Pirate Dreams 9

Pairing: J/W
Rating: NC-17 overall
Disclaimer: Pirates of the Caribbean is owned by Disney, etc. No infringement intended.
Originally Posted: 2003
Summary: Will joins the Pearl's crew after Jack becomes a privateer, leading to many adventures, including the most dangerous adventure of all: romance.

Will watched Reverend Johnson stride away along the deck. He turned to look at Jack, who was barely keeping his hands off the flintlock tucked in his belt.

"no." Will patted Jack's arm. "You really can't go about killing people on our very first mission. It wouldn't look good."

Will sighed. He rather wanted to take Johnson down a peg or two himself. But they had agreed to take him and his expedition to the Bermudas, visiting several smaller islands on the way, under orders from Commodore Norrington. The Reverend Charles Johnson came from the American colonies, where he taught young seminary scholars at William and Mary College. He was now the head of an expedition to research the flora and fauna of various Caribbean islands for the College. His previous ship had wrecked on Jamaica several weeks earlier, and lacking funds to replace it, Johnson had prevailed upon Governor Swann to aid in the continuation of his expedition. Swann felt disinclined, until he received word from the Governor of the Bahamas, where Johnson had visited, that the expedition was expressing an unusual amount of interest in the shipping there. An informal investigation at Nassau revealed that Reverend Johnson's sister had married a Spaniard, that Johnson had been to Spain just a few months earlier, and had expressed sympathy for the Spanish during the recent hostilities. The message suggested the expedition made a perfect cover for spying on British naval strength in the Caribbean on behalf of Spanish interests. So Swann spoke to Norrington, who promptly suggested that Jack Sparrow and Will Turner, now back in Port Royal with the Pearl, could convey the group while secretly ferreting out the truth.

"Don't forget," Will said, "You're not a pirate any more. Not that you were ever a bloodthirsty one when you were."

Jack frowned. "I could just rough him up a little. Give him a knock on his great big head."

They stood close together on the quarterdeck, leaning over the railing while Anamaria handled the wheel behind them.

"The other fellows seem all right," Will said. In addition to Johnson, the expedition included two naturalists, an artist, a cartographer, and two servants. They'd been pleasant enough so far, which wasn't far, since they'd only left Port Royal a few hours earlier. "Though one or more of them may be spies." Reverend Johnson had papers identifying his appointment at the College, but the others had all lost theirs in the wreck, or said they had. There was no way to prove Johnson hadn't hired one or more of them to work for other interests beyond studying nature.

"I don't care for the mapmaker," Jack said. "Look at him. He's got his own spyglass."

Will looked towards the bow, where the cartographer, Sydney Davis, stood braced against the rail, peering through a telescope. "There's nothing out there to look at. Does seem odd. Although if he were a spy, wouldn't he try to be more subtle?" "Maybe. Unless he wants us to think he's not a spy because he's not being subtle."

Will smiled, giving Jack's arm a light squeeze. He felt comfortable here at Jack's side, the Pearl at full sail, a good wind behind them. Everything felt familiar, it all felt right. This was where he belonged. The warm breeze off the Caribbean sea ruffled his hair, a touch of salt spray held a faint tingle of promise in the air. The Pearl cut smoothly through the blue-green water, running briskly towards new adventures. Running free.

"No, I'm peaceful." Will rested his hand lightly on Jack's forearm. It was warm today, so Jack had forsaken his coat and hat, and leaned on the rail in his white shirt, its full sleeves rippling in the wind.

He looked dashingly handsome this morning. After being pardoned for his life of piracy, and taking on this new role as government spy, Jack had been subjected to a lecture from Norrington, who explained that spies needed to blend in, rather than stand out. Jack needed to adopt what Norrington called a "less memorable attire" if he were to avoid suspicion. Jack refused at first to comply, being rather fond of his flamboyant, buccaneering attire. He kept his clothes, his sash, the coat, the hat, the boots. And he kept his long hair in check with a bandana, which was simply practical at sea. But when Norrington threatened to hold up the crew's pay, Jack reluctantly trimmed out the bulk of the bead-entwined locks from his hair and beard, keeping just three of his favorite beads there. And he jettisoned the polished spear of bone he once tied in his hair. He carefully stored each piece of bead or jewelry in his lockbox, as each one held a significant memory for him of other times and places. Truth be told, Will thoroughly approved of the new look, as it made it more pleasant to run his hands through Jack's hair during their nightly explorations in bed.

And oh, what wonderful times they had in bed. Just thinking about it gave Will a familiar longing. He glanced behind him at Anamaria, who looked as if she were totally concentrated on the wheel and the sails and the sea ahead. Will shifted his stance even closer to Jack, so that their thighs touched.

"Sorry." Will shifted away a bit. He tried hard to think of something else. Anything else. Which was decidedly difficult with Jack looking so appealing, with his open-necked shirt, its thin muslin flattened by the wind against his chest, his nipples clearly showing through the fabric. "Maybe you could put your jerkin on."

"Doesn't take much, no," Will admitted. He sighed, and concentrated on staring ahead at the sea instead of at Jack's enticing chest. "I have a good deal of energy. I need to expend it on something."

"Ta very much." Will had no problems with helping out with the shipboard work, and had already done a lot that morning when they were getting ready to sail. He didn't even mind swabbing the deck, but he knew Jack was teasing.

"There is something you can do," Jack said. "These blighters brought several crates of supplies on board. You and Gibbs could go down to the hold to see what's in them. I want to know if they have weapons, or anything else I'm not going to like."

Will sighed. He had a feeling that their first mission was not going to be without its rough spots. "All I'm asking is for a clean shirt and a quick brushing of the hair. It's not a lot." He'd put on a clean shirt himself, having picked up quite a bit of dirt while in the hold. And he'd had a quick washing up, and combed his hair. "They're guests. It's traditional to host them for dinner."

Jack slowly pulled off his sea-spray spattered shirt and slowly pulled on a clean one. "Why do you care so much?"

"I'd like to make this work, that's why." This was such a new thing for Jack, being honest and aboveboard. Will worried that he wouldn't take to it, that he'd get bored or irritated enough to consider returning to a life of piracy. "We're playing parts here, like they do in the theaters." He needed to keep things interesting for Jack. "Pretend you are one of those actors on a London stage. Your role is 'Gracious Host'. You want them to believe you're an ordinary sea captain who has no secrets, who doesn't suspect them of any wrongdoing, who isn't a former infamous pirate, and who isn't currently a spy."

"Oh, is that all?" Jack picked up a comb, frowning. He tugged it through his hair. "Ouch." He yanked the comb out. "I've got knots."

"Comes from standing on deck all day. Here, let me." Will snatched the comb. He stood directly behind Jack and gently worked it through his long hair, starting at the ends. He slowly removed the knots as he worked upwards, then gave Jack's locks one final sweep through. When he finished with the comb, he ran his fingers through Jack's thick hair, caressing as he went. "Ahh...." Jack tilted his head back. "That's nice." He leaned backwards, pressing his body against Will's.

A flare of familiar heat hit Will's groin. At the same time, he heard a faint bell ring outside the cabin. He wrapped his arms around Jack's waist, letting out a sigh. "Bad timing. Cotton just rang the dinner gong."

Jack turned in his embrace, facing him, hardly any space between them at all. "Didn't know we had a dinner gong."

"Really." Jack brushed his fingers along Will's left cheek, then across his parted lips. "I've a good mind to toss it overboard." He cupped Will's cheek in his hand, and leaned in to kiss him.

Oh hell. Will responded eagerly, drawing Jack tighter in his embrace, rubbing against him as their tongues met, exploring each other's mouths. Warmth flowed freely through his entire body, and then he heard the idiot bell again. Will pulled away. "Dinner."

Will stepped lightly away, towards the cabin door. "Gracious Host," he insisted, while wishing for all the world that they could stay here for a nice long romp in bed. "Just get through the meal, Jack. Remember, once it's over, we can come back here for dessert."

Jack made a game effort at smiling graciously. "Right, then. Lead on. But if that Johnson blighter complains about the food, can I kill him?"

Will rolled his eyes, knowing full well Jack would never kill anyone without just cause. "Yes," he replied. "You can kill him."

"I'll speak to the cook," Will quickly replied, before Jack did anything unpleasant with the dinner knife he had a firm grip on.

"Captain Sparrow." This came from Rufus Spillett, a small, cadaverous, red-haired fellow who was the expedition's artist. "How long do you expect the voyage to take?" He seemed anxious, nervously toying with his food.

The expedition members sitting round the table went silent, waiting for him to elaborate. When Will realized Jack had no intention of elaborating, he kicked him again.

"What?" Jack gazed round the table. "Oh. Right. Well, depends on the winds. And the storms."

"Storms?" This was from one of the two naturalists, Nicholas Crane, a tall, handsome young fellow whose appearance and demeanor reminded Will a good deal of Norrington. "What storms?"

"We have already undergone one misfortune of fate when our first ship was wrecked," Johnson said. "I have faith that Providence will not allow another. I shall steadfastly pray for our safe deliverance."

A laugh erupted from the second naturalist, an older, heavyset, gray-wigged man named Ezekiel Harris. "Cursed! What utter rubbish!"

Sydney Davis, the cartographer, made a slight coughing noise. "Well, to be honest, I have heard such tales myself, and have often wondered about their veracity."

Rufus Spillett's fork dropped from his hand. "What did you hear?" He looked decidedly pale.

"I heard that in the seas near the Bermudas ships have simply disappeared without a trace, with no sign of wreckage and no survivors to tell what happened. And I heard that sometimes, many years after, other travelers have seen the ghostly apparitions of these very same vanished ships sailing past, with the ghosts of their lost crews standing at the rails, calling out for help. Yet no ship could draw near them without they disappeared again, never to be found."

"Nonsense," said Harris. "No such thing as ghosts. Those ships were probably blown up by pirates. We won't find that ilk roaming these seas. Commodore Norrington has cleared these waters of those murderous swine."

Will instantly raised his foot, ready to give Jack another kick. To his surprise, Jack merely smiled sweetly and raised his glass. "To the Commodore."

Jack kept smiling as he raised his glass a second time. "And here's to Governor Swann!"

Will started to worry as the table gave a toast to the Governor. What was Jack up to now? "To Swann," he said in chorus.

As the glasses were raised again, Will finally caught on to Jack's idea. He quickly studied the expressions on the expedition members' faces as they toasted their king, searching for any sign of reluctance or divided loyalties. He noticed nothing amiss.

"Well spoken," Reverend Johnson said. "And I should like to propose a toast to the success of our journey."

Will simply wished for a successful conclusion to dinner, and was grateful when the members settled into talking amongst themselves. He dug into his food.

After he finished the main course, he turned to Jack and said quietly, "It's going quite well."

Jack leaned back in his chair, wine glass in hand. He made a slight waving gesture with his other hand. "I am Gracious Host personified."

Jack leaned over close to Will, dropping his voice to a whisper. "When can I kill Harris?"

Will sighed. Maybe things weren't going as well as he thought. "He's old, ugly, and fat," he whispered in reply. "Isn't that punishment enough?"

An hour later the meal was over, they made their gracious leave, and returned to the sanctity of Jack's cabin.

"Think I'd rather fight a Spanish man-o-war." Jack sat on the cushioned bench running along the outer wall.

Will sat on the edge of the bed to pull off his boots. "I didn't notice anything odd during your toast. Did you?"

"Not a thing." Jack yanked his own boots off. "Did you find anything in their baggage?"

"Nothing unusual," Will said. "Maybe none of them are spying. Maybe they're exactly what they seem to be. A group of snobbish intellectuals on an expedition with no idea what dangers they might run into, badly prepared, poorly organized, and lead by a fool."

"If you had to work under a man like the Reverend Charles Johnson, you might be nervous yourself."

"Your father wasn't like that, was he?" Will had only recently learned about Jack's childhood in Plymouth, about the Reverend Jonathan Sparrow and his schoolteacher wife. Of course, since they died when Jack was ten, he might not have many memories of them.

"Well, Reverend Johnson may be a professor, but he has a lot to learn about the practical matters of surviving out here. He won't be putting on airs if we hit a storm."

Will was taken aback at his serious tone. "You don't honestly credit those tales?"

"I've sailed these seas a long time, mate. I credit 'em, all right." Jack rose to join him on the bed. "Shift over."

Will undressed and took his accustomed place along the inside of the framed-in bed. Jack soon joined him beneath the covers. Will rolled towards him, wrapping an arm around his waist. "Do you think those waters are truly cursed?"

"After what we went through with Barbossa, I'm willing to believe in just about anything."

He made a good point. The Aztec curse that had turned Barbossa and his men into the living dead was unlikely to be the only supernatural event in the history of the world. Will suddenly shivered, holding Jack tightly. He had no trouble battling flesh-and-blood enemies, but fighting creatures from the netherworld gave him the chills.

Will laughed. "Is that all? A couple of gentle kicks and you're all upset with me? You're having me on, aren't you?"

"Oh, fine. I shall make it better, then." Will twisted round 'til he could reach Jack's lower leg. He gave Jack's calf a thorough rub. "How's that?"

Jack turned onto his stomach, resting his head on his arms. Will went to work on the other leg, then roved further upwards to Jack's thigh, and then a bit further.

For the next week everything proceeded without incident. The weather was fine, the winds were good, and they stopped at several small islands along the way so the expedition could go ashore to collect specimens. No one behaved suspiciously except Davis, who continued to spend his spare time on deck, spyglass in hand. Whenever they sighted another ship, he got terribly excited, and jotted notes in a little book. One morning, at the end of that week, Will decided to go have a casual chat with him to find out what he was doing.

An hour later he reported to the helm, where Jack had taken the wheel. "He's harmless."

Will leaned back against the railing, facing Jack. "He's not in his right mind, but he's harmless."

"I know. He's been tracking ships in every area he's ever been. He's been tracking every ship he's ever seen since he was a lad. He's incredibly keen on ships."

"Every ship. That little book he carries around? It has details about every ship, frigate, sloop, brigantine, pink, scow, barge, ferry, felucca, merchantman, cutter, man-o-war, barque, or schooner he's ever laid eyes on, and more. He has notes on the colors, the tonnage, the masts, the sails, the guns, the paintwork, the figureheads. He has hundreds, maybe thousands of listings. He told me that book was the seventeenth one he'd started, and he writes very fine. It's his hobby. He's trying to spot at least one example of every type of boat or ship that presently sails on the seven seas."

"He just likes ships," Jack repeated in a disbelieving tone. "And he's not logging them in order to help keep Johnson's Spanish relatives informed?"

"I very much doubt that anyone would want to listen to him." In that rather long hour, Will had had his own ear talked off. "If you show even the slightest interest, he'll start describing in great detail the first boats he saw when he was six years old, and go on from there."

Will nodded. "Agreed. Well, not that I'd know anything about it." He'd never really had a father, and had no idea how hard it might be to take a stand against a father's wishes. "Did you ever stand up to yours?"

"No, he always treated me well." Jack suddenly looked contemplative. "I stood up to my mother once, though. She played the harpsichord, and thought I ought to learn."

"You weren't musically inclined, then?" Will did have trouble imagining a young Jack Sparrow plonking away at a keyboard.

"There you go, then. I was perfectly willing to learn geography and history and arithmetic and my letters. And they all came in handy later on, but I drew the line at music. Girls learnt to play the harpsichord. It's a pity I had no sister for her to inflict that on." "Elizabeth plays," Will said. "She used to play for me sometimes when I was a lad. I thought it was quite beautiful."

"She is beautiful." Will had finally had a chance to see Elizabeth again during their time in Port Royal. She had spent nearly a year in England with her relatives, and had only recently come home. They'd had a very joyful reunion, had spent hours together talking about old times, and about everything that had happened to them since their parting. Well, he hadn't told her everything, finding it impossible to talk about his true relationship with Jack. He could tell she suspected that truth, though, since he couldn't help talking about Jack and the Pearl and all the adventures they'd gone through together, and he knew he couldn't keep the love and admiration out of his voice when he did so. She had seemed genuinely pleased that he was sailing with Jack now, though sad that she wouldn't see him as often.

She was like a sister to him, and he hoped she was happy. Norrington had called on her several times since her return, but Will couldn't tell whether she felt glad to see him again or not. He truly wasn't such a bad bloke once you got to know him, Will thought. He would trust Norrington to treat her with great care and devotion.

"Hm? Oh, yes, I suppose I was." Will was glad to be here with Jack, glad he had chosen this path. "I'll always be close to her, you know. Not the same as with you, though." He left off leaning against the rail and came over to the wheel to stand near Jack. He rested his right hand on Jack's shoulder.

"Really? What do you think the crew thought we were doing during our month all alone on 'our' island, hm? And what do you think they think we're doing in your cabin together every night?"

"You're probably right." Jack frowned. "Come to that, do you suppose the good Reverend Johnson has noticed where you bed down?"

"Well, he can report us to the authorities when this expedition of theirs is over. You think Norrington would clap us in irons for that?"

"He'd probably have to clap half the marines on Port Royal in irons as well," Will replied. "I suspect he's a more practical man than that. I, for one, don't plan to spend my nights fretting over the possibility."

"That'll be Bermuda proper," Jack said. "I reckon they'll want to stay there a good while."

Will sighed. He felt pleased that they hadn't run into any particularly dangerous situations so far, yet he also felt rather bored by this mission of Norrington's. If only they could have some adventure without too much risk, always the perfect combination for feeling excited about life. "I suppose they will."

"We could always go ashore with them," Jack suggested. "Help them hunt up their specimens."

They hadn't done that before, since the expedition's ventures onto the smaller islands had been of short duration. "Let's do that. The better to keep an eye on them."

Will gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze, then left him to go help the crew with the sails as they approached the island.

Reverend Johnson decided to spend ten days in the Bermudas. They anchored off the main atoll, and after spending a day taking on fresh water and more food, Jack allowed the crew to go in shifts to enjoy the varied pleasures of the waterfront.

The expedition members opted to take rooms in the Hanover Inn, and moved their personal belongings and scientific equipment over. Jack decided it might be a good idea for him and Will to take a room in the same inn for the duration.

The second morning they watched Johnson and his group out their room's front-facing window as the expedition got underway, heading into the interior. "Are we going to follow them?" Will asked.

"Exactly right. They moved over the bags from their cabins, and we haven't looked in those yet."

They gave it a good hour to make sure the expedition was well off, then snuck down to the members' rooms. Jack displayed quite a facility for opening locked doors, which Will did not find surprising.

They spent the rest of the morning looking through each member's belongings and carefully replacing everything as they found it. In Sydney Davis' room they found a satchel containing all seventeen of his ship notebooks, dating back to when he was a child, so at least they knew he'd told Will the truth about his peculiar hobby. But they found nothing at all of any interest in the other rooms. Afterwards they had a meal in the inn's dining room, then went for a stroll along the beach. It was warm enough out to go without hats or coats. A mile or so from the town they found a small, secluded cove, and stopped there. Jack plopped onto the sand and pulled off his boots. A soft breeze wafted in off the water, and a few date palms provided just the right amount of shade.

Will sat down beside him, taking his own boots off. "This reminds me of our island. Out here, it's hard to believe there are any other people around at all."

It was true that anyone could come strolling along and happen upon them at any moment, so in that sense, it was a far cry from their private, uninhabited island. They wouldn't be able to indulge in the same freedoms here. Making love on the beach had been one of their favorite activities, especially at night beneath the canopy of stars.

"This mission," Jack said, "is a waste of time. I've a good mind to leave them here."

"No," Will replied. "I wish this weren't quite so dull, but we need to stick it out and keep on good terms with Swann and Norrington. Perhaps the next mission we're sent on will be more exciting."

"Isn't it? You might still be a pirate if not for me." Will knew that the main reason Jack had turned honest was to keep both their necks from the hangman's noose, and he also knew Jack wouldn't have cared that much about putting them both in danger if he hadn't fallen in love.

"I might." Jack clasped his arms around his bent legs, resting his chin on his knees as he stared out to sea. "I might also be dead if not for you."

Will smiled, hearing the note of affection in Jack's voice. "I do, I admit it. Young and rash, that's my way. Maybe being a spy will calm me down, especially if it's always this tedious."

"This part is all right. I like it here." Jack unclasped his legs, stretching them out, while leaning back on his elbows. He wriggled his bare feet in the sand. "Warmth, sea, sand, good company. I could stay here a while and not be bored."

"It is nice." Will stretched out as well, basking in the heat of the midday sun, the light breeze keeping him from getting too hot. And then he heard an all too familiar screeching from overheard. He sighed. "Except for the bloody terns."

Jack laughed. "One of these days, mate, you're going to have to get used to 'em. They're not about to go away."

Will had indeed gotten used to the pesky birds on their little island, as they were ever-present. He would have gone mad from their interminable squawking if he hadn't learned to simply ignore the wretched noise. But they'd been away at sea now for long enough, where you only saw one or two from time to time, that he'd forgotten how annoying a whole flock could be. "They're the true rulers of the Caribbean."

But overall, Jack was right. This was a very pleasant cove, and he didn't mind staying here a while. Will stretched out completely on his back, hands behind his head, eyes closed against the sunlight overhead. He listened to the breeze whispering through the palms, and to the rolling surf, its rhythmic ebb and surge lulling him into a dreamy, quiet frame of mind.

He must have dozed off, for he suddenly felt startled by a cooler wind, and when he opened his eyes, the sun was quite a ways farther down the sky. He turned to look at Jack, who lay curled up on one side, hands cushioning his head, fast asleep. He looked so peaceful, so very much at ease. Will watched him for some time, then Jack stirred, shifted, and opened his eyes.

Jack slowly sat up, stretching with a huge yawn. "Do you ever remember your dreams?"

"Sometimes." Will sat up as well, reached for his boots. "They usually don't make any sense. Did you just have one?"

"Mm. I was flying." Jack tugged on his boots. "Way way up, flying over this island." He grinned. "I may have been a tern."

Will laughed. "So long as you didn't screech." He finished putting his boots on and stood, then gave Jack a hand up.

They walked back along the beach to the town, not talking much, simply quietly content with each other's company. They reached the inn as the sun was setting, bathing the sky in glorious oranges, pinks, and red. The Pearl lay at anchor, her newer blue and yellow paint shimmering in the fading light.

The inn served them a delicious supper of roast beef and potatoes, which they were finishing up when Reverend Johnson and his men arrived, returned from their day's outing.

"We made most excellent progress," Johnson told them. "I am pleased with the specimens we collected. The flora and fauna here are astonishing in their variety."

"I'd be interested to see them," Will said, thinking this would provide an opportunity for further snooping. "Who keeps charge of them?"

"Mr. Crane has the bulk of them," Johnson replied. "Stop by his room after dinner. I'm sure he'd be delighted to expound on them for your edification."

"Thank you." Great, Will thought. What have I got myself into now? Another hour or more of boring details such as Davis gave on his precious ship sightings? "I'll do that."

Johnson went off to have his meal. Jack shook his head sadly. "You're far too dedicated to this spying lark."

"Ah, that's true." Jack looked pleased with himself. "Norrington paid us to lie on a beach all afternoon. Funny ole world, innit?"

Jack glanced over at Nicholas Crane, who sat eating his supper not far off. "He's a handsome devil, isn't he? Maybe I'll come along."

"Oh, you're not worried, are you?" Will was amused by the idea that Jack might display jealousy, although he was fairly certain Jack was only teasing. "He's too much like Norrington, for one thing." He paused. Time to tease him in return. "Or do you think Norrington is a handsome devil, too?"

Will smiled. "Could you imagine him trying to be romantic?" He adopted a stiff manner and tone. "'I believe I am developing an attachment to your mellifluous charms, and should like to pursue their fulfillment, if you are so inclined.'"

"'Mellifluous'?" Jack quirked an eyebrow. "Have you been reading melodramas on the sly?"

"Elizabeth used to read them. I swear I tried to stop her whenever I could, but she was a very forceful young girl."

Despite his teasing, Will knew in his heart that Norrington was a decent fellow. "On the contrary. Given her headstrong ways, I'd say 'poor Norrington'."

"Well, he hasn't tried to hang me in the past month or so," Jack replied. "I'll give him that."

A short time later, they finished their dessert and retired to their room, where they waited an hour or so until they heard the expedition members in the corridor. They went out and hailed Nicholas Crane, who gladly offered to show them the specimens he'd collected that day.

Crane had a good-sized round table in his room on which he spread out his collection. Will and Jack took chairs close together on one side of the table while Crane stood to one side, holding up his jars and explaining his finds.

"This is Eumeces longirostris." He set down a jar containing a striped lizard perhaps six inches long. "Take special note of the brilliant blue tail. That coloring occurs only in the young of the species."

Will picked up the jar to peer more closely at the preserved creature. He wasn't sure what to say.

"Hm? Oh, not particularly. I'm more of an entomologist. Here, these are more in my line." He set down a wooden tray divided into sections a few inches square. Pinned inside the sections were various beetles, spiders, butterflies, and other insects Will didn't recognize.

"I did. The island is rife with insect life. Look at this silk spider. Lovely color, is it not?"

Will nodded. The spider in question was bright yellow. "Is it poisonous?" "No, you shouldn't worry about them. Probably the most annoying creatures on these atolls are the red land crabs, whose pincers are quite painful, and the cockroaches, some of which are two inches long and can fly. Fascinating things, insects, don't you think? These spiders, for example. The natives have a belief that when the silk spiders build their webs close to the ground, a hurricane is more likely."

"No need for concern," Crane replied. "Its web was a good six feet off the ground."

"Oh, he's our flora expert. He's been overwhelmed by the abundance of trees and flowers here. Unfortunately, most of them are not endemic."

"Native. A great many species were introduced, of both fauna and flora, by the various colonists over the years. Fortunately, they failed to crowd out the Juniperus bermudiana, which of course, is a godsend to the local economics."

Jack tapped his fingers on the table top, a sure sign of irritation. Will almost kicked him again, but held off. He cleared his throat. "I'm afraid we don't know the Latin."

"Ah, forgive me. I refer to the native cedar trees. Very important for the shipbuilding trade."

"That's something I understand," Will said. He absently laid a hand on Jack's thigh, as he often did when they were alone. Then he caught Crane casting him an odd look, and quickly withdrew his hand. He cleared his throat again. "How long have you studied this, um...." He hesitated, unable to recall what Crane had called his specialty.

Will was impressed once more with Jack's ability to pick up vocabulary. He knew Jack had a good basic education as a youth, but he liked the fact that Jack kept up his learning wherever and whenever he could. Oftentimes Jack listened keenly and observed sharply simply for self-preservation, because the more he knew about the world and the people immediately around him, the quicker he was able to respond to change or threat or opportunity as needed. But sometimes he seemed to pay close attention for no other reason than sheer curiosity, from a pure love of finding out something new.

"Oh, I've studied for only the past three years," Crane said. "I was twenty-seven when I first took an interest in the field, which is rather late, I suppose, to discover one's vocation. However, I had spent a decidedly idle youth in frivolous pursuits. I came from a wealthy family where no one expected me to engage in a career other than the law or the church. I had no interest in either, and chose to use my father's money on race horses, fine clothes, and fine women. Then my father made some disastrous investments and lost everything. This was a very sobering experience for me. I threw aside my misspent youth and applied myself to serious studies, finding an avid mentor in Reverend Johnson. He's been most kind."

"That's a very neat job you've done," Jack said as he closely studied the pinioned insects.

"Thank you. The pinning of a specimen without damaging its structure is considered an art form."

"No. We'd have to have ways of keeping them alive until we returned to Virginia." Crane reached over to close the box's lid. "I'm afraid living creatures are far too difficult to deal with."

Early the next morning, the peace of the inn was shattered by a high-pitched scream.

Will threw on his pants and shirt and dashed into the corridor, Jack close on his heels. The rooms on their floor were all let to the expedition members, who stumbled into the hallway in various states of concern and confusion. Will made a quick count. They were two men short.

Harris' room stood at the far end. A maid staggered backward out of his room, gasping, white-faced. She pointed through the doorway. "He's dead! Murdered!" She turned and fled down the servants' stairway.

The rest of them rushed down to Harris' room. The Reverend Johnson entered first, then waved the rest back. Will and Jack stood in the corridor, cramming close to the open door, trying to see in over Davis and Crane, who blocked the entry. Finally, Johnson allowed them inside, and they all tentatively came into the room, keeping near the door.

Harris lay on his back on the floor by the bed in his nightshirt. What looked like one of the carving knives from the dining room was buried in his chest. Blood seeped over the white nightshirt, and pooled onto the carpet. His eyes stared vacantly at the ceiling.

Johnson pulled off a bedsheet and lay it over the man. "May God have mercy on his soul."

Will took a step forward, trying to get a good look round the room. "Was it robbery?"

"I know what he had with him," Crane said. "I'll check." He sorted through Harris' belongings, his clothing, and looked over his collection of specimens. "There are coins in his coat pocket. And a gold watch. All of the specimens that I recall him taking yesterday are here, not that they'd be of any value to anyone."

"And where is Spillett?" Jack asked. The party turned their attention to Rufus Spillett's room, which stood directly across the hallway. A knock elicited no response, and the door was locked. Jack started forward, but Will held him back. He'd spied the innkeeper coming along the corridor, and it wouldn't do to let anyone know how deft Jack was at picking locks.

"For good reason." Johnson showed him Harris' room. When the innkeeper had recovered, Johnson led him to Spillett's door. "We hope not to find the same within, but we need your key."

"Yes, yes, of course." The innkeeper pulled out his master key and turned it in the lock. The door swung inward.

They found Rufus Spillett alive, though insensate. He sat sprawled in a wingchair, half sitting, half falling off, snoring loudly. In one hand he clutched a bottle of wine. His other hand, as well as his shirtfront, were smeared with blood, yet an examination revealed no wounds.

"Whyever would he do such a thing?" Nicholas Crane replied. "They've had no quarrels that I know of."

"You must admit," Davis said, "that Harris was not the most congenial of men. Perhaps they had a disagreement of which we know naught. Mr. Spillett has seemed excessively nervous of late."

"I had noticed that," Reverend Johnson replied. "This is a grievous event. We must pray for his soul." Then he turned to the innkeeper. "My good man, please send for the proper authorities. I am afraid we must commend our companion to their care and judgment."

Will didn't care for the ease with which the supposed murderer had been found out. It all seemed too easy. "How do you know that Spillett isn't as much a victim as Harris? How do you know that someone else, the real killer, didn't get Spillett drunk and then arrange things like this? Was Spillett a drinking man?"

"No more than the rest of us," Davis replied. "You make an intriguing point, Mr. Turner. We should bring it to the attention of the magistrate."

"Not necessarily," Crane said. "Harris may have argued with someone from outside our group. Anyone could have come up here last night to our rooms. And these door locks are rather simple. I shouldn't think it would take much to pick one."

"Not if Nicholas is wrong," Johnson said, "and the killer is one of us." He looked at Rufus Spillett again, then shook his head. "No, I will not hold up the expedition on account of this tragedy. We still have a great deal of work to accomplish here. Our servants can provide assistance in the collecting. We shall continue our endeavors even under these most trying of circumstances. But first, we shall gather in my room, where I shall give a reading from the Good Book."

He ushered them out of the room, taking care to lock Spillett's door as well as Harris'. Will and Jack held back until they were all safely shut away in the Reverend's room.

"Right," Jack said, rubbing his hands together. "Now we get to be spies." He rushed back to their room to collect the small metal pick he'd used earlier, and returned to pick the lock of Spillett's door.

Spillett continued to sleep as they searched his belongings and his clothing. He was the expedition's artist, and Will found several sketching notebooks. He flipped through their pages, finding dozens of neat, accurate renderings of plants and animals and insects. Then, in the second notebook, he noticed something amiss.

"Look here." He placed the open notebook on the table for Jack to see. "A page has been torn out, but not completely. There's a small piece of one corner left with some markings."

Jack peered closely at the tiny scratches on the page. "That's a latitude mark. This was a map."

Will shut the notebook. He looked through the others, finding nothing suspicious, nor did they find anything else in his belongings that seemed out of the ordinary. They went across to Harris' room to make a similar investigation, but everything in it pointed to the conclusion that he had been nothing more than a collector of plants.

They returned to the safety of their own room just in time, as they heard the innkeeper returning. "It's out of our hands now," Will said as he closed their door. "What do you think happened?"

Jack sat down on the edge of the bed to pull on his boots, which he'd not had time to do in the rush of events. "It's hard to fathom. Spillett was nervous, but nervous men are usually cowards. And he's a small man. How could he take on that great lumbering bloke?"

"I wondered that myself. You would think a man like Harris could handle anyone in this company."

Will considered this. He thought the fellow was harmless, based on what he'd told them last night about his background. He'd come from a higher class of society, a realm where engaging in violent crime was a rarity. "Just because he can stake a beetle accurately doesn't mean he can thrust a knife in a man's heart. It was more likely a stranger."

"I don't think so." Jack stood, looked round for his sash, found it, and tied it round his waist. "Nicholas Crane used to have money once. And now he doesn't."

Will searched out his own boots and slipped into them. "What's that supposed to mean? Harris wasn't robbed."

"Of what? We don't even know for certain that missing page was a map. And if it was, why would it be so important?"

"Because out here, maps are for sailors," Jack said. "But there's one other sort of man besides a sailor who might carry one about." He threw back the bed covers. "Where's my scabbard?"

"I am." Jack got the belt round over his sash, then adjusted his scabbard on the belt. "A treasure map might have an attraction for a man who was once rich. The rich don't care to be poor. I've robbed enough of them in my time to know."

"But he said he'd studied for three years. He seemed genuinely passionate about those specimens he'd collected."

"Perhaps he was acting," Jack replied. "Like those folks on those London stages. Like 'Gracious Host', only this fellow's playing 'Dedicated Scholar'. Did you not think of that?"

"He's probably not a murderer," Will said. On the other hand, it wouldn't be a wise idea to relax their guard around Crane, or any of the others. "How do we find out the truth?"

But before they could formulate a plan of action, someone rapped on their door. Will tensed. "Who's there?"

"The maid, sir," came a young woman's voice in response. Will relaxed and flung open the door. He stumbled backwards as the maid fell headlong into him, shoved violently from behind. And then Nicholas Crane strode boldly inside, bearing a pistol. As Will regained his footing, Crane aimed it at his head.

Jack had no time to react, his sword halfway out of its scabbard. He froze at sight of the flintlock, then slowly sheathed the sword, adopting a nonchalant pose. "I hate being right," he said.

The maid cowered in a corner as Crane stepped further into the room, closing the door behind him. "I find I have need of a ship. You'll be assisting me in this matter."

Will shot Jack a look. He couldn't take both of them. He tried to silently convey a plan of attack to Jack.

"Stop that," Crane said. He kept the pistol aimed directly at Will, lowered a bit to point at his chest. "I can't miss at this range."

"I don't need to worry about that. You'll never attack me so long as I have Mr. Turner in view of my shot."

"Is that so?" Jack put a hand on one hip. "What makes you think I care that much about the whelp?"

Crane gave him a disdainful glance, then returned his focus to Will. "I've watched you two for weeks. My suspicions regarding your depraved perversions were confirmed last night." He sneered at Will. "The way you touched his thigh was disgusting." Then he smiled in a self-satisfied fashion. "But it gave me an idea on how to get what I wanted, so I took action."

"Spillett had the map I wanted. He signed on for this venture with the intent from the start to find a way to divert us to the island marked on it, and he made the error of taking me into his confidence. He realized at some point that I wanted it to myself, and just recently tried to enlist Harris as a new confidante, as someone who could protect him. You can see that didn't work."

"Safe enough. If a bit tied up at the moment." He gestured at Jack. "Take off that scabbard and leave it here."

When Jack hesitated, Crane thumbed the half-cocked pistol, fully cocking it. "Do you really want to see him die?"

Will hated being a hostage to this bastard. "You can't keep this up forever. At some point your guard will slip."

"We'll have to wait and see, won't we? But for now, I think you'd both better do exactly as I order."

Jack sighed, took off his scabbard, and tossed it on the bed. "Put that back on half-cock, then."

Crane obliged. "You'll be gathering your crew and taking me to your ship. I'll be standing behind your catamite here with my flintlock in his back every step of the way. If you so much as flinch in the wrong direction, a great deal of unpleasantness will result. Do I make myself clear?"

"I'm fine." Will bristled under such constraint, aching to do something bold, make a rash move, try to take the fellow.

"I wasn't going to..." He stopped. Jack knew him too well. Will let out a long sigh. Very well, he'd just have to contain his energy until, as Jack always called it, the opportune moment. "All right. I'll behave myself."

Pirate Dreams

Chapter 9