply at Charlestown and return here with the crew."
"Funny, I don't recall that provision either," said Jack, kicking off his boots. "However, I'm amenable to being persuaded."
James couldn't help himself. He pulled Jack's shirt up and with halting hands touched the golden skin of his belly. "If the treasure numbers in the millions, even the lowest seaman's share would set him up for life." His own voice sounded distant in his ears.
"True," said Jack, arching into James's hand.
"However, we leave Barbossa and crew to excavate," said James, lowering his face to the flat planes of Jack's stomach and pressing a kiss next to his navel."
"What's to stop him leaving us?" asked Jack, eyes fluttering shut.
"A group of pirates with no ship in Puritan territory? Take your pick."
Jack sighed as James swirled his tongue in his navel. "And where are we? I forget."
"We sail to the Caribbean for Captain Swann."
Jack's eyes flew open. "What?"
"She did us a good turn, Jack."
"She did you a good turn. She'd just as soon see me hanged."
"That's not quite how I remember it," said James soothingly, resting his head against Jack's middle. There was a trail of wiry hairs leading from just below his navel down past the waist of his trousers that James felt an absurd desire to follow.
"No, I s'pose you're right," said Jack, sounding placated, but not entirely happy. He smoothed James's hair back from his face. "So why do we plumb the dens of villainy for the treacherous strumpet, exactly?"
"So we can give her water from the fountain, of course," said James, kissing his way gently toward the top of Jack's trousers, which were tenting impressively from the attention. James's cock gave an answering twitch.
Jack's fuzzy gaze sharpened, but then he began to chuckle. "You soft bugger," he said.
James pressed his arousal to Jack's side. "Hardly."
Jack emitted a gravelly groan. "Well, Commodore, if that's the lot of your items and subparagraphs, I have a few addendums of my own."
James settled between Jack and the wall. "I find myself in a magnanimous mood," he said. "State your case."
"Item: I'm Captain."
"That's only fair, considering that it's your boat, on occasion," said James, nuzzling Jack's shoulder.
"What about my subparagraphs, eh?" asked Jack turning on his side to face James.
"Redundant, I'm afraid," said James, sliding Jack's shirt to one side and kissing the base of his neck.
"So you agree to be ship's carpenter for always and always, then?"
James paused in his efforts to remove Jack's shirt. "That was one of your subparagraphs?"
"You'll never know, will you?"
"Bloody pirates," James grumbled into Jack's neck. "Realise that if you try to sneak in provisions I'm just going to make you recite them all."
"All right, you don't have to be ship's carpenter all the time. Just when we need you, agreed?" He punctuated his last word by wrapping his arm around James and kissing him fiercely.
"Agreed," gasped James when Jack released him."Anything other items for discussion?" he asked, more to give himself time to get his impulse to grind himself against Jack under control.
"Sod them," said Jack, making no attempt to rein in his similar impulse. "Accord?"
James had never seen anything so beautiful as a pair of dark eyes blazing with passion for him. He couldn't look away. He cradled Jack's face in his hand, gently stroking it, as something without price.
"Accord," he whispered, and proceeded to break the moment by pulling Jack to him and holding him as tightly as he could. He let out a shuddering sigh and relaxed unwillingly, never wanting the moment to end. And yet, each moment in the past minutes had been finer than the previous, and he had no reason to believe that the trend wouldn't continue.
Jack chose this moment to wriggle out of James's embrace. "Finally," he said, doffing his loosened shirt and unfastening his trousers with alacrity. They fell to the floor, and Jack stood before him in the nude. It was a sight that James had seen more often than he could have possibly anticipated during their hunt, and yet this time his body made him aware of all it had missed when he had seen Jack similarly while cursed. And it wasn't simply the blunt, thick erection that jutted proudly from the mess of black curls between Jack's legs. It wasn't just the golden colour of his skin, or the way his flesh appeared sculpted with utter perfection, neither too slender nor too bulky. It wasn't even his own body's reaction, the sharp stab of need that knifed through his midsection and made his hands itch to run his hands over that warm skin. It was the sight of his own need mirrored in Jack's face, and the knowledge that he was desired in return, despite their frequently adversarial relationship. James felt the corner of his mouth rise in amusement. Perhaps even because of it.
"See something you like, Jamey?" taunted Sparrow, cocking his hip to one side and clasping his hands over his head, which made the muscles in his arms tense.
"One must make do."
"Aye, one must," agreed Jack. "Even when circumstances toss one a stuffed-shirt, imperious, smug, bloody-minded, slack-arsed Commodore."
"Come now, Sparrow," said James, rising languidly from his recumbent pose. "Slack-arsed?"
Jack seized him by his shirt and pulled him into a searing kiss. James wriggled his shoulders and slipped out of the shirt, and Jack's hands fumbled with the tops of his breeches before unfastening them and allowing them to fall to his feet. A curious hand slid down his waist, around his hip, and experimentally squeezed one of his buttocks.
"All right, not slack-arsed, then," conceded Jack, pulling him close.
They both gasped as their arousals brushed, and as if by mutual agreement, they pressed against one another. James found that Jack's shoulder was an ideal place to nibble and lick, his salty skin reddening from the attention.
For his part, Jack's head was thrown back, and his entire body shook as he rutted against James. His breathing was fast and irregular. All too soon, James felt the blood begin to pound in his ears, and he flung his arms around Jack squeezing in time with his thrusts. The hardness between their bodies grew to near-unbearable, and the sweet, hot friction of Jack's arousal against his finally culminated in a climax that wrenched a primal cry from his throat. His body arched against Jack's, ecstatic spasm after spasm. Jack, not to be outdone, let loose a volley of deliciously filthy invective and a climax of his own so powerful that James could feel Jack's hot ejaculate on his chest. They held one another, until the last spasm had passed, leaving exhausted warmth in its wake.
They fell, panting and shaking, on the cot together, James crawling weakly atop Jack and kissing him with all the admiration, gratitude, and joy that filled him. Jack looked up at him in surprise, which quickly became a wry smile.
"That's one part of being young again I hadn't anticipated," he admitted. "My stamina, once renowned around the seven seas, isn't what it was."
James stared at him in disbelief for a moment, but frowned and began to wipe their shared release from his stomach and chest. "You needn't fish for compliments, Sparrow. You can't have missed the evidence that I found this experience to be perfectly satisfactory."
"Satisfactory, my arse. You almost fainted."
"I didn't hear any complaints from your quarter either," retorted James, hating the undercurrent of vulnerability in his voice.
Unfortunately, Sparrow seemed to hear it. "You've nothing to be ashamed of, Jamey," he said, kissing his shoulder. "Now, if you don't mind my asking—"
James could see where this was going and had no wish to talk about it. "I do mind."
"Was that your, well, virgin voyage into depravity of this sort?"
"Associating with a known pirate?" asked James, attempting to make light of it. "It's a hanging offence in the Navy, you know."
"So's one of the equally pleasurable activities we are, through temporary anatomical limitation, currently unable to explore."
"True."
After a moment's silence made clear that he wasn't going to get any additional information on the subject, Jack nodded, seemingly accepting the non-answer.
"The worst of the storm's passed," he remarked, turning over on his side insinuating his astonishingly perfect posterior against James. "P'raps we'll even be able to sleep tonight. Digging's hard work, you know. Or perhaps you don't?"
James chose to ignore anydouble entendre present in the question, and wrapped his arm around Jack's waist. "Shut up, Sparrow," he murmured in his ear.
"Sod off, Norrington," returned Jack, pulling James's arm more tightly around him.
James sighed, warm and contented. It was good to be alive. Even if Jack left in the night or was unable to overcome the lure of the treasure pit or even marooned him on an island somewhere, tonight in itself had been worth it.
The pillow was soft beneath their heads, and they slept.
***
The following morning found Betty outside cleaning up the mess the storm had made of her garden. There were fallen branches everywhere, and the almond tree had been cloven in two from a bolt of lightning. Once the smaller branches had been put in the brush pile to dry for kindling, she considered the remains of the almond tree. James was a clever man with wood, she knew, and she could use his assistance. She wiped her hands on her apron and wandered over to the treasure trap, but to her surprise, neither James nor his friend was there.
A knowing smile crossed her face. Either they'd killed one another or reconciled their differences amicably. She made her way quietly to the shed, peered inside and was surprised to find the shed empty, save for a battered leather Bible, left there by one of the hired help years ago. Its cover was cracked and dusty, but it lay open on the empty cot, and a beam of morning sunshine lit the onionskin pages.
She peered closer and saw that one passage in the New Testament had been underlined crudely in black, presumably soot from the match next to the lantern.
For where your treasure is, there will your heart be also.
Betty stood looking at the book, then placed the ribbon placeholder in between the pages and closed the cover, its ancient leather creaking. She smiled to herself as she carried the book into the cottage and laid it on the table.
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