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All Things Bright and Beautiful
BY: Briony*** Ch. 1: The Call to Prayer
Jack Sparrow woke up somewhere in an alley on Gibraltar. Never mind how he had managed to get himself there, it was a dangerous place for him to linger. His memory was definitely hazy, starting from Tripoli when he'd shipped out with a Barbary crew, owing to the overindulgence of kif. He wrinkled his nose. Damned stuff, that, sticky sweet and didn't he still reek of it! Besides, the captain had started eyeing him in an all-too-familiar fashion and he didn't fancy another turn in harem pants. He'd jumped ship at Malaga and found a fishing crew. That's right, they'd dumped him here after he'd sworn once too often in English. He drew his legs up and leaned back against the wall, considering his options. There was no going back to the Indies, not with the memory of the Celeste still burned into his brain, not to mention the brand burned onto his right arm. He grimaced and spat out a mouthful of sour saliva. One day, when he got his Pearl back, he'd even things up with Peter Garrison, but first, he needed to head west, back to the Caribe. Problem was, how to get there. He couldn't simply join a merchant crew now, not with that brand blazing for all to see if he so much as turned up his sleeve. One hot day on deck and someone would be sure to spot it and he'd be hanging from a yardarm quick as Bob's yer uncle. Feck all, what he needed right now was a good, honest drink to clear his head of all that smoke. He pulled himself to his feet and yanked his hair back, pulling a kerchief around it. He looked like any other scruffy Spanish sailor with his dark colouring and, for that, he was decidedly grateful, Gibraltar being English and all. As he stumbled out into the street, he ran headlong into a slight man in dark clothes, struggling with a large portmanteau. "Perdona", he mumbled, neatly lifting the man's purse from his coat with clever, grimy fingers. The nervous little man backed up, eyes wide and terrified, then shuddered with obvious disgust and Jack watched him continue on his way, feeling the weight of the purse hidden in his hand beneath a fold of his sash. Not bad for a quick bit of juggling. He smiled and headed down to the nearest tavern for a much-deserved drink. The only tavern was below the only inn on the God-forsaken rock and he bought himself a bottle of calvados and found himself a nice, dark corner with a good view of the room and a back door conveniently close. Never knew when you'd have to cut and run, he reasoned. No sense being sloppy, especially with all those lobsters milling about. The inn was nearly empty, it being late afternoon, past that damnable Spanish custom of eating hugely in the middle of the day and snoring until four or five. He leaned back against the wall, his feet up on the bench, lounging and drinking. He had nearly dozed off when his ears pricked up to the sound of English. Well, well, if it was his little dark scarecrow, looking a bit less nervous and talking animatedly to what appeared to be an off-duty guard. Jack shifted himself back into the shadows and listened idly. "Yes, yes, " the slight man was saying. "I put out on the Jeremiah tomorrow, bound for Nassau to take up God's work there. I am quite extraordinarily excited to have the opportunity to work with the poor natives there. Of course, the parish is small but missionary work can only be for the good of all people, regardless of colour." Bloody pompous ass, Jack thought, tossing back another swallow from his bottle. "Indeed it is, Reverend Meadows. And I'm sure that you will be much rewarded for your efforts." Jack tuned out so boring a conversation and contented himself with drinking and dreaming of the various ways he was going to gut Barbossa when he found him. A stray thought drifted into his reverie and the beginnings of a plan started to form in his mind. He listened a bit more. "Well, Reverend, I must get back. I am on duty at the fort in but an hour. It has been most pleasant talking with you. May God speed your journey tomorrow." My thanks, Lieutenant. I intend to dine in my room here and enjoy the last of my stay on land for a time. God bless you and keep you." The officer's chair scraped on the wood floor and the Reverend sat quietly reading for a time. In the shadows behind him, the dim light glinted gold as Jack Sparrow's lips curved into a smile. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ "Now, what in blazes you got in `ere, mate?" Jack asked, rummaging through the open trunk. "Books, books an' more books. I tell ya, Reverend, you need t'get yerself a girl. These things'll rot yer brain, they will. Ye'll do yeself an injury. Much better off wi' a nice, long shag." "MMmmmph" "Wot's that ye say?" Jack smiled broadly over his shoulder, pulling out a clean shirt. "Cat got yer tongue, matey?" The slight, nervous Reverend Meadows was trussed up on the bed quite nicely, Jack's kerchief stoppering his mouth. His watery blue eyes were fixed on the pirate who was busily ransacking his cases. "Ahh now, don't you worry yourself. I'm not gonna hurt ya, luv. But I am goin' to commandeer a few things. Savvy?" Jack paused to glance in the mirror. "Hmmm. I guess this will have t'go." He held up a braided lock of his hair. "But, as the Good Book says, vanity is the Devil's work, ain't that right, Reverend?" He found the man's shaving kit and used the razor to shear off his long hair, littering the floor with tangled elf-locks and trinkets, then dunked his head in the basin, shaking it like a dog. He kept up his amiable conversation while he briskly whipped up lather of foam and began to shave. "Y'know, you might just thank me f'this. You really don't seem the type who'd enjoy the Caribbean sun, it bein' so hot and all. Damn. I bloody hate shaving!" He held the towel to the small nick on his chin and smiled at his own reflection. No, no Jack Sparrow there looking back at him. His drying hair curled around his head like a dark halo and the clean-shaven face looked very young, and quite fetching, if he did say so himself. He smiled again, then grimaced. Must remember to keep me gob shut, with them teeth, he considered. Trying, but certainly not impossible. He began to strip off his ragged clothing, enjoying the good Reverend's bug-eyed perusal of his assortment of tattoos and scars. Of course, the man's eye was trained on that damned brand. Jack grinned at him, blithely wandering around the room stark naked. "Go on, look all you want, ducky." He turned his back and glanced over his shoulder provocatively. "Now that's a pretty bit of ink, ain't it?" He laughed softly, regarding the enormous Japanese warrior that spanned most of his back in the mirror. "Got it in Macao off some Japanese feller. Hurt like the devil, but we weren't goin' anywhere fast, y'see, stuck in a Portugee jail. I must say, Reverend, that the Catholics do feed a soul a mite bettern' the English. At least in prisons they do. Sumpthin' you might remember when you take up your calling in future. Just because a feller's gonna hang or get the garrote don't turn his belly off an' a nice last supper is definitely an act o' Christian charity." Jack pulled on the clean linen shirt and and sat down on the bed to slip on the dark breeches. He paused and leaned over to pat the bound man's cheek. "I'm only takin' the one. Yer welcome to all the rest of it. Nothing of value t'me mate. I have an appointment, ye see, back in the West Indies and I simply can't be late. " He paused, one finger to his lips. "On second thought, I'll be takin' it all, mate. Y'know, matter o' pirate honour. " "Mmmmmmmmmph." "Ya don't say. Truly, Reverend. I will always remember your kindness i' this matter. I'm sure that God will be most pleased at your extraordinary generousity in `elpin' out yer fellow man." Jack stood up, brushing the black breeches down and stopped to consider his hands. Quickly, he pulled off all the rings and frowned, then resumed rummaging through the good Reverend's effects until he found what he was looking for: a small bottle of walnut oil, thought by some to be good for curing seasickness. Stupid landlubbers, he grinned, working the oil well into the white flesh above his knuckles. Only real cure for seasickness was a good drunk and a lie down between `em. He looked down at his hands, then returned one ring, the one with the oval onyx, to his left forefinger. "Can't give that one up, Reverend. Present from a departed mate an' all." He checked again through the littered contents of the trunk, picked up the brand-new Communion case, bit his lip for a moment and stuffed it back, then sat down on the floor, rifling through the books. "Hmm. I suppose I'll be needin' this one." he tossed the well-worn Book of Common Prayer into the trunk and picked up another. "Shakespeare. Very erudite, Reverend, but ain`t playgoin' considered a bit of a lapse in a clergyman?" He threw that one in, too. "Mind ya, I like a bit of theatre, as it were." He grinned wickedly up into the man's eyes. He threw in a few more. "An' I imagine I'll need a bit o'reading material, not being occupied topside on this journey. Ahh," he held up a bottle of port. "Now that will definitely come in handy." By the time he had repacked the trunk and the portmanteau and cleaned up the room, the dawn was beginning to grey the night sky. "Well, Reverend, this has been most fun, but I'm afraid our acquaintance, as it were, is coming to an end. I do thank you from th' bottom of me black heart." He muffled the sound of the blow from a large candlestick with the bedclothes, knocking the Reverend into dreamland, heaved him with some difficulty into the wardrobe and locked the door. He took a long breath and looked at himself once more in the mirror, tugging at the collar and bands about his throat that fell neatly over the sober black coat. Very nice. Respectable, and clean, at least from the outside. He grinned at himself, collected the rest of his shorn hair and pulled out the locks with various beads and charms attached, wrapped them carefully in a handkerchief, opening the trunk and tucking them away in the Communion case. He threw the rest of the hair into the fire where it flared up, then died away, leaving a rather pungent smell like burning dog. Keeping a clean handkerchief close to his face, he went out into the hall and tapped the servant snoring on the landing awake. "Please take my case and trunk down to the docks immediately." That done, he descended the stairs, made sure that the innkeeper was still abed and left payment with the maid, and followed the servants with his luggage down to the dock. TBC |
