Pirate Vindaloo, Chapter 12

Bombay

by

Hippediva & Elessil

Grog was one way of showing anticipation, and the Chimaeras indulged in it, insisting on the ritual of draining the supplies sufficiently before sailing into port. It seemed to fuel Jack's tongue to further heights of insanity.

Matthew tugged insistently at Jack's sleeve and shoved himself between him and James, then gave his best grin. "Story?" A short harrumph from behind. "Pleeeaase?"

"Well, luv.  If ya stop wrigglin' like a fish, I think I can remember one.  How about the very first time I were in Bombay?  Weren't much older n' you, so y'see you beat me, mate!"

Matthew preened and looked back at James to make sure he was sufficiently appreciated, then settled himself comfortably; head in Jack's lap, back and behind in James'. He looked up expectantly.

Jack idly played with the boy's curls and let his mind drift backwards.  "We came in durin' the summer months, just dyin' of the heat and thirst.  The water supply had run low an' we were all a bit mad, I think.  First thing I saw were monkeys.  Everywhere, they were chatterin' and throwin' things from rooftops.  An' they all seemed t'be runnin' in the same direction. 

Well, 'course I followed 'em.  There I am, in a strange place, lost amid a bunch o' chimps.  Found m'self in one of their temples and there musta been thousands of 'em.  Y'see, Mattie, there's a god in their legends, who's a monkey god---he's right good fortune an' people there love 'im, so they love the monkeys.  I climbed up to one o'the roofs and doncha know one o' the little ones comes right up t'me.  Think the little bugger thought I'd have somethin' good t'eat.  He sits and stares.  I stare right back, an' my shipmates---Fat Joe and Bill--- are yellin' fer me t'get down and everytime they shout, the big monkeys are screamin' back and throwing roof tiles at them."

"You see, lad, they recognised him as one of their kind."

"So monkeys look like Jack, or what? Never seen one." Matthew tugged at one of Jack's braids. "They have long hair?"

"No, Matthew, they only act like Jack."

Jack made a chittering sound at James and put out his tongue.  "Nah.  Well, some of 'em do---there's lots o' different kinds.  But this kind--they look like little old men, with furry faces an' big brown eyes.  Anyways, me mates' shoutin' brought the priests of the temple runnin'.  They see me up on th' roof and they start yellin' and screamin' at me, an' one of 'em goes away an' comes back with the biggest damned sword I ever saw!  I'm scared outta me mind, thinkin' they're gotta catch me an' cut off me head.  Fat Joe and Bill, they ran like the devil an' I didn't know wot t'do.  So this l'il monkey--musta been a baby--grabs a handful o' dirt that's all over the roof and throws it.  I figgered that were a pretty good idea, so I did the same.  Then a coupla o' the big ones start in, and next thing I know, the priests are backin' away and talkin', real nervous-like.  So I reckon that maybe I can get down and make a getaway.  I follow the littlest one ‘cross the roof an' see a big tree with its roots all above ground---great huge thing---and it's close 'nuff so I can jump to a branch and get down.

Jack chuckled to himself.

"Let me get this straight. The monkeys engaged in piracy to save you from certain death, and then led you on a prepared escape path." James whistled, a soft little sound that meant he did not believe one word.

Matthew's eyes were very wide and shining. "An' you ran off? Just like that? Did the monkeys come with you?"

"Ahhh, no. Y'see, I didn't know where that tree'd take me, and when I finally got down, I'm lookin' 'round to make sure I can get away an' damn me, if one o'them priests doesn't grab my by the ear and haul me off inta the temple!  I was so scared I thought I'd piss m'self but I wasn't gonna let 'em know I was.  I mean, ya can't let folks think yer afraid, barnacle.  It just makes 'em want t'hurt ya.  So I tried t'explain, but they couldn't understand English and I didn't know wot in hell they were sayin'.

They whisk me away into these twisty, turny kind of rooms an' leave me in front o' this great huge statue of a man wif a monkey head an' ten arms.  Gigantic thing.  I snoop around, lookin' fer a way out, but there isn't any.  I can't even find the door!"  Jack laughed softly.  "Thought I was a real goner."

James bent close to whisper into Matthew's ear. "And that was when they all knelt down and started worshipping Jack as the king of all monkeys. The chimps carried him out of there, and he only eventually ran away because he hates bananas."

Jack clipped James across the side of the head.  "Did not!  An' I like bananas!"

"Bet ya do," Bertie chimed in as he walked past.

Matthew giggled and tugged at Jack's sleeve. "And then? Then?"

"I hear all sorts o' chantin' comin' from somewhere inside the place and suddenly, I see that little monkey.  Now, I know he didn't get in there th' way I did, so I stayed very still and watched 'im.  And there's a hole in th' wall, behind the statue.  I try t'wriggle out through it, an' wotdya think happened?"

James continued. "Then he got stuck in the hole and got soundly spanked for his misdoings."

All around them, it was quiet, every single man in the galley listening intently.  Jack grinned.  "The priests came back and tried t'pull me out.  I can see the light ahead but I can't go nowhere.  I'm screamin' blue murder, the monkeys, they're screamin' along with me an' the priests are tuggin' at me legs until I thought they'd break off.  They finally get me out and I'm surrounded.  Musta been fifteen of 'em all round me.  I didn't know wot in hell t'do, so I acted like a monkey.  I chattered and chittered and made noises like this,"  Jack did a pretty accurate impression of an infuriated simian. "Then I picked up more o' that dirt that was all over and started heavin' it about."  His whole body began to shake with laughter.

"The priests, they all back away, like they're scared o'me or somethin', so I keep doin' it, until the oldest one opens the door---it were hidden so cleverly I never saw it---and out I go, runnin' like hells afire.  Turns out, that dirt I were throwin' at 'em was monkey dung.  They musta thought me mad."

"Why yes, priests quite often are fairly educated folk. They obviously made an excellent assessment of the situation."

Matthew vaulted up and slung his arms around Jack's shoulders. "So you threw shit at them and they let ya run?"

"Bastard!"  Jack giggled.  "Yup, that's pretty much wot happened.  Wasn't until much, much later that I realised they kinda got a soft spot fer madmen an' they thought I were possessed by the monkey god."  He shook his head.  "Went back t'that temple years later, an' they were still tellin' stories about th' boy from a Western ship who'd been blessed by Rama.  Didn't I jus' have a laugh over that!"

He hugged Matthew.  "So now y'know.  If ya get cornered in a foreign port, act like a monkey."

"Yes, and now we have to take him back again and make sure that monkey possession is exorcised. He might even pick up bathing again if we manage that."

He punched James arm.  "I'm known t'clean up most nicely, I'll have you know!"

"Yes, like a monkey." James mimicked licking his arm clean. Matthew giggled and launched himself from Jack's arms into James', trying to imitate Jack's chittering.

The rest of the crew took it up and Cookie stared, wondering what in hell was wrong with them to be making such ungodly noise.  He threatened to toss them all out of his galley hungry and every one of them raced through their last supper before making port, eager to wake early and be first to sight land.

Their berth was pitch black when James was woken violently. "James, James! You must get up! Now!" Matthew gave the hammock another push.

James stifled a yawn. "What is it, lad? The ship isn't burning, is it?"

"No, but you must get up, now! We're puttin' into harbour any minute!"

James refrained from pointing out that they would put in with the morning tide at the soonest and let Matthew tug him topside.

Jack was already at the helm.  Longthorpe had wakened him much earlier and his lip lifted in one of his slyer grins as James emerged from the hatch, tousled and still shaking the dreams from his eyes.

As the sun rose, Jack smiled over the wheel.  The light was warmer than in the Caribe, golden as his skin and he gentled the Chimaera, crooning to her as the deck began to bustle.

Under his hands, she glided in like a queen, lines flying as they made her fast, planks and hoists set.  The cargo was already being hauled topside, Hamilton shouting orders, the smell of the dock a living thing filled with bright heat, burning spices and dark perfumes.

Eagerness was the best taskmaster as though the moment had been carefully rehearsed every day in those past months. His work done, James stole up on the quarterdeck, watching the harbour and the forest of masts draw closer. "Look at that."

"Aye, Jamie, here we are!"  Jack grabbed James' arm.  "Collect yer gear an' be ready in case our bloody Irish friend tries t'lock us up again."

With that, Jack tied off the helm and bolted down the hatch to sling on his coat.  He slipped to the brig hold for a final refill and a quick grab at certain items he'd stashed in his cubby hole.

All their belongings had been taken upon capture, so James had only his spare shirt to pack before making topside again, masking his agitation with indifference.

Jack sidled up next to James, waiting as Hamilton strode down the line of expectant faces, calling out the names of those to stay behind and keep watch.

He paused in front of them, his face twisting into a wry smile.  "Dinna get yerselves lost an' be back here tomorra at sunrise.  I mean that, you two!  I'll come lookin' fer yer sorry arses meself, I swear it."

Jack bobbed a bow.  "Course, sir.  Absolutely.  Be back wi' th' sun."  He swallowed a smirk and accepted the meagre pay Longthorpe thrust at him.  It wasn't much, but it was all they would see until the ivory was sold.

Jack immediately plunged the coins into the depths of his coat, nearly dancing with excitement.  "C'mon!  Let's go."  He ran to the gang, paused to straighten, then swaggered towards the dock, every inch the Jack Sparrow who'd piloted a sinking boat to Port Royal and swayed onto the quay with nary a wet sole to his boots.

James stalked down behind him, eyes fixed on the array of colour welcoming him, warm ochre against the flaring sun. Even the smell of harbour and dead fish seemed welcoming after such a long time at sea.

Matthew stormed past them with a chittering battlecry, hooking himself to Jack's knee to spin around him.

Jack scooped him up, at the same time removing several small hands from his pockets.  All around there were brilliant colours; dark eyes, painted like Jack's, peering over scarlet and indigo veils.  The crooked streets were crowded with beggars and peddlers shouting their wares in strange tongues; children running naked with copper-dark skins.

Matthew's head turned every which way, his blue eyes like saucers as Jack set him on his feet.  "Don't go astray, Mattie.  Stick close t'us, right?"

Matthew began to nod, but his head jerked again to trail a bit of turquoise in the crowd.

James' head remained nearly still, but his eyes danced, as eager to see as Matthew; wondering just as much at all that was new. It had been a long time since he had been to a port even remotely like this. He had seen African ports, Goa when he had been in the Indian Ocean, but compared to Bombay they seemed almost normal...English.

He grabbed a hand that groped for his pocket, then reached for another one that slid to his waist, laughing when it turned out to be Jack's. "Do you intend to pilfer my pay or my virtue?"

Jack laughed.  "Keepin' you on yer toes!"  Matthew bounced on his, straining at Jack's hold on his collar.

"Jamie, stow him somewhere."  His voice dropped to a whisper.  "Won't do fer him t'get lost ‘round here."

James nodded and made a grab for Matthew's waist, hoisting the boy atop his shoulders. Matthew's screech of dismay turned into one of delight and he clutched at James' hair, using the vantage point for a better outlook, squealing with excitement, and pointing at every direction within seconds.

Jack laughed and plucked another small hand out of his pocket, wheeling the tiny girl into a dancing pirouette and setting her down with a grin. 

"Hey barnacle!  Look! Monkeys."  He tapped Matthew's bouncing knee and pointed to a group of them, chittering on a rooftop.  "Well, food first or wot have ya, mates?"  Bertie had joined them and they made a small oasis in the endless traffic amid the market stalls.

"Bath," James protested, but Bertie's mocking laugh and Matthew's growling stomach, almost as loud, settled the matter. "Very well then. Food." He suddenly seemed almost clean, compared to this port. "But somewhere without a smell this horrible."

Jack grinned and handed his flask 'round.  "Awright then.  This way."  He led them down one twisting alley after another, pausing to point out a dancing bear, the gilded dome of a palace glimmering in the fierce sunlight; steering them clear of the lepers and cripples until not one of them was sure where in the maze of a city they had landed.

Different smells enticed them from either side, food stalls as simple as an old woman slapping dough into a pot buried in embers, or as elaborate as the filigreed grille behind which they clearly heard English voices. 

He led them to a crossroads swimming in puddles of grease and filth, abruptly turning into a tented enclosure that muffled the sounds outside.  A turbaned giant grinned them inside with all his four teeth and Jack immediately made for the back while the others wondered where they should sit.

There were no tables or chairs, only masses of cushions lying about as though after a rainbow-drenched pillow fight.

Jack babbled some incomprehensible jargon at a wizened man with a face as dark as Cookie's coffee, gesticulating towards them, bowing, then sauntered back to join them.  "Wotcha waitin' fer?  Sit down."

All three simply stared at Jack as though he was even madder than they had imagined. James coughed delicately as he eased Matthew down from his shoulders. "Jack? There are no chairs."

Jack grinned and threw himself down onto a blood-red cushion spangled with tiny mirrors.  "Get down here!"  he laughed.  "They'll bring th' table."

Sure enough, two giggling boys in long robes raced to set a round table in the midst of the cushions, while another handed Jack a silver pot and a large towel.  Jack sat up, cross-legged, and held out both hands to another boy struggling with what looked like a very large silver teapot.  He poured a clear stream of water into the pot over Jack's dirty hands, the scent of roses rising to tickle their nostrils.  Jack dried his hands and passed the basin to James.

James watched the tar and filth of months wash from his hands, the pleasant smell making him relax almost instinctively. He peered at Jack and imitated him, folding his long limbs, a tentative attempt to follow customs so forgein to himself and his upbringing.

The two boys tottered under the weight of a tray that spanned the wooden table, filled with small dishes of strange pastes and liquids; pale grain-coloured, green as glass, deep as cognac.  In the centre was a pile of bread, warm from the oven and fragrant with fennel, slivers of onion crackling on top. 

Jack broke off a corner and scooped up a bit of the golden paste.  "That's made o' beans.  The dark one's sweet.  The green sauce is sharp.  Dig in.  Oh, and use yer right hand."  He winked.  "Hereabouts, the left is fer wipin' yer arse, so it's not polite to eat with."

The eager chatter and stomach grumbling yielded to curious stares. James had to remind himself not to lose his courage before food of all things, so he folded his left hand on his back, scooping up very little of the green paste with the right.

The bread, at least, looked trustworthy so it was quickly shared out. James was the first to take a tentative bite, Matthew watching him with parted lips, checking for any signs of choking or worse.

None were forthcoming and James scooped up some of the humous on a bit of bread to offer it to Matthew. The boy's eyes went wide but he bravely ate it, chewing consideringly. His eyes lit up and he went back for more. Bertie swallowed hard and followed suit.

They made short work of the bread and another tray was brought to them with a large pie, still steaming from the oven, its crust flaking and dotted with intricate designs in white powder on top. 

"Careful o' that.  It's gonna be hot on yer fingers."  Jack broke it open and the smell of tender fowl made their mouths water.  Jack sucked the powder off his fingers.  "G'wan Mattie, give it a try.  I know you'll like it.  'Tis pigeon pie an' ye'll never have better."

While they tasted and waited impatiently for the hot filling to cool, two men sat themselves in a far corner with a drum and an odd sort of guitar.  The drummer began a steady beat, then they hear the sound of bells chiming and a girl slipped from the curtained backroom, covered from head to foot in shimmering silk the colour of the Caribbean Sea.  Only her eyes were visible until the beat grew faster and she threw off the encompassing veil and began to dance.

Bertie howled, forgetting the half-cooled pie to stare and cheer. Matthew blinked, watching the glittering silk move like a waterfall. James nearly choked on a bite of pie, hiding his blush behind a cough. He stared at the floor and slid closer to Jack. "Is that part of the menu?" he whispered.

"Ain't she a peach?  All part o' the service, luv."  Jack grinned at him, his wicked eyes alight. 

The girl wore a tiny bodice covered in coins that jingled and flashed with every shimmy, her abdomen rolling above a skirt of silk so thin the slender limbs glowed behind its gauzy folds.  The belt around her waist clashed and jangled, big tassels flying with every wriggle.  Jack kept one eye on her, one on James' face, near scarlet as his cushion.  Her hands wove ribbons in the air, bare feet flashing as she twirled closer, her sloe eyes fixed on James and his blushes.

James never answered. He was too busy staring, being embarrassed about staring, and finding himself unable to stop staring. His mouth went dry and he swallowed hard, nearly suffocating when the girl swayed closer still, her dark eyes intent on him.

She was barely a step away when she bowed low and then upright again, the coins clanking loudly, her slim stomach stretching directly in front of his face. Then she swayed back half a step, one finger hovering and tracing the line of his jaw, almost but not quite touching.

James desperately wished the mass of pillows would part and suck him under like a current, but nothing happened, nothing but Bertie's cheers and Jack's wicked glance deepening his own blush.

Little Matthew sucked the sugar from his fingers, digging into the pie without taking his eyes off the half-naked female undulating in front of James. 

Jack reached into his pocket as she arched backwards, her black mane pooling on the carpet.  He flipped a coin onto her stomach and Bertie nearly choked as she rolled her muscles to flip the coin end over end down to settle in her navel, then back up until it disappeared into her jingling bodice.  She backed away, swaying seductively to the twang of the instrument and the pounding drumbeat, the veil swirling around her like a turquoise cloud.

James wrenched his attention back to the pie, eating slowly and in as mannerly a fashion as he could with his fingers, the taste of spiced fowl only dimly registering. Every time he looked up, the dancer seemed to stare directly into his eyes, and he quickly dropped his gaze again. It was one thing to appreciate a woman's charms, another entirely to do so in public. Bertie, and Jack, of course, seemed to think his embarrassment was hilarious.

She began to spin, faster and faster until she was a blur of silver and blue, landing on one knee, her back arched in an inhuman bow and they all cheered her, tossing coins at her hennaed feet.

She spun to collect them, stood and bowed, just the way Jack did, turning back once to wink over her shoulder at James before disappearing behind the curtain.  Jack finished a final bite of the pie and the boys cleared away the carnage only to replace it with a tray heaped with yellow grain, shining with oil and laced with chunks of meat and vegetables.

"Good goddamn, I love th' grub here.  James?  Jamie, come back to us."  Bertie laughed mid-chew and Matthew struggled to imitate the way Jack squeezed the tiny grains into a ball, sucking the fragrant grease from his fingers.

James startled back to full awareness and hid another blush by chewing fervently. "The food certainly is excellent. And the service is most...interesting."

Bertie gave him a shove. "Poor lasses, always going for the wrong ones. She's gonna be disappointed when she finds out her adored's a bugger!"

James glared and, with grim determination, helped Mattie to finish the dish.

Jack settled back on his cushion, sipping at the sweet tea the boy poured from a great height into delicate glasses and belched enormously to the grinned approbation of the owner. "Don't think I can move!"

Once more, the empty tray was removed to be replaced by a dish of dates and a plate of small, sticky cakes.  The old man brought out what looked like a chandelier, festooned with ropes.

Bertie stared at Jack.  "What in hell's name?"

Jack grinned at him, unwound one of the coloured 'ropes' and nodded to the owner, taking the stem between his lips.  "Pipe, luv."

Slowly, James untwisted two of the ropes, offering one to Matthew and turning the other in his hand consideringly. Bertie sucked at his stem and puffed the sweet smoke and James followed suit, pulling the stem from the boy's mouth after the second drag and the third cough.

The pipe bubbled like a pot on the boil and Jack sucked in a lungful, holding it until he turned quite purple before exhaling, watching the smoke drift above their heads as he leaned back on his elbows, eyes at half-mast.

Soon Bertie had settled further into the soft pillows and Mattie curled up and fell fast asleep, one sticky finger still in his mouth.

They nibbled at the sweets, smoked and nibbled some more until Jack yawned and sat up with a contented sigh.  "Well, lads, I dunno 'bout you lot, but I could use a bottle and a bath.  Wot say you t'that?"

Bertie's agreement was reluctant, subdued by a filled belly and foggy laziness. James' eyes lit up and he wrenched his gaze away from the pipe. "Yes. I have longed for that bath since the Caribbean." He sniffed. "And you all need one as well."

Jack punched his arm.  "Bastard.  C'mon, let's not waste th' whole day lollin'.  We'll settle up here an' move on.  Wake up the barnacle. He can't spend his whole shoreleave snoozin'.  There's lots more t'see."  They pooled the money for their meal, a pittance in comparison to the sheer quantity of food they had consumed.

James tossed a few more coins on the pile, then lifted the half-sleeping boy. Matthew muttered softly and curled up again. "I believe dear Matthew here is on his way to proving that he can, just to contradict you."

Bertie grinned and tickled the boy, making him lash out in James' arms. "Boy's been spending too much time with ye. Picks up some of yer habits."

Matthew growled but he turned in James' arms, trying to climb his shoulders again until he was hoisted onto them.

Jack was floating through the dusty streets in a pleasant haze as he led them through more alleys and byways to a lane of walled doorways.  He headed for the third one to their left and shooed them into the cool interior.  The air was sweet with perfume and incense, humid as midsummer in Port Royal.

Never had a group of sailors been so silent and timid. They stood there, sandalwood teasing at their noses, and waited. No storming forward, no shouted demands, just amazed silence. James was studying a bit of intricate woodwork when two men and three boys appeared from behind a curtain, bowed and bade them follow.

Jack bobbed a bow and they were ushered into a small room, hooks all around, obviously for their clothing.  He took a moment to gabble something at one of the men, who grinned and nodded when Jack slipped him a coin and called for one of the little boys, who scampered away with a gap-toothed smile. 

Jack peeled off his coat and proceeded to strip entirely.  "'Tis awright.  Farhad's a good man.  He won't let anythin' get pinched."

Bertie quickly undressed but James dawdled, his shirt pulled off and his hands at the buttons of his breeches, staring at Jack's hairless, scarred chest, gulping.

Bertie slapped his back and he nearly lost his balance. "Whatsa matter, Jem? 'fraid someone will nick yer clothes again, or are you so used t'someone unbuttoning yer britches that ye can't do it alone no more?"

Jack giggled and pulled at James' buttons, taking the opportunity to steal a kiss.  "C'mon luv.  Let's get you clean."  His eyes danced invitingly as he opened the final one and the worn breeches tumbled to James' boottops.

James blushed furiously. "I never thought this was done with an audience." As he bent over to remove his boots, Bertie choked back a laugh and pinched James' pale arse, nearly sending him stumbling as he started, his breeches tangled around his legs.  With a formidable glower, he pulled them off and straightened up.

All three of them got Matthew out of his clothes and they padded along a dim corridor to a small door.  Jack knocked and it opened into a large room, curtained into many small tents, each with a wooden tub the size of a winepress filled with steaming hot water.  "This first, t'get washed up proper.  Then the rest."  Jack winked and vaulted into their tub, sinking beneath the steam with a sigh.

James' eyes widened further and he sputtered. "Everyone into one?" It certainly was large enough, strangely like the Roman bathhouses he remembered from a childhood voyage to Italy. The thought of actually doing such a thing was startling.  Uncivilised.  Still, the warm, steaming water beckoned, and cleanliness was vital for civilisation. He slipped into the water, his sigh approaching a moan as it enfolded him in a weightless embrace.

Once they were all in the tub, one of the boy attendants brought them small balls of soap and they stopped lounging long enough to lather each other up, laughing and splashing, sluicing off the grime and sweat of months.  Jack's nimble fingers worked the soap into James' hair, while Bertie teased and Matthew swam around them like a small shark.

With every round, Matthew dared closer and closer, until James finally made a grab for him and held him fast to work the soap into the matted blond curls. Matthew thrashed and hollered, twisting even more violently when he found out the protests gave him reason to splash wildly.

James decided not to notice the grey lather that dripped from his own hair. He settled for dunking his head underwater, then Matthew's. The boy emerged, sputtering, and they shared a grin. James launched himself at Jack and held him fast as Matthew soaped the dark braids.

Jack yelped, laughing as they pushed him under, yanking him back up for another soaping.  Then all three turned on Bertie, and by the time they'd finished rinsing and exhausted themselves with laughter to the wide-eyed stares of the attendants, they were all as clean as one hot bath could possibly make them.

One of the boys stood near the curtain and handed them big towels, clearly fascinated by Matthew, who was not much older than he, yet was accounted a grown man.  He led them down another dark hallway to a door and pulled it open, grinning and winking at them.

The room was enormous, like something from a fairy story, nearly filled by a giant pool that reflected the brilliant tiles.  At least twenty men lounged in the shallow, scented water, drinking from delicate cups or puffing on those strange bubble-pipes.

Jack abandoned his towel and held out a hand to James, stepping down into the warm water.  "C'mon, luv.  Now we relax."

James let himself be led down, submerging in the warm water and a different world. "When you mentioned a bath, I certainly did not expect this," he whispered, listening to how his voice echoed, almost as if in a cave.

They found themselves a corner and James and Bertie kept sniffing at the water, the scent of roses filling the room with the steam. Matthew was fascinated, pawing at the small bubbles of foam, then started and held up a petal between two fingers, eyes wide.

Jack laughed.  "Just remember t'peel 'em off yer arse when ya get out, barnacle!" He looked up and smiled as a quartet of small, slender women headed their way amid the pillars, giggling behind bangled hands, each one with a bottle of some pale liquid. 

They chattered and laughed, crouching on the tiles and pouring drinks, offering them with laughing eyes that sparkled like the shimmering rings in their ears and noses.  Jack bolted down the small cup and grinned, frankly appraising, then eyed James, who had turned the exact shade of a Marine's coat.

James buried his face in the cup and sniffed at it. Amidst sandalwood and roses, it did not smell at all, so he tossed it back, coughing as it burnt down his throat, obviously a sharp liquor.

The woman that had poured it gazed at him, smiled and smoothed the back of her knuckles across his bobbing adam's apple, sending him coughing again.

Jack laughed at him softly.  "Easy with that stuff.  'Tis Russian and stronger than it looks."  The girl refilled his cup and he held it to her lips, sharing her giggles.  Bertie was already thoroughly enjoying the attentions of his girl, her green eyes startlingly pale against her amber skin.

Jack hoisted himself onto the rim of the pool and stretched his legs, his dark companion winding small hands around his chest as he grinned at James.  "Better than th' usual, aye?"

James' only reply was a cut-off gasp as the third girl knelt  behind him and coaxed him to sit on the rim as well, her petite fingers teasing the fuzz on his chest, caressing his nipples. "Thank you, Miss, but I believe this will not be necessary."

She only smiled, her dark gaze smouldering, and poured oil into her palms, spreading it delicately over his shoulders, easing sore muscles and teasing sensitive skin.

He shook his head and relaxed to enjoy the touch. The woman was beautiful, her fine fingers sure, and a man had to be made of stone to resist her. He was a sailor, this was his shoreleave, and this city certainly was not Port Royal or London.

The smallest of the girls, barely more than a budding child herself, sat watching Matthew with enormous eyes, smiling and nodding as he reached shyly for the towel. She handed it him, beckoning him out of the pool and helping him to dry.

After a few sputtered remonstrances, he relaxed and they seemed quite happy to grin and bob at one another.  Bertie's green-eyed lass stood and held out a hand to lead him behind one of the many curtains hanging around the pool.

Jack leaned back against his girl's shoulder as she slicked her hands with scented oil, working it into his wild hair.  He murmured something that made her smile and chatter to her friend, teeth flashing white against her dark skin.  She stood and he rose to follow, winking at James before they, too, disappeared.

James took a deep breath. This was not all that different from a normal shoreleave, he told himself. If the brothels here were different and the intimacy more frankly displayed, that was simply because this was a port uncivilised by English standards. Sailors were sailors and it was not as if he had never taken the opportunity to find a whore and relieve his needs after a long voyage.

But to display it so openly, as though it were not something that should happen happen in secrecy, but rather something to be celebrated!  As if there were more to it than simple fleshly lust.

'His' girl ran a finger up his spine, into his hair, then under his chin and gently urged him upright. He swallowed, smiled, then let himself be drawn towards one of the curtains. She drew it aside and ushered him inside.

Jack was sprawled on his stomach on a mass of cushions, his face buried between his girl's tensing thighs, and he lifted his head with a grin at the sudden brightness.  "Hullo, luv."  Her small hands pulled at his shoulders and he laughed, tickling her and disappeared under his hair again.

James froze in his tracks and snatched his hand from the girl's waist. "Sorry," he squeaked, taking a step back, unable to stop staring. He turned to rush out, but the other girl blocked his way, hands slowly stroking down his sides, lingering at his hip.

With more force than he would suspected from her slender fingers, she urged him towards a free space,  pushed him down on the soft cushions and then straddled him, delicately kissing and licking a path down his chest, coaxing an embarrassing, soft mewl from him.

Jack was clearly enjoying himself from the soft sounds that he made as his girl whimpered and squealed, her legs locked around his neck as she gasped out a shuddery cry until he had to pry them open. 

"Darlin', that's most gratifyin' but don't strangle me, " he laughed, sliding up over her, his body almost pale compared to hers.  She grabbed hold of his mane and pulled him closer until his eyes closed and his back arched, her thighs tensed around his hips.  He moved languidly, the muscles of his buttocks shifting beneath butter-smooth skin. 

For a moment, his eyes met James' and he smiled.

James' head dropped back on the pillow with a groan. His girl, determined to counter his lack of initiative, had used the opportunity to lift herself and sink down on him, shifting back and forth in a maddeningly slow, uneven movement. The curtained space was filled with panting and soft moans, then a louder one and a contented sigh as James steadied her hips and met her movement with one of his own, rocking leisurely.

In the midst of all the moaning and shifting, Jack's lips met James' and he worried at the lower, nipping gently.  He was balanced on one knee, sideways, the girl twining herself around him, still locked together at the groin.  Her fingers, in turn, played over James' hair and her friend's breast.  Jack swallowed James' startled moan and he grinned before shifting again to kneel face to face with the girl, his thrusts becoming more rhythmic, then slowing as they twisted together like a sculpture of gold and copper, until she clawed at his back and they tumbled into the cushions.

James was caught in a hazy dream of softness, of heady scents and headier pleasure. Atop him, his girl shuddered and threw her head back with a soft cry, her slim body curving into a bow over him. His fingers dug into her hips and he arched up with a low keen, then fell back heavily.

She moaned softly and stretched out atop him, playfully licking away the pearls of sweat, her fingers gently brushing his sticky hair from his forehead.

Jack lay on his back, arching off the cushions, his hands spanning the girl's waist as they moved together.  She wound her hands in his hair as he surged upwards to meet her, moaning deep in his throat, her black tresses tumbling over his face and chest.  For a long moment, they seemed to freeze together, then eased back, her head buried against his neck, his hips still moving until she squeaked and laughed softly, turning to run one hand through her friend's hair.  They leaned together to kiss each other as Jack shifted his weight to bring them closer together, his lips searching for James' once more.

Their kiss was wet and languid, indulgent with all the hazy slowness of this place. It took a little while for James' breath to even and his eyes to flutter open; wide open as he watched the two women kissing, mesmerised and shocked.

He turned his head on the pillow and smiled at Jack tentatively. "Does halving everything mean this as well?" he asked in a whisper, then groaned as the girl rose and returned with a basin and a towel, gently washing away sticky remainders of semen and sweat.

Jack smiled with his eyes until his lips were not otherwise occupied.  "Wonderful, innit?"

His girl spoke softly to her friend and they both laughed then switched places to finish washing, pushing the men together to watch them kiss again.  Jack's head was on James' shoulder, so like their nights crammed into the hammock, but soothed with soft limbs that curled around them and the fluttering touches of the towel.

The girls giggled and kissed, then rose together, washing one another with small fingers.  Smiling, they wound each other in the silken garments and together they bowed and winked, disappearing through the curtain.

Jack sighed contently and stretched out close to James.  "Well, luv.  How d'ya like Bombay?"

James' eyes were still wide and he blinked, staring at the curtains, the pillow, the softness . "It is unlike anything I have ever seen, to say the least. Although I have yet to find out whether that is due to this place, or you. How come your adventures always manage to turn the world upside down?"

"Ah, Jamie, that's the fun of it.  Adventures.  An' this place is most lovely.   I did get meself inta trouble here once, as you well know."  He sat up and ran the damp, sweet-scented towel over the back of his neck, then stood, a golden shadow in the dim light.  "Best be seein' how young Matthew's farin'."  He held out a hand and pulled James into his arms.  "Nothin' like it anywhere, is there?  Fills yer head with dreams."

It did. Tempting dreams of what a life dedicated to this could be; dedicated to exploring, to seeing places like this for no other purpose than to know them. "Yes," James murmured as he shivered a little and straightened in Jack's grasp.  "But more important than dreams is to get home." Which of them he reminded, he did not know.

"We will, Jamie.  And like kings, if I've got anythin' t'say about it."  Jack's eyes had that sly expression that betrayed a plan buzzing in his agile brain.  "How'd ya like t'return to Port Royal aboard the Chimaera?"  He kept his voice a bare whisper, so close to James that their bodies melded together.

"The Chimaera? I do not think that Hamilton will take her back to Port Royal so soon." A look at Jack's face told James that he was well aware of that, and that it was not at all what he had in mind. "You want to commandeer her?" James hissed. "We will never convince enough of the men to mutiny to crew a frigate!"

Mutiny. The word left a bitter taste in his mouth. It was what all captains feared and only some of them deserved; and rarely did deserving and reality have anything to do with one another. "The Chimaera?" he repeated.

Jack silenced him with a kiss. "Oh, I think I can recruit a few sailors round here t'make up the difference.  Hush.  Don't talk of it now.  Let me get me bearin's and see how the repairs go, aye?  In the meantime, we have some fun.  Now, let's check on the barnacle and find somethin' else to do."

He stole a look at the startled green eyes under his lashes.  It was a gamble, but Jack was quite sure he could take the ship and a bit more as well.  After all, he owed Hamilton a good trouncing for all his lost time and expertise.  And he wasn't the best pirate on the seven seas for nothing, even in his own estimation.

It sounded so easy, and James found himself believing it. Was sharing a hammock and a fate enough for trust? Was a declaration of love, blurted out in a cell, freezing and in fear of death? A tentative friendship between two men barely getting to know each other? Was that enough to ally against a ship's captain?  "Very well then," he agreed finally, tugging absently at one of Jack's braids.

They found Matthew curled into a towel, sitting in the lap of the young girl who sang to him in a strange lilting tongue.  His eyes were wide, but he looked as content as Bertie, who had just emerged from his alcove with a wide grin.

One of the boys led them back to the small dressing room and they donned their clothes and anted up their shares of the charges before walking back into the street.  The sun was deep gold, late afternoon casting long shadows as they prowled through the emptying market. 

Jack found them an inn close to the docks and amazed them all with his extravagance in getting two rooms; one for Bertie and young Matthew, and one where he and James could enjoy a chance to truly be alone, if only for a few hours. 

Jack was determined to make the most of it.

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