Never Say Die

3. Viejo Maracombe

by

Hippediva and Elessil

Had he sunk even lower now, to be grateful for Sparrow as a companion?

Sometimes, rum was better than tea.

The coat rustled and he glanced at it, at the bulge revealing an inner pocket... Something was inside, softer than wood, harder than paper. He pulled it out, unrolling the tiny segments. He'd seen this material, down in the East when he'd sailed bound for redemption and returned to hell. The paintings were dark and the bamboo glared in the sun, the circles on it shifting. A chart?

A low noise behind him cut through the air and he flinched. Sparrow stretched and smacked his lips, his toe tugging at the tiller and pulling them off course. Norrington quickly stuffed the map back into the coat.

Jack snorted himself awake and automatically adjusted their course, then dozed momentarily before both black eyes snapped open and he stared at Norrington blankly.

He'd been dreaming of salt beaches, stretching for an eternity on a pitiless shore, where there was no sound except the scrape of his boots. He took a deep breath. Norrington? How in hell? Jack's mind played hopscotch for a second or two. "Mornin'."

Norrington's lips quirked into a brief smile. "Good morning." He felt the urge to laugh. Quite the way to wake the first time after his death.

Jack disentangled his big toe from the line and pulled his boot back on, stretching and cracking every vertebra in the process. His answering grin was cheerful. "You look a bit refreshed. We're heading to Viejo Maracombe. Shouldn't take too long, now." He shifted to splash a bit of seawater on his face, by way of a morning wash, and promptly fetched a mirror out of his bottomless coat pocket.

Norrington grimaced. "I suppose hoping for you to ever make port anywhere respectable is in vain?" He stalked across the tiny boat, grabbed the bucket and poured the slop overboard.

With a crooked smirk, he unbuttoned his waistcoat. "Better I sink this now, lest I want to sink along with it."

"Any port in a storm, mate. We've no more rum and precious little water." Jack watched the vivid yellow darken and crumple beneath the waves and he could not be sorry to see it disappear. "Wise man! No one would wear that colour of their own bloody volition anyway."

He tossed the water skin, still lashed to the mast, at James.

"There was a hole in it. Terribly unfashionable." The forced laughter barely sufficed to contain Norrington's shudder, and he tipped the skin back, cool water dribbling over his lips. "Why am I not surprised you did not bring any victuals but rum?"

"How far d'ya think I could get in this?" Jack was characteristically mum on explanations of how he knew the currents well enough to guide them with his big toe. "There'll be plenty of food once we're ashore." He eyed his brave black flag and regretfully took it from the mast.

As reverently as a priest with holy things, he folded it and stuffed it in his coat, reemerging with a small vial. For the next five minutes, he was thoroughly occupied fixing his eyepaint.

Norrington's only comment was an arched eyebrow. "Incapable of deciding whether to arrive as the legend, or incognito, Sparrow?"

"Less known'll keep you alive hereabouts." Jack's voice was light but his eyes, startlingly black, were hard. "This isn't Port Royal, luv. An' even if it were, why should I alert anyone to my presence?"

The sun beat down on them as they hugged the shoals and Jack made a game of weaving around the islets until they could see the larger island looming ahead. It did not look very promising to James.

He stretched and as they approached a smaller inlet, perfect for mooring, a little removed from the shabby docks, he wordlessly and without a command, reefed the mainsail, then, finally, jumped overboard to push the tiny dinghy onto the filthy sand.

Sparrow, meanwhile, dithered with his 'effects' and eyed the rum bottle. It was still empty except for the tiny silver crab. He scowled. Best to leave it corked up in there. He got wet much too often to tie it into his hair. He sniffed. Such a damned bother.

He hopped into the surf to help James settle the little boat and stood stock-still, staring at the gaping hole in the back of Norrington's shirt, ragged and bloodstained. His eyes grew wide and he swallowed back a rush of bile.

He shuddered and looked elsewhere. "Take the water skin. Think we've got ev'rythin' else." Jack knotted a quick sling around the rum bottle and hauled it over his shoulder. He promised himself he would find something less bulky to safeguard it later.

Norrington nodded, without a word, tying the waterskin onto his belt, next to the empty sheath. "My last shoreleave was some time ago, but I believe one receives bottles and tankards in taverns, and need not bring one's own."

He'd noticed Sparrow's shudder but had little inclination to speak of it, feeling the itch of dried blood far too well.

"Aye, but it never hurts t'have somethin' t' sling around in a fight." Jack swallowed again at the matching hole in James' shirtfront. "An' you need some new togs."

"Sea creatures. You know how they are, poking and pinching where they can."

Jack's eyes narrowed but he said nothing as they started up the beach. He could swear he heard someone calling his name, but that was absolutely no guarantee he wasn't just hearing things again. He shook his head so hard it jangled.

"JAAACCCK! JAAAAAAAAAAACK!"

"Do you hear that?"

"No, Sparrow, I hang onto your every word, so I am utterly deaf to the rest of the world," Norrington drawled. "Of course I hear it."

"Oh good."

"SPARROW, YA CRAZY BILGERAT!"

Jack looked around, startled. "So much for anonymity."

At the end of the beach, a lone figure was waving its arms like a pinwheel. Instinctively, Jack paused, then trudged through the sand behind James.

"Very wise. Everyone who hates you will at least have an inkling of sympathy for me. Or at least pity." Norrington kicked up a bit of sand. "So, should we meet this admirer of yours, or run?"

Jack stopped and held up one finger. "Wind's fair. I say we meet 'im. Mebbe he'll buy us a drink."

The figure was running towards them, getting more portly with every step. Jack squinted, then grinned and whooped, scaring James out of his wits.

"AHOY! GIBBSY!"

Norrington delicately cleared his throat when the babble about sea turtles and porcupines became too much to bear. "Good day, Mr. Gibbs."

Joshamee stopped mid-turtle and stared up at his former commander with an expression that wavered between outright disbelief and a bellyache. "A-Ad-Admiral Norrington?"

Norrington snorted. "Not anymore."

"He's switched sides too. "

Gibbs looked confused. "Yer not Norrington anymore?"

Jack rolled his eyes.

"Oh, I believe I have not yet been disinherited, although my company would certainly warrant it." Norrington cast a sidelong glance at Jack and stretched out his hand. "Good to see you, I suppose."

Gibbs fidgeted and wiped his grimy hand on his equally filthy breeches before shaking Norrington's hand. "How in blazes...?" He looked to Jack for an answer.

"Sea turtles, Josh. Lots of 'em." Jack grinned.

"Good to see you, sir! Very fine indeed! We was all..." Jack elbowed him in the ribs.

"Ahem... yes, well, Cap'n. Wot orders?"

Jack looked at the lone tavern, sagging near a cluster of ramshackle huts. "Rum, of course. Ran out. An' James here needs some clothes." Jack leaned close to Gibbs' ear. "Don't mention the hole in 'is shirt. Bad luck."

Gibbs spat into the wind and turned three times.

Jack ducked the flying spittle.

Norrington cleared his throat once more. Touching, really, all the pirates' reactions to his death. He grimaced and hoped Gibbs hadn't spoken a rousing eulogy after a bottle or two. "And a ship, I would suggest."

"Aye, we need a ship. Wot's in port, Gibbs?"

Joshamee pointed into the cove. Besides Jack's dinghy, there were a few sad fishing boats, a ramshackle pair of ketches fit only for a wrecking yard. Then Jack's eyes brightened.

Moored almost at the furthest end of the cove was a small sloop, a pretty little prize, her three headsails quivering in the wind.

A breeze teased past his ear, whispering, "She pretty boat for you. Take you far. Hic."

The smile that spread across his face was like a sunrise. "I knew ya couldn't stay mad at ole Jack."

"I can," Norrington drawled.

Gibbs looked at Norrington. Jack danced toward the path to the tavern. "I don't know 'bout you lads, but I need a drink. A REAALLY big one."

"Sparrow, I am not wearing that." Norrington scowled at the ragged shirt that reeked despite a recent wash.

"How 'bout this one?" Jack headed around the back of the tavern, plucking wash from a line as though picking flowers. He tossed a worn but almost-clean shirt at James.

"My thanks," James huffed, quickly exchanging it for his own. Thanking a pirate for stealing clothes. Resurrection was not what it was made out to be.

Gibbs held up a lady's mantle.

Both Norrington and Jack glared. He grinned and hid it behind his back.

A thin leather waistcoat flapped in the air and slapped Sparrow with its coattails. James brightened. "I like that one."

Jack glanced right and left, then pulled it from the line. Gibbs was dancing around on one foot as a large fishwife filled the shack's doorway. "Cap'n!"

Jack grabbed James' arm and slipped behind another of the tumbling shacks with Gibbs huffing in pursuit. "C'mon! In the back."

James cowered next to Jack, then, as they heard more steps approaching, they bolted. "I really do not think holes in clothing are the latest fashion in London."

"You could start a fashion." Jack chortled, breezing them right through the tavern's back door.

The place was nearly empty. In fact, the town was nearly deserted and only two early drinkers were slumped at tables, amid overturned chairs and broken crockery. Jack flipped a coin to Gibbs, swayed to the cleanest table and stretched out on a bench where he could keep a weather eye on both doors. "Welcome t'Viejo Maracombe."

"I dread to say this, but it may be worse than Tortuga." James kicked the ruins of a chair aside and took a seat, glancing around the tavern. Calm now, perhaps, but he knew from unsavoury experience that the drinkers would come, and the brawls would start. "That would be the 7th circle, then."

Gibbs guzzled thoughtfully. "I knew a tavern by that name once. So d'you, Jack. Remember that wild little—"

Jack kicked him under the table, then leaned forward, his voice low. "Now all we need is a coat fer Jamie here an' that lovely little ship. How many she got aboard, Josh?"

Gibbs separated himself from his tankard to breathe. "Looked t'me like a baker's dozen. "

Jack sighed. "We're gonna need a distraction."

Gibbs' face screwed into a knot. "Tis a foul stroke o' luck the monkey ain't here."

"Bite yer bloody tongue!"

Gibbs drowned it in rum instead. "Pigs. Nothin's as distracting as a good ol' grunt."

"I'm afraid there aren't any Gardarene swine about, Josh. We could find sumpthin' to explode."

Gibbs nodded, his eyes gleaming. "We can grab all th' gunpowder and stack it into a huge mountain and..."

James cut in, dryly, "Night, drink and women. Unless these men are not sailors."

Jack arched a brow at Gibbs' startled look and grinned. "That makes things easy. Wot about a coat?" His practised eye raked over the fallen few, then wandered to the serving wench who tottered towards them under a tray of staggering proportions.

Gibbs rubbed his belly.

James spared a fleeting thought to the irony that this was the best company in which he'd taken a meal lately and snorted. He decided not too watch too closely how Gibbs' affinity for pigs affected his table manners.

"Ahhh, nothin' like a good sailor's stew. An' rum. Lots of rum." Jack's eyes met James' as they both delicately avoided watching the carnage on the table. "So we wait until dark. Josh, how many men you think we need?" He looked around the silent tavern ruefully.

"Jack, you could cap'n that little beauty on yer own."

"Not wifout sleepin' I can't."

"You could tie the wheel to your hair." Norrington suggested.

Gibbs belched a laugh. "Sorry. Sorry sir. "

Jack glared at them both. "Don't be ridiculous. An' DON'T call him sir!"

Norrington resisted the sudden urge to stick his tongue out and instead focused on his stew. "Three will be enough. But we will need supplies, and most of all, a heading."

"Got th' bearin's. Gibbs? GIBBS! How long you been here? Did they restock?"

Joshamee stared as if Jack had just asked him to divide 256,483 by 12,505 and a quarter on an abacus.

"Unless they are smuggling, they did. They're low in the water, and the crossjack is high. Whatever storage room they have is stuffed to the brim." James wrinkled his nose and flinched at the sound of breaking glass. "Care to share our bearings... Captain?"

Jack and Gibbs looked at each other and then at James. Both voices were sharp. "No."

James raised one eyebrow and hissed out a breath.

Gibbs went back to rooting in his trencher and Jack scowled. He rose from the table. "I need a breather. More rum!" he called on his way out the front door, as if coming in the back and relieving oneself in the front was the height of fine manners.

He skirted the dirt path around the side and used the time it took to piss eyeing the sloop. As James had noted, she lay low in the water, a faded banner licking the wind. Pretty little prize! Jack took a deep breath of sea air and fastened his buttons.

Out of the corner of his eye, he spied something blue wavering along the path towards the tavern; a tall man, staggeringly drunk and clearly intent on continuing in that state. Jack picked up a piece of driftwood and ducked down to wait.

James dawdled over the last bite of stew, eyeing Gibbs, who had long finished, across the table. He bit his lip, shuffled his feet, sipped from his tankard, scraped at the remainders in the bowl, then, finally, spoke. "You know where we are going, Mr. Gibbs?"

Joshamee's face crinkled into a conspiratorial grin. "Well, sir, ya don't always know right off with Jack. Twas givin' up th' bearin's to Barbossa lost him the Pearl first time. He's not likely to make that mistake again."

"And I am not likely to make the mistake of following anyone blindly again," Norrington said quietly, then pushed back the chair and stood. "Excuse me."

"Aye sir!" Gibbs nearly bolted to his feet, old Navy discipline still second nature.

James hastened to the back door, taking a shuddery breath of the dusty afternoon air, heavy with the stench of piss and vomit. A shudder ran down his spine, and after relieving himself, he dawdled a moment before pushing through the back door.

He glanced around the tavern, at the few faces, beaten or drunk, malicious or lost, then at Sparrow and Gibbs. He stalked back to them.

"...an' I swear that filly kicked like mule! Oh hullo, James!" Jack held up the blue coat with a grin. It wasn't exactly clean or fashionable, but it had once boasted threescore buttons. ""I'm sorry it's not London-fresh, but it's th' best I could do."

"It's better than yours," James murmured, his voice low and he too distracted to bother with quips or questions regarding the coat's origin. He eyed Jack's coat, the barely noticeable bulge that hid the chart.

"I love this coat. Seen me through many a rough spot, eh Josh? Mr. GIBBS! " Jack sighed and pushed his bowl across the table. "Here. Stop scrapin' that bread around like a rasp!"

He stopped, staring at the table.

There was a peanut, a lone half a peanut right in front of him. His eyes grew enormous and glanced in every direction so many times they crossed... "Peanut. My peanut." He looked shell-shocked.

James' eyes widened and he watched Jack's long, dirty fingers dance around the tiny nut, then, finally, grab it and stow it with the chart, only to nonchalantly return to the tankard.

Interesting.

Jack was quivering, every muscle tensed. "...peanut... my..." The shadow fell away from his eyes. "How long till dark?"

"A few hours. Longer if we wait until the nightwatch is good and properly drunk," James sighed and nodded in the direction of the snoring and grunting noises without looking too closely, "Or asleep."

Jack nodded, still twitching, and fell silent.

At the uncharacteristic silence, James looked up and huffed another sigh. "Unless you fall asleep first."

Jack shook himself. "Shouldn't."

James shrugged. "You might as well. I will keep watch."

Jack's eyes were circled with more than paint; they were practically sinking into his skull. "Are ya sure, James? Yer not gonna bolt on me?"

James snorted and glanced around the room. "To where?"

"True. Not a very prosperous place at first glance, is it?" He wriggled around on the bench. "I could use forty winks. Or eighty." His head drooped and he crashed, nose first into the table. "ow... peanut..."

He hauled himself upright, half asleep, shifting and wiggling until his head was pillowed against James' shoulder.

Norrington grimaced and sighed, settling himself against the cool brick wall. No use in a Captain who was not well rested, he told himself.

The hours ticked by slowly, while Gibbs snored and Jack snuggled in a ridiculous manner, much to his new crewman's discomfort.

Norrington eventually gave up on defending himself, relaxing in a half-doze, the only skill worth mentioning he had picked up in Tortuga. Finally, when the sun waned and the tavern filled itself, he nudged Sparrow awake.

"Huh wot? Twenty seven an' not a day older." Jack blinked and removed himself from James, yawning. "Oh that's much better. Josh." He poked at Gibbs across the table. "GIBBS!"

"I think we should get 'nother round and head out, lads." Jack's voice was raised enough for the innkeep to hear.

The rum arrived promptly and they drank, silent but for Gibbs' enormous yawns. James cleared his throat. "I was hoping you could charm some ladies with your purse, Captain, unless your behaviour was intended to invite me to make you sound like one."

Jack drew away, cautiously. "Why? Wot'd I do?"

"I am not quite certain I wish to be your crewman. I am certainly not your pillow."

Jack looked crestfallen, and a trifle hurt. He guzzled down the rest of his tankard and banged it on the table. "Let's go."

"I am not wearin' THAT!" Jack hissed, only his eyes visible in the dim lights near the dock. His beard wagged with outrage at the lady's petticoat James held out for him—a very large lady's petticoat. "Looks more like a bloody sail!"

Gibbs gulped from his flask and guffawed.

"Then how about how you set sail and get us a ship?" James thrust a veil at him. "Night, drink and women. You agreed to the plan but neglected to specify what to wear. Now fulfill your part of the agreement and hold still." A growled sigh. "Speaking of setting sail, I still expect an answer as to where to."

Jack's eyes narrowed. "Yer just doin' this t'make a fool o' me." He was going to say a 'monkey's uncle' but refused to even mention the little monster by species. He snatched the petticoat and pulled it over his head. It more than covered him, boots, coat, baldric, belts and all.

"Please. I don't need a petticoat for that," James drawled, hauling the laces at the back tight. "I certainly hope you find your way on the seas better than into a girdle."

"Been known t'find my way 'round both adequately. Stop pullin'! I can't breathe!" Jack snapped.

The veil, draped decoratively over his hat, fluttered in the night air and tickled Gibbs' nose. He felt the material with two fingers. "Very purty, Cap'n.

"Shut it!"

"It certainly is an improvement." James took a step back, surveyed his work and shook his head. He lifted the veil and took the hat, then resettled the veil on the untidy mane.

"Adequate. What an achievement, Captain."

Jack glowered at him. "Do NOT lose that hat or I'll eat yer nose!"

Rolling his eyes, James pressed it onto his head. "There. I am not as inclined as you to lose my head."

Gibbs, anxious to soothe his captain's feathers, nodded brightly. "Jack, don't fuss so, ya look grand."

Sparrow looked as though steam might just start pouring out of his ears. "You just go fer the next bugger who walks down that plank, aye?" He drew himself up to his full height, still having to crane his neck to face Norrington. "An' that's quite enough outta you! Just make sure no one aboard gives us a hard time."

Grumbling, he wrenched at the huge petticoat and peered from around the rotting timbers. Viejo Maracombe was nigh deserted this time of year when hurricanes were past and wreckers out of work.

James grabbed his arm and pulled him back, his eyes hard and serious, shadowed by the hat. "Jack. Where are we going?"

Jack turned, completely exasperated. "Straight t'hell. Awright, I confess, I lied. I'm the devil an' we're bound fer a fiery pit. Happy?"

James closed his eyes for a second, and when he opened them, they were clear and unrelenting. " I will not sail under a captain with a secret agenda." The addition was barely audible, "Not again."

Jack groaned and retreated into the shadows, dragging James with him. "Mate, we're gettin' the Pearl. Remember?" He wondered if formerly dead people developed memory problems. He was having enough of them himself.

"James, I swear t'you, I know wot I'm doin'." Well, I think I do. He made another face.

"So did Beckett." James' voice was low.

"In case you hadn't noticed, I don't look anythin' like Beckett." Jack straightened, his chin up. "I'm much taller."

"Looks may be deceptive."

Jack listened to the wind, laughing at him, and bit his lip. He couldn't lose Norrington now. "James, I know wot Barbossa's after. I really do! I swear on me Pearl!" His black eyes were pools in the shadows, half-honest, half-scared. And altogether sincere.

James looked at him, huffed a sigh and held out his hand. "No innocent victims?"

"Not a one!" Jack's fingers danced into James' and closed. "I swear it."

James smirked. "Let us make you a captain again, then, Miss Sparrow."

Jack stifled an outraged snort. "Right. Gibbs, wait until I get 'em down here." He trundled towards the lamplight, tripping over the petticoat with every other step. James could not help but grin at the way he straightened, squared his shoulders, then minced into the light. " Yoo hoo! Hullo, boys!" he called in a rather ragged soprano.

Low laughter rumbled over the tiny sloop and three men appeared at the rail, showing gap-toothed grins. "Ahoy there, pretty!"

"Wanna come aboard?" one of them whooped.

"You crazy? Cap'n will gut ya if ya bring a woman aboard."

"Why don't you lads come down here?" Jack beckoned, the veil getting in his mouth. "C'mon my fine bucks! Which one o' you wants t'give Sweet Lucy a ride, eh?" Good God, I sound like Scarlett. He shuddered at the thought.

They hooted and whistled, ready to brawl over the chance. Finally, a quick throw of dice settled who would have to stay aboard. The bearded sailor grimaced. "Leave me somethin' for me turn, lads."

"Oh, I think there's sugar fer you all. Now come down here an' make a poor girl happy." He couldn't believe this was coming out of his own mouth.

As the two lucky crewman scrambled their way down the gang, James slowly pulled himself over the starboard rail.

"You rotten whore, I'll kill ya!" Gibbs bellowed, staggering around the dock to the great amusement of his 'sweetheart's' suitors. Jack fled a little ways, avidly pursued until the shadow of the ship loomed.

"Never mind that ole sot, luvvie." He beckoned again, pistol hidden in the voluminous folds of the petticoat. Gibbs advanced on the straggler, muttering imprecations.

James shuddered at the taste of iron in his mouth as he crept closer to the lone watch left on deck who was observing the events with cheers and lewd suggestions. A knife between his teeth, watching every step lest one of the planks creaked, he made his way. To steal a ship. Like a pirate. From a pirate. For a pirate. The damned waters simply were too infested with bloody pirates. How Beckett could ever have called them a dying breed was beyond him.

The hilt of his knife hit the sailor on the back of his head and he crumpled to the deck a bare second before Jack and Gibbs struck.

"Sweet Lucy" got her slobbering prey close enough, giggling and prancing until the rheumy eyes widened as the veil dropped away and Jack clubbed him with the pistol butt. "Never leave yer post fer a doxy, mate."

Gibbs wrestled the other into silence with one ham-fisted blow. "Jack?"

"Aye, truss 'em up." Together, they tied the two into a neat bundle and Jack wrenched off the petticoat and draped it over them like a skirt over a very lumpy hoop. He tore up the gang to the helm while Gibbs helped James dispose of the last watchman and loosen the mooring line. "Hurry up!" he hissed over the rail.

They quickly hoisted the triangular mizzen sail, and the moment it fluttered in the breeze, James jumped out, closely followed by Jack. Water to their knees, they pushed her out of her mooring until the waves caught and cradled her. The moment they climbed back aboard, she glided off into the darkness.

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