Pirate Vindaloo, Chapter 18

A Ship of Fools

by

Hippediva & Elessil

"Mornin', luv.  Thought we could use a bit o' coffee.  There's fresh water in the basin and a ball o'soap."  Jack was already dressed---well, mostly dressed:  he had on his shirt, his boots and his beloved, battered hat.

James rose, his hair tousled. He stumbled to the basin to wash, then dressed, perfectly awake by the time he finished. "Don't tell me Cookie has learned to make coffee as well, or I will begin to truly worry about Matthew's soul."

He rescued the tray and stowed it on the table, then fished for Jack's breeches beneath the bed, stuffed in as far as possible without disturbing the storage drawers. "You are missing something in your attire, oh most awe-inspiring Captain."

"Am I?"  Jack looked down at his bare knees and grinned.  "Couldn't find the blasted things.  How'd you sleep without our pet starfish?"

“A certain other starfish seemed intent on making up for the lack." James yawned and found his razor where Jack had misplaced it this time, quickly scratching away the day's growth before he sat down and sipped at his coffee. "Out with it. Have you thrown Cookie overboard?"

"Andre's been layin' claim to the galley and believe it or not, I think Cook's relieved.  Thank God!"  Jack plopped a huge chunk of sugar in his coffee and stirred it with one finger.

James shoved a spoon at Jack. "I don't know whose table manners are worse, yours or the boy's. I should teach him to use a table knife before he uses a sword." He used his to peel an orange, leaning back into his chair with a sigh.

Jack tossed back half his cup and refilled it from the pot.  "This is a luxury and I, fer one, am enjoyin' it."  He took three oranges and began to juggle them, laughing, then dug one nail into the thick peel.  "It's gonna be a trifle choppy and wet at this speed, but I want ev'ry inch o' canvas she can give.  We've the advantage of the currents and I want a lot of ocean between me and Bombay."

"Do you think he will be coming after us? Hamilton no longer has a ship or the means to chase us." James finished his orange and stretched. "There should be little trouble. The repairs were all completed and she is in fine shape, although I fear the mizzen course will need replacing soon."

"Ain't Hamilton I'm worried about.  It's the East India Company.  Y'see, I snared Gainsell and our dear former Captain in their own trap but the Company isn't gonna be happy about losin' this cargo. And they've plenty of little boats they can send after us, quick as ya please.  I'd really rather avoid that.  Once we're round the Cape, they might try letters, but I doubt any bloody mail tub can outrun us if we keep sharp," Jack answered blithely, as if it were perfectly normal to have heavily-armed vessels in pursuit.

"I see," James muttered, busying himself with his coffee. "It is strange to be on this side of the chase for once." He grinned crookedly. "She is fast enough to carry us home."

Certainly, he only imagined the pleased thrum of her timbers.

Jack's eyes crinkled into a grin.  "I'm no Hamilton, mate.  None o' that privateer nonsense fer me."  He popped another bit of orange into his mouth.  "Jamie, this is wonderful!  Open water all 'round, a fast ship beneath our feet and the world's our oyster, ripe fer crackin'.  But," he finished his breakfast and sucked the juice off his fingers,  "speed is most important.  Later on, we can have some fun.  Besides, 'twill be good fer the lass to stretch her wings."

"She'll be fine and fast enough with the right course and currents to bear her," James said proudly, "And there is nothing more thrilling on a ship like her."

This time they both looked up at a distinct purr from deep within the Chimaera.  Jack just grinned.

James shook his head and refilled his cup. "Why does your mention of fun worry me, Jack?"

"Wot?  A bit of gunnery practise, a few games..."  Jack's hand waved about airily.  "Got to keep ourselves amused, luv.  There's nothin' worse than months o' bein' bored off yer arse.  We're well-stocked enough to spend a day or two makin' noise."  Jack finished his coffee and dressed himself properly, then bounded towards the door.  "Comin' topside?"

"You always make noise." James pulled his sword-belt into place and settled his tricorn on his head.

Jack stopped at least a dozen times to talk with this man or that group, checking reports and joking, a strange mingling of efficiency and sloth.  By the time he was at the helm, he knew every detail from stem to stern:  how Ivan and Griffin had sized each other up and neither had clearly won; how Andre had threatened Bertie with a carving knife for picking at some creation he was slaving over while fresh supplies lasted; how Berkely's night crew had recaulked the entire orlop and was of the opinion that the leak must be somewhere in the bilges and they'd have to get the pumps working to find it. 

Jack set about handling these details, draped over the wheel like a scarecrow, then turned to face James.  "Here.  It's clear so'-so-west fer now.  Don't be afraid t'cut in and ask the girl to dance."

James arched an eyebrow and grinned. He approached the wheel as he would a lady at a ball, bowing stiffly and pressing a kiss to one of the spokes, then slid behind it and took it from Jack's hands as a dancer might. The wheel was perfectly still, but the Chimaera shimmied, straining into the current.

Jack raised an eyebrow and gave her a pat.  "I see she's in the hands she wants.  I'll go make m'self useful below.  Tell Van or Bertie to fetch me if ya need aught.  I'm gonna check the pumps and see if we can spare a night to work 'em."  He swept off his hat and bowed to the wheel, blew James a kiss and swayed down the steps.

James spent a fine day at the Chimaera's helm. There were some tricky cross-currents, and he constantly had to make minor course corrections, but it was an almost instinctive action, comfortable and familiar. He watched the crew go about their tasks, heard the shanties they sang as they busied themselves.

Dusk was falling when he turned the wheel over to Van and went in search of Jack, finding him up to his ankles in bilge water. Ivan was kneeling next to him and cursing at a leak he couldn't find. James straightened. "Captain, if we do stop for a night, I believe it would be a good idea to replace the mizzen course. Something is not right about it."

Jack swore impressively.  "Damnation!  They call this repairs!  Bloody hell.  Wot d'ya mean there's somethin' 'not right'?  Torn?  Frayin' lines?  Gaskets fallin' off?"  He was soaked to the skin, except for the hat which was tipped precariously over one eye and threatened to fall into the stinking water at any moment.

James reached up to settle it, then let his hand drop with an embarrassed cough as Ivan looked up. He shook his head. "Nothing visible. But there is something about the way it catches the wind that seems to be out of order." He appeared confused. It was nothing he could truly define, just a strong instinct he had learned to trust in precarious situations.

Jack stopped in the midst of hauling up a tangle of submerged lines with Ivan to stare at James for a moment, his lips barely curved into a smile.  "Well, then, have Van heave to and let's take care of business.  That's why we've got four watches."

In James' opinion, a captain should be on the quarterdeck rather than in the bilges, but he also knew his concerns were not warranted. The crew was content. There was an easiness he knew did not exist among a discontented crew, birthing an impressive efficiency without even the threat of punishment.  "Aye, Sir."

He went topside, issuing orders to take in sail and let her drift. Bertie went to wake the rest of the crew so they could finish the necessary repairs as quickly as possible.

With the last rays of daylight, they took down the mizzen course and replaced it. By lantern light, James inspected the old one, finding a thin tear near the clew where the metal loop had worn into the canvas.

Jack hollered for the pumps and the backbreaking work lasted until the moon was high.  Griffin and Ivan squabbled over who had found the leak and who was going to patch it until Jack pulled off his sodden sash and thwacked them both with it.

Satisfied that things were in fair condition, he gave all but a skeleton crew the rest of the night and extra rum with dire threats about the morning's race south, and the consequences of being unfit for duty.  The speech was excellent but rather marred by the fact that Jack chose to deliver it standing on the galley table, dancing and punctuating it with snippets of a lewd song.

It was hours past midnight when they eventually retired to their cabin. James was shaking with yawns but he still undressed and trotted to the washstand to clean himself while Jack was still sipping from his flask.

Clean, he dropped on the bed with a grunt, stretching out. He sat up with a start when Jack was about to join him. "Oh no. You will not sleep in this bed reeking like a bilge rat."

He was treated to the Royal Sparrow pout as Jack groaned to his feet and promptly got himself tangled in his swordbelt and sash, his shirt half-off and one boot dangling from his foot.  "Y'know, you could lend a hand, luv.  Blast!  OW!  Buckle's caught in me bloody hair!  JAMIE!"

James groaned and rolled out of bed. "Would you just hold STILL?" He managed to free Jack without significant loss of hair or trinkets or one of his own eyes as Jack swayed around wildly, gesticulating with his hair still in front of his face.

James tore his clothes off and yanked him to the basin, briskly washing him with a rag. He tossed the reeking clothes into the water, soaking them with soap, ignoring Jack's protests. "You can wear Hamilton's spare ones if those do not dry before the morning."

Jack grumbled something unintelligible, fell face down across the bed and slithered his way between the sheets.  The moment James was comfortable, he was surrounded by a pirate-octopus who curled up and clung.

James shoved him away, rolled over, then grabbed him close again. "Aren't you ever tired?" He yawned and smacked his lips. "More importantly, aren't you ever serious? You are no longer simply the mad navigator, Jack. You are the Captain. The crew have to respect you, and do you really believe that floundering about in bilge water and dancing on the galley table is conducive to that?"

Jack waggled one finger in James' face until his own eyes crossed.  "Don't you worry about that, Jamie.  Did plenty o' good.  They'll jump in the mornin', just you see."  He smiled sweetly.  "She's talkin', James.  I think she's taken t'you."

"I do worry, Jack. I would be a bad First Mate if I did not. It is my task to support your command and make sure your orders are fulfilled." James shook his head. "What should they think of a Captain who claims that his ship talks?"

"But she does!  They all do.  Stop makin' it a job, luv.  It's me life, not a bleedin' apprentish-prentish---prentiship.  And you cannot tell me ya didn't hear her t'night.  How else would you have known 'bout that course?"  Jack was getting tongue-tied due to his hands being trapped between James and the sheets.  It had nothing whatsoever to do with his alarming consumption of rum. 

"I certainly did not hear a female voice in my head that said, "Jaaaaaames, my mizzen course is damaged." James intoned it dramatically, sarcasm etched into his voice. He giggled. "She is a fine ship, but, and I realise this may come as news to you, sane men do not hear voices in their head."

Jack laughed drunkenly.  " 'Course she wouldn't talk like that.  Don't be daft!  But ya knew, didn't ya?  An' she tole you.  A sigh in yer ear, a lil' jerk at the wheel, sometimes a breeze 'gainst yer face or the faintest groan from below.  They don't speak like us."  He snickered.  "An' she's very fond o'you.  Near tore herself outta me hands fer you t'day.  I should be inshulted an' challenge ya."

James rolled his eyes. He could not justify how he had known about the sail, but there were a hundred explanations more sane than Jack's. He pulled up the blanket and stifled another yawn. "Wake me if you can find a white glove aboard this ship. Else, you will have to find another way to achieve satisfaction."

Jack's chortle became dark and he snuggled closer.  "Can think of a few ways."  He stifled a yawn and promptly fell fast asleep.

Jack was as good as his word:  despite monumental bouts of snoring and pilfering the blankets twice, he was up and at the helm when the sun broke over the horizon, whistling happily and not a whit the worse for his overindulgence.  The two day crews might not have been as energetic, but they were careful to disguise it from him.  It was clear to all that Jack's guileless gaze missed nothing.

He smiled his thanks at Andre, who'd just brought him another cup of coffee, and slipped out of his coat.  Regardless of the wind and spray, it was hot and Jack responded to warmth by shedding as much clothing as he thought he could without earning a slap.

James's coat and shirt joined his on the deck as he invaded the quarterdeck, Matthew in sharp pursuit. The quarterdeck provided the most space for swordtraining without disturbing the crew. The boy circled him and pounced, trying to get at his sword, but James held it away with a laugh. "Not yet, Matthew, not yet."

Matthew scowled fiercely but dragged himself to attention as James insisted on teaching him proper bearing and continued to babble about 'balance', and how a sword was not a toy and should only be used when necessary.

The sun was already high up in the sky by the time Matthew understood why the knowledge of supporting and non-supporting leg was so vital, and it was only then that James let him wield the small sword. He was a patient teacher but a strict one, allowing the boy any pause he might desire but no sloppiness, circling him and correcting the slightest mistakes.

The boy yawned demonstratively, peeking at Jack for help.

Jack had been watching, along with more than a few of the crew, his eyes dancing, his feet nearly following, eager to join in the fun.  Unable to resist temptation for a moment longer, he turned the wheel over to Van, pulled off his shirt and swaggered towards them.

"Barnacle, yer doin' fine, but I'd listen t'James.  He knows wot he's doin' right enough."

His cutlass was unsheathed in the blink of an eye. "En garde!"

Surprised by the speed of the challenge, the boy wavered, then pulled himself into the proper position with only a bit of shuffling.

Jack laughed and raised an eyebrow at James.  "That's lovely.  Looks like he's payin' more attention than it seems."

"He is a fine student when he is of a mind to be. And his en garde was more proper than yours, Captain," James teased, mouthing 'featherduster'. He circled Matthew, indicating with the flat of his blade where the boy's posture was less than perfect.

Jack's eyes narrowed as he circled James.  "Ah, but ya never know when some bugger's gonna pull a fast one or do something incredibly stupid."  He spun and lunged, their blades ringing as they clashed.

"The question is, if you know it is incredibly stupid," James lifted his sword and slid it along Jack's, effortlessly gliding into position, "why do you act in such a way?"

Jack twisted and danced to one side, then parried.  "Keeps 'em on their toes."  He whirled to one side, ducking a slash and slapping the flat of his blade against James' knee.  "Very dirty move, that one, but very, very effective."

The crew gathered to watch as they tested each other and James began to force Jack down the steps.  He grinned and vaulted over them.

"The most important thing, Matthew, is to never let yourself be distracted by your opponent's acrobatics. The one thing that matters is where his sword is, and what he can do with it." In one fluid movement, James ducked and slid through the crowd, thrusting up to meet Jack's blade.

Jack was fast, except when he tripped over his own feet.  "Y'see, Mattie, a long drink o' water like Jamie here, ya gotta aim low and stay well clear of gettin' the top of yer head slashed off."  His eyes never left James as he danced backwards, then switched swordhands, using his left as he plunged in a parry that sent sparks flying.

James' eyes shot wide but he collected himself just as quickly, lunging a swift riposte.

The crew backed up to give them room, laughing and cheering for one or the other.

Jack jumped to avoid a low blow to his shins and spun dizzyingly.  "Course, Jamie's much too well-bred t'slash at me proper," he taunted.

"Another rule you may never forget, is tonever assume anything about your opponent." James deked an attack to the left, then spun and slashed, touching his blade cleanly to Jack's side before he spun away as quickly, sliding back to a lower guard. "My last student never quite learned that, especially when faced with an opponent up to every single trick in, and especially out of the book."

" ‘Course.  Jamie and me, we come from diff'rent schools, don't we?"  Jack deftly wove around the capstan and stepped into a bucket, pulled it off his foot, still parrying and hurled it at James.  "Now that woulda been a lot faster but seein' as we don't wanna really get hurt.....shite!"  He danced his way back towards the quarterdeck, bounded up two of the steps and into the rigging, hanging like a monkey by one hand.

"If I wished for Jack to get hurt, I would do this," James touched his sword to the ratline, indicating a clean slash to it and Jack's hand that would propel him overboard, "but for now, I will indulge our Captain." He dodged another lunge and spun to his side, edging closer until he could vault the rail, perfectly balanced, to touch his blade to Jack's backside.

Jack somersaulted backwards from the rigging to the deck, his blade sparking against James' and he made a sudden lunge, stopping just short of the groin.  "Then again, 'tis never a bad thing to practise.  Bertie, c'mere!"  He tossed his cutlass to Berthot, who charged in to take his place.  "Jamie, change off."

James led Bertie on for a few steps, then flipped his sword behind his back to give it to Berkely, who then advanced on Bertie. James joined Jack where he lounged against the railing, both of them breathless and sweating. "Wretch."

Jack laughed and threw an arm around his shoulder.  "Love you, too, mate," he panted.

Bertie handed off to one of the Russians and he and Berkely had a fine time of it until Berks tossed the sword to the nearest Dutchman, and so it went for a good hour until Jack and James were back in possession of their weapons and everyone on deck had gone a round. Jack was beaming: this was the way a ship should be run.  He saw no reason to make it a chore unless circumstance demanded it.

He leaned down to tweak Matthew's ear.  "Jamie'll get you in on the game fast, barnacle.  Who's fer a race aloft?"

Matthew had watched with gaping mouth and a tiny scowl. Now his grin was back and he nodded eagerly. Despite the cheers of agreement, James stared at Jack as though he had grown a second head, with as little common sense as the first.

"Van, get her before the wind.  Starboard 'gainst larboard.  G'wan!' Jack crowed.

Matthew fiercely stuck his tongue out at Bertie and scrambled up as fast as his little legs could carry him. Bertie was ahead on the first crosstree, but Matthew was first at the topgallant, his triumphant squeal easily audible on the deck. He was still beaming when he climbed down again, crowing, "Where's my prize?"

"I'll wager that performance warrants that lovely fine pocketwatch we found, doncha think, James?"  Jack winked a challenge that could not be ignored.  He was on the rail and into the shrouds in a heartbeat.

James was in hot pursuit, skipping the ratlines as he climbed past the crosstree and caught up. They were head to head when they reached the crow's nest and Jack reached around to haul James into it, both tumbling into a heap.

Give 'im a kiss!"

"Aww, now they'll be up there all bloody day!"

"C'mon, lads.  We know why yer hidin' yer hands!"

Various other suggestions were shouted amid cheers from below as Jack grinned and threw both arms around James for the promised kiss.  "Look, Jamie.  Moon's up and watchin' with one eye open."  He pointed to the pale orb in the eastern sky.

"This is a ship of fools, you the greatest and your first mate following shortly thereafter." James grinned into another kiss. "If Matthew gets a pocketwatch, I deserve more than just one kiss."

Jack was more than happy to oblige, then grabbed a line and swung down to the deck, bowing to the crew, then bellowing, "Why in hell are we losin' speed?  Get movin', you dogs!"

He went back to the quarterdeck and tossed James his shirt, squinting at the southern horizon and spoke briefly with Van before clambering down to the Great Cabin.

All had rushed back to work at Jack's command. It was a strange balance, James thought, of respect, request and lack of reason. He shook his head and pushed the double doors open.

Jack was scowling at the chart on the table.  "We're gonna have t'cut west soon.  The wind's kickin' up hard."  He pencilled a new line to his marked positions.

"We can sail west here," James indicated a line with his finger, hovering over the map, "let this current take us out south and then 'round. It has been a decade now, but I doubt that has changed."

"Damn, James!  Why'd you never become a pilot?  You've a memory like an elephant and a good eye."  He fiddled with the pencil and sketched a little monster in the middle of the current.  "Just as long as we don't go crashin' into Madagasgar at twelve knots," he laughed.

"Unless everyone is busy fencing or racing aloft, we won't." James pilfered the pencil and sat down. "Are you never at rest, Jack? I know you are the Captain and I know the responsibility that entails, but you will not return to the Pearl any faster if you keep running on the Chimaera's deck."

"Can't help it, luv.  Never can light anywhere fer long.  And there's nothin' like workin' up a bit of a sweat t'keep ya fit."  Jack stretched and pulled James' into an upside-down kiss.  "Wot would you be doin'?"

"This strikes me as a good beginning," James turned for a proper kiss, holding Jack's hands away as they began to slip under his shirt. "There is no need to plot a course five times. Draw it once, and do it proper. It's called patience, Jack."

His answer was a giggle.  "But always be ready fer the opportune moment."  He groped and deepened the kiss.  "The advantage to bein' Captain is gettin' away with fondling the First Mate on watch."

"It is?  And what if the First Mate objects?" James did not seem inclined to mutiny, at least if the soft gust of his breath and the warm lips against Jack's neck were any indication. "Do enlighten me about the captain's privileges, Captain Sparrow."

Jack's hands continued to wander.  "Cap'n's privileges are plenty o' rum, choosin' likely plunder and musn't forget the booty!  And it's no fun sneakin' a poke at a reluctant mate, is it?  Now, this ship has a very willin' one, and that is a blessin'."  His fingers thieved below the waistband of James' breeches.  "A very bright blade, indeed."  Jack gave the blade in question an appreciative squeeze.

"Ah, but is it wise to cross blades with an ally?" James gasped. "Especially if the door isn't locked?" He resisted, just barely, but showed no inclination to flee from a fight, squirming in his chair.

Jack swung himself around and straddled James, pulling insistently.  "Never wise crossin' blades with a pirate, luv.  But wisdom is not always fun."  His grin was wicked.  "Besides, all work and no play makes fer a fractious captain."

"I see. Of course, a good first mate will do his best to keep his captain in good humour," James panted, his head falling back, exposing his throat, of which Jack took immediate advantage, coaxing another groan from him. "Greedy," he laughed, "Greedy and impatient."

"Pirate!"  Jack withdrew his hand and started working at the buttons.  "Adam, Barthlomew, Charles, Dickon..." he laughed as he opened each one, sitting on the table with his legs wound around James' hips.

James rolled his eyes. "Talking to ships, then to buttons. Is there any limit to your insanity?" He tugged open the still unnamed backlace of Jack's breeches, pulling off boots and fabric, a difficult but rewarding task with Jack's legs still locked around his waist.

Jack nudged himself against James with a wriggle.  "Figgered I know 'em so well by now, they deserved names."  James shuddered and bucked forward against Jack. "Oooh, do that again."  His fingers strained towards his breeches, still hanging from one knee.

With a grin, James fished the oil out of the pocket and then freed Jack completely of the impeding breeches. "So, tell me, " he purred while his hand joined the duel, "is buggering the Captain on watch the advantage of being First Mate?"

"Most definitely, especially fer the Captain."  Jack knifed his legs up around James' neck, sprawled on his back, his hands fluttering over white skin.  "Oh dear God, that is damned---ahh---wonderful."  His head fell back with a thud.

James rescued the chart, shoving it aside before spanning Jack's shoulders with his arms, shifting his weight and pushing. "I see," he panted, hair tumbling into Jack's face, "why the Navy does not have a First Mate aboard then."

"Don't know wot they're missin'."  Jack spine arched, his ribs defined by tensed muscle as he moved in counterpoint to James' thrusts.  "First Mates are highly underrated by the Navy.  Jesus, don't stop!" he panted.

"As you wish, Captain." Sweatdrops gleamed on James' forehead, dripping down his nose to land on Jack's, bright in the lanternlight. "I doubt such a position would be conducive to ---ohhh--- discipline aboard."

Jack's answer was a garble as a fire lit somewhere in his lower spine and shot straight to his head and his prick, arms straining to keep James' close.  He grunted and doubled in the grip, one cheek pressed against his own knee.  "Bugger discipline."

James' first answer was a gasp, held and buried in the hollow of Jack's throat. He needed to catch his breath after it. "I would hardly call you discipline personified," he whispered, nipping at the straining side of Jack's neck.

Jack giggled, his legs slipping to James' waist and clinging, letting his heartbeat slow.  "Discipline is also highly overrated.  This is much better than some fancy luncheon, don't ya think?"

He unwound himself, kissing along James' collarbone.  "You taste like the sea, luv."  'Warm and living' was what Jack was trying to describe, like the thick smell of their sweat and spunk.  He hopped off the table, found a spare handkerchief crammed into one of the drawers and gave himself a quick swipe.  "Poor Deacon woulda been horrified."

He stopped and stared into the open drawer, then quietly lifted his precious compass.  A crooked smile spilled across his face as he attached it to his belt with a possessive pat. 

James wordlessy arched an eyebrow, then grinned mischievously. "Likely. On the desk, no less. And that by leave of the Captain." He dressed quickly, eyeing the still unlocked double doors with a blush. "Do you think you could have charmed him as well, given the time?"

Jack wrinkled his nose as he finished rewinding the sash and secured the belt.  "Not to my taste.  Too Calvinist.  And Hamilton were too Catholic.  More guilt all 'round than I've a mind for.  I like my First Mate and his lovely English blade just fine," he grinned.  "Wanna nip before dinner?  Watch'll end soon."

"This relieves me beyond measure." James bowed. "Should we not return to work, then?"

Jack opened the decanter and poured them each a glass.  "No reason not to enjoy a quick drink."  His grin was broad.  "English blades and fair winds."

James raised his. "Home."

The crystal clinked, sending little rainbows dancing across the cabin as the light caught in them.  "Awright, let's head back up there and you can head us west."  He settled his headscarf, slung an arm around James' waist and opened the doors.


Jack woke with the tip of his nose tingling.  He wiggled it, scratched it and when it continued to tingle, he knew exactly what it meant.

He pulled on his coat before going topside; they were far south of the equator and it was getting chilly again.  On the stairs, his nose began to twitch.

Not an hour later, the call came from the nest:  'Sail ho!' just as he'd expected.  He grinned and peered through the spyglass, turning the wheel a few points west.  "Get Vorst!  I want the guncrews ready!" he bellowed, scratching his nose with one hand.

The crew snapped to attention and swarmed the deck from where they loitered,feeling a strange cheer after an idleness too-long enforced. James had been supervising work at the foremast and now made for the quarterdeck. "I do not believe the East India Trading Company would chase us from the west."

"We're payin' a little visit."  Jack grinned at him, squinting through the lens.  "Still too far t'tell.  Just wanna make sure we don't have any surprises gettin' round the Cape.  It's bad enough without."

Despite his words, he was quivering and his smile stretched a little too broadly.

"A little visit?" James' eyebrow met his hairline.

Jack looked like a gold-toothed shark.  "Just takin' a look, mate.  I'm sure she's eyein' us as well."  He scratched his nose again.

"We can simply sail past and hail them. There is no need for a gun salute." James shook his head. "You are planning a raid."

"Don't know yet.  I'm just takin' a l'il peek.  A bit closer....ahh yes!  And such a plump little partridge she is!  Portuguese merchantman, looks like 24 guns...."  Jack snapped the spyglass closed.  "Bertie, Berks, get ev'ryone armed and on deck.  We're gonna have a bit o' fun."

"Fun? Jack, we do not need anything. We are well enough equipped with supplies and riches for the journey home. Why risk lives to steal more?" James' voice was still low, drowned out by the wind, but urgent.

Jack's eyes were black as midnight, teasingly serious.  "Because that's wot we do, luv."  He turned the wheel over to Van and bounded amidships, shouting orders as he clattered down to the Great Cabin, throwing on his swordbelt and stuffing two pistols in his sash.

He looked up as James closed the door. "Why?"

"Why wot, luv?"  Jack glanced up from loading one of the fancy pistols, another already stuck into his sash.

"You know what." James' voice was sharp.

"Listen t'me, James.  This is wot a pirate does and this is a pirate ship.  If ya wanna steer clear, stay at the helm.  But now's the opportune moment fer me to prove who and wot I am to the crew.  A pirate captain is only as good as his last raid, no matter how much blather is written in the broadsides."  His smile gentled.  "Jamie, I'm not gonna go slaughterin' or sinking that pretty little ship.  I want her cargo and I can get it."

He settled his hat and swordbelt.  "I need yer help, luv.  Think of it as a Navy prize and leave the rest to me.  Please?"

James looked at him, then nodded sharply. "Aye, Captain," he whispered, turned on his heel and rushed back on deck.

"Bertie, Jan, there are swords in the Great Cabin, the long sea chest to starboard. Get them. Ivan, get the grapplings hooks, down in the orlop. Move!"

Jack took a moment to stare after him, biting his lip, then glanced in the mirror and settled his 'effects'.  He winked at Bertie on his way out of the Great Cabin and took the spyglass from Van.

The Chimaera was closing in fast and the Portuguese ship lumbered to manoeuvre.  She was low in the water, heavily loaded and Jack had visions of sugarplums dancing in his head.  "Van, take us in on her larboard side.  On my orders, fire across the bow.  Do we have a flag?"

Berkely shrugged and Jack rolled his eyes.  "There's a red lady's petticoat in my cabin.  The big cupboard.  Use that."

The red fabric went up, fluttering in the wind and James swallowed hard. Certainly, the Biritsh Crown had hired Hamilton to do just that, to attack and weaken other Crowns' fleets and trade. A Naval prize. He swallowed and gripped his sword harder.

If the red ruffles detracted from the fearsome intent of a jolie rouge, the Portuguese captain was not noticing.  Jack seemed to flit everywhere at once, emerging from the gundecks with a streak of soot on his face, bellowing. 

He eyed the two boarding parties with a face-splitting grin and yelled, "FIRE!"

The cannon roared at his command.  There was an answering blast that sent a ball plopping harmlessly short of the Chimaera's new bowsprit.  Jack grabbed a line.  "With me, now!"

James jerked his head and swung over, sword in hand.  He could barely see through the thick smoke and the rows of men. He shoved them aside and worked at clearing a path to the quarterdeck. "Man overboard," he yelled as one of them tumbled over the rail.

A thin Portuguese blinked at him, training a shaking sword at his chest. The sword clattered overboard and James yanked him close by the collar. "Get him out," he hissed, pointing at the splashing man in the water, then vaulted the stairs.

The fat little Captain hid behind the helmsman and two men that seemed to be mercenaries well past their prime. James' boarding crew had them disarmed in seconds. He levelled his sword at the Captain's stomach.

The boarding parties and crew backed away as Jack swaggered to the quarterdeck.  He tripped over a bucket, kicked it aside with a curse and pushed his hat back off his nose.  "Ahem.  Buenos dias, Senhor.  As ya can probably tell, I'm takin' over the ship.  Wot say you stand down like a good man, eh?"

James bowed and backed away, leaving the two Captains to their business.

The Portuguese captain seemed torn between a guffaw and a gulp, muttered to his helmsman and handed over a lovely chased blade.  Jack studied it for a moment, then grinned.  "Very reasonable of ya, I'm sure.  Jamie, secure the crew.  Berks, get down t'the hold and see wot's makin' this little lady weigh so heavy.  Senhor Capitan, if ya'd follow me."  He prodded at the captain's rotund stomach with his pistol, then gestured towards the stairs.

James' crew disarmed the Portuguese quickly, herding them on the quarterdeck. "Vorst, that swivel gun over there. Load it."

He turned to face the cowering Portuguese, their weapons gathered in a pile. "No one moves and no one gets hurt. It is as simple as that. Jan, see that those weapons are taken aboard."

The better part of the Chimaera's crew poured across the loading planks and into the Cecilia's bowels, tearing open crates and hauling the prize ones up through the hatch.  Jack's crew ransacked the officer's cabins swiftly while he and the captain came to an amicable accord.  He studied the manifest and shouted out the door to Berkely.  "There's a load o' Chinese silver.  See that we have ev'ry bloody brick."

The men moved fast and disentangled spare sails, rolled guns across to the Chimaera, a constant parade of boxes and barrels travelling from one ship to the other.

James watched them struggle with the cargo, flinching when one of the cannons, still hot, slipped and crashed against the Chimaera's bulwark. "Watch over them. Vorst, you have command here." He grabbed a line and swung over, putting in his shoulder to get the cannons stowed when there was an explosion.

Jack had been toasting the captain with fine sherry, his pockets bulging with the loot from the usual hiding places when the Great Cabin flooded with black smoke and they emerged on deck, choking.  "Vorst, get that lot below an' see wot in hell is goin' on down there.  Cap'n, I do believe you've got a little problem here," he coughed, pounding the man on the back.

James rushed topside and bellowed across the divide. "Chimaeras, back aboard! We have everything!"

Vorst was gone from the quarterdeck and smoke emerged from the hatch. God, had they lit the powder magazine?

He was about to order the men to disengage when Jack emerged from the hatch, black and sooty and....laughing?

Jack made a final bow before swinging back to the Chimaera's deck---no walking across a loading plank for him, if you please.  He landed in a heap on his arse, laughing so hard the tears were running down his face, streaking through soot.

James hoisted him upright. "Dare I ask?"

Jack tried several times to talk, between coughing and laughing.  He finally wiped his eyes, still giggling.  "I have never taken a ship because they went an' blew up their own bloody stove!"  He dissolved into another fit of laughter.

"Perhaps their cook was one of Cookie's students, and a crewman decided to seize the opportunity." James managed a crooked smile. "All is well?"

"Fine, luv.  VAN!  Get us outta here.  Don't worry 'bout them, they'll be too busy tryin' with that charred galley.  I want speed!  And get this deck clear.  Jamie, I'm gonna need yer help cataloging all this.  Wot a haul!"

He leaned against James' shoulder, wiping his face and leaving streaks of soot on his sleeve.  "She was headed to Lisbon from Macao.  Medicines, silks, tea, jade, silver!"  The dark eyes were twinkling amid his blackened face.  "Not to mention a decent supply o' rum, port and brandywine.  Not bad fer one shot and an exploding stove."

"And a shirt for me to replace the one you are currently soiling?" James pulled Jack's headscarf away to kiss his clean forehead. "Congratulations, Captain." He bent close. "I believe you have smeared your kohl."

"How can ya tell?  I must look like a bleedin' African.  We helped 'em put out the fire."  His eyes dropped at James' quizzical expression.  "I'm not a savage, luv."

"You only look like one, I know." James looked out to where the Cecilia still floated on the water, then back at Jack, smiling just barely. "Get yourself cleaned up. I will take care of this."

"Awright.  It's a good thing we've extra water, eh?  I want a full accountin' of all this before we lose the light.  Jesus, it's gettin' cold again.  Bloody Cape."  Jack grumbled his way to his cabin and took the time to not only clean himself but repaint his eyes.  When he appeared on deck, he was met with cheers as the crew wrestled their haul belowdecks, followed by James and his quill.

They had it stowed barely an hour later, crammed in next to ivory and munitions. James lost more than half the crew to the galley and a cask of rum as he went topside. The Chimaera was well underway and back on her course when he chased Van off to join the others in the galley, taking the wheel himself, glad for company that, no matter what Jack said, did not speak or cheer.

Jack, as always, kept a sharp eye.  He watched James whenever he was on deck and knew that stiff demeanour too well to try and coax him below.  If Jamie was intent on brooding, there was little to be done about it and Jack wasn't going to miss a party anyway.  He grimaced into his mug and figured he might as well enjoy the company of the crew since he expected little more than uneasy silence in his cabin this night.

The celebration was much more restrained than it would have been aboard the Pearl, but Jack knew they could not afford a proper pirate fete until they were back in Tortuga or Petit Goave.  There was enough rum flowing to make everyone happy, but not the drunken debauches that usually followed a successful raid.  The Cape lay ahead and there was no time to spare for monumental carousing.

It was dark outside when James came below, far too serious for the soused company, but he made a valiant effort, joining in the rousing shanty as he touched his mug to Jack's.

Jack nestled against him, touched that James had put aside his brooding long enough to make an appearance.  He thoroughly enjoyed the last tall tale from Karl, one the of the Dutchmen who possessed a delightfully deep voice and the magic of a born storyteller.  He cheered the ending, drained his mug and hauled himself to his feet.  "Turnin' in, lads.  As we all should.  We had fair pickin's today, did we not?"

There was a final cheer and the galley began to empty when Jack stopped to touch James' shoulder.  "C'mon, luv.  Let's get some sleep."

He went to the cabin and walked to the casement, watching the wake of the Chimaera, the reflection of her lamps streaking gold across the water.  For a long time he remained there, absently drinking from his flask.

James stretched out on the bed, the coverlet half pulled up and lying on his back, eyes closed and face empty; too empty and motionless for sleep.

Jack undressed slowly and dawdled over the lamps, finally extinguishing all but one before he slid between the sheets.  "Jamie, wot ya thinkin' that's got yer brain rattlin' so loud even I can hear it?"

"You did leave them enough supplies to reach port safely, did you not?"

Jack rolled his eyes, but suppressed a groan.  "I told you I'm not a savage, James."

"I know. I am sorry." James turned onto his side and managed a crooked smile, watching him curiously.

"Wot is it, luv.  Yer all twitchy again."  Jack pushed back one of the blonded braids fondly.

James sighed out a breath. "Twenty-four guns, Jack? That is as many as we have aboard. What if something had gone wrong? If anyone had lost his nerve? And for what? A little more plunder in the Chimaera's holds?"

Jack sighed.  "But nothin' went wrong.  I don't see the point of worryin' over it after the fact, luv.  It's exactly the same thing we done before, and quicker without any Spanish heroes."  He rolled over to lean on one elbow.  "Besides, plunder is our business.  That's wot it's all about.  Well, there's the ship and the sea and freedom and goin' wherever we want t'go and seein' all manner of wonderful things.  But it's business.  Hard, cold cash, mate.  Even privateers are expected to make a profit."

He reached for his flask on the nightstand and armed himself for the expected outburst.

Instead, silence followed, then the rustle of linen as James plucked the flask from his grasp. "There is not all that much difference, is there? In the Captain, maybe, but not by the letter."

Jack's brow furrowed.  "How's that, luv?  I mean, Navy an' pirate, well that goes without sayin', but privateer and pirate?"

James shook his head. "Where is the difference whether a privateer or a pirate takes a Portuguese for a prize? The Crown gets its share if the privateer does. Money buys safety from the noose, not the letter of the law.  And the more they behave like pirates, the more cruel they are and the more men they kill, the better. More plunder, more prizes, more blood.  A privateer can be every single bit a pirate, and need not even cross the law like Hamilton did." He shook his head again, violently. "The letter doesn't change anything. It's only down to the Captain."

"That's true enough.  There's privateer captains as would make any decent pirate blush.  And some Navy captains I'd pit against a Barbossa.  Wot of it?  I figger 'tis best to get the job done clean and have it off with only a little fuss.  Course, it don't always go that way, but it's much better all 'round."  Jack nestled into the pillow and watched James' profile, silhouetted against the fading light.  The candle in the lamp sputtered a protest and died out completely.

"You will not hear me object to that. But where do we draw the line? When is something acceptable, and when is it not?" James could hear a wave break against the Chimaera's hull, a thrum going through her, almost comforting. "May those who make the rules break them?"

Jack sought refuge in the flask.  "James, don't.  Just don't go on like that.  You'll drive yerself mad and take me with ya.  Remember this:  nothin' keeps a crew happy like a juicy haul.  Sorta like takin' a girl to her first dance.  Now, wot in hell do you think they woulda thought of me if I'd passed up such a prize without a glance?"

"I had not considered that," James admitted. "I...I am not used to the crew getting any say in that." He smiled into the darkness. "I notice you keep blaming me for any current and future levels of your madness. I shall not take that responsibility."

Jack curled into his arms and held the flask to his lips.  James could feel his grin.  "Not askin' you to.  They'd have thought me a sorry excuse fer a pirate if I didn't take a gamble, aye?  The more plunder, the more their shares. It's only natural.  And with all the extra stores, what we're losin' in speed now, we'll make up fast.  Do you realise we don't have to restock?  We can take advantage of the Trades and cut straight across the South Atlantic.  I'd say it was worth the risk, wouldn't you?"  He searched in the dark for that spot on James neck, just below his ear.  "No sense gettin' sloppy."

"I cannot cheer for it, Jack, but yes, the risk was worth the gain." Jack was being very sloppy, kissing a wet path along James' jawline. James might have meant plunder when he asked, "Do you ever get enough?"

"Shouldn't be so warm and smooth then!"  Jack retorted, winding him in a tight grip for a proper kiss.  "It's just ole Jack, luv.  Same as ever."  He laughed softly and made quite sure that James was not thinking about plunder, risks, morals or anything except one very insistent pirate.

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