More Seductive Than Purity

Chapter One


Sometimes it’s better to be patient. Sometimes you have to wait for the thing you want most to come to you, rather than taking it for yourself. Some things can’t be taken, and some things are definitely worth waiting for.

The lone figure on deck looked out into the blackness surrounding him, his right hand on the wheel, the other hooked casually into the belt at his hip. The sky was heavy and thick with the promise of thunder. It had been sweltering for days now. It didn’t really bother Jack too much, though. He wore the sultry air like a cloak; it was just another layer swathed around him like one of his sashes.
Jack didn’t usually like to take the last watch of the night, mainly because it kept him from the countless other things he’d rather be doing below deck. But it did give him the rare opportunity to reflect alone on all the curious events that had mapped out his existence for the past few years. Most of the time he was too preoccupied in living as forcefully as he could to find the time to actually contemplate the past and speculate about the future. Living in the moment was what he did best, and in that exact moment he was thinking for the umpteenth time that he must be the luckiest man alive.
“’Course, by rights,” Jack mused, “I really ought to be dead.”
He thought about the moment of his death, as that vast mouth closed around him and the countless rows of teeth punctured him with a myriad of hurt-filled gashes. Then everything went white, like sailing over the edge of a bright horizon for ever and ever. And then, nothing. Nothing else until he lay on the beach that stretched towards Singapore harbour and all he was aware of was pain.
Up until that moment, Jack had thought he’d always gladly choose death rather than slavery. He still would, though the decision would be a little less automatic. With a rueful smile he thought of Lizzie; bright, cold, intent. She was like a double-edged sword. Without her, his life might not have ended quite so soon; and without her, he would not be the luckiest man alive. She had her own ship now, the Nenuphar. She’d even managed to poach Anamaria for her crew.
“Bloody women,” Jack sniffed, “they always stick together.”
Sometimes they would hear reports of her exploits. Piracy was probably not the immediate career choice one would have expected of the Governor’s daughter, but it was perfect for Liz. Although he was loath to admit it, she was a better pirate than he’d ever been; merciless, cunning, “And considerably more sober,” Jack thought.
Of course thinking of Lizzie inevitably made him think of Will. Will, who couldn’t reconcile the tender boyhood dreams of his sweetheart with the reality. No matter how he tried, he couldn’t accept the degree of ruthlessness Elizabeth possessed that would stop at nothing to get what it wanted at any cost, regardless of the principles, propriety and people it had to sweep aside to reach the desired end.
“’S funny really,” pondered Jack, “can’t think how he don’t object to how very similar me and his erstwhile doxy are.”
Jack had a vague memory of lying under a makeshift tarpaulin on the murky shore as Tia leaned over him, muttering indecipherable hoodoo incantations as she applied something foul-smelling to his lacerated skin. Her magic made him feel steadily more like himself, and he intermittently uttered a florid curse when the ointment stung. She paused every now and then to give him a wide, satisfied grin, her nose wrinkling. Outside he heard the concerned muttering of the crew. Occasionally from much further off he heard shouting. Will and Elizabeth had talked alone for several hours, and he heard the timbre of their voices changing from pleading tones, to anger, and back to entreaties again. Try as he might, he couldn’t discern what they were saying.
At dawn, Tia had drawn back the canopy covering the entrance to the tent. One by one the crew had come in and offered words of congratulation and comfort. Then Will was at his bedside, and he said nothing for the longest time. He just stared at Jack, his face drawn, eyes dull. Jack wondered if Will actually looked in a worse state than himself. Jack tried to crack a smile, but Will glanced away. Then in a hoarse voice, he asked Jack if he could go with him,
“When you feel better, of course.” Then Jack could barely hear him as he said, “There’s nothing left for me on land.” Will, who the sea loved so dearly, she had spared him from countless shipwrecks, wanted to sail with him. Finally. Jack felt his heart thump, the bliss of blood flowing again in his veins. The almost indiscernible flicker of the dream of a dream, that he thought he had extinguished long ago, stole phantom-like through the recesses of his aching body. He knew then there was one good reason he was alive again, even if it was only to dream a little longer. He took a laboured breath and just about managed to croak, “Sound idea, mate. I can always do with a good deckhand.” But Will had already gone.
Lizzie came in soon after, and Jack flinched involuntarily. Her face was set into a hard, brittle mask, her chin tilted defiantly.
“I’m sorry Jack,” she said, a little too brightly to be convincing. Then she leaned towards him, and in a lower voice she added, “I wish he could find it as easy to forgive me as it is for him to forgive you.” She straightened up again, and said a little more loudly, “Well, good luck.” Then she gave a little nod, and turned to leave. She had barely looked at him or blinked for the entire exchange. But Jack had known the real reason for the shine in her eyes.
Jack swapped hands on the tiller, shaking his arm out to try to alleviate some of the cramped feeling in his right hand. He was thinking about how he had once asked Will to join him at sea, all those years ago on the Isla de Muerta. He had just witnessed Will botch his opportune moment with Elizabeth, and decided that perhaps this was the most expedient time to press his own case.
“If you were waiting for the opportune moment, that was it. Now, if you’ll be so kind, I’d be much obliged if you’d drop me off at my ship.” Will looked crestfallen. Jack saw his chance, and as he walked away he turned his head and said over his shoulder, as offhandedly as possible, “Course, you could always come with me, see if your pirate blood will out, eh?’
Will had looked at him, and for a split second Jack imagined that he saw something clouding Will’s eyes with a dark intensity, a fleeting moment where he looked like he just might relent. It was the same expression that Jack had thought he saw cross Will’s face every now and then since he had first drawn swords with him. It was the look that had made him dare to hope.
Then Will’s eyes widened with horror, and in an affronted tone he replied,
“It’s not my place.”
Then the long hurt came, and the anger, and the despair. And Jack couldn’t show it. How could Will know he had inadvertently enchanted Jack as surely as if he was a master necromancer? Besides, if Will did know, Jack didn’t really expect him to react any other way to something he could only possibly see as unnatural, immoral and abhorrent. There were times on the way back to Port Royal he had almost welcomed the impending noose. Better to be dead than in thrall to his own emotions. And yet… and yet… Will had saved him. Why? To prove something to himself? To Jack? To Liz, most likely. Jack didn’t stay around for the inevitable happy ending he predicted between those two.
Jack rolled his eyes, and observed,
“Always comes down to death rather than slavery, don’t it. Where’s that leave me now, I wonder?” He chuckled to himself, thinking how some chains suit the wearer better than others. He’d been rather surprised at himself to learn that there was just one fetter he’d rather leave on.
Jack had spent the following year chasing down the one thing more elusive than the affection of a certain blacksmith – his own soul. So when Will had shown up again, Jack was surprised to say the least, especially considering the circumstances. His elation was immediately quashed when he found out why Will was there. For her, of course. His jealousy frightened him, but not nearly as much as the imminent threat of enslavement to Davy Jones. He winced slightly as he recalled the first time he had seen the marks on Will’s back. He hadn’t anticipated that. Jack did some pretty despicable things. He had known that only Will was capable of getting that key from Jones, and thus to Jack. He had counted on Will’s steadfastness to stop at nothing to get to that chest and free his father. And of course, he had freed him, in a sense. Bill had been released from his fealty like all the souls on the Dutchman at the moment of Jones’ death. The ship and everyone on it had simply disintegrated into fine black sand, sinking like a pall of ash to the seabed. Jack felt the pang of another unfamiliar emotion. He thought again of Lizzie, the perverse little game he had decided to play with her. Envy laced with self-punishment perhaps, gashing open another wound to drain the bitterness out of his heart. “I’m not what he wants,” Jack had thought, “but are you? Are you good enough for him, eh? Let’s see how far you’re willing to go in the name of love, luv.” Jack had assumed that by now he was unshockable, but he hadn’t banked on Elizabeth using the situation to her advantage. “Fine pair of Judases we made,” he thought reproachfully. He had tried to justify it to himself, and later to Will by saying, “See, there’s lyin’ and there’s lyin’. Least I’m honest about my dishonesty. Always have been. Like I’ve said before, it’s them who’s dishonest about their honesty that you can’t really trust.” But even in the drunken bubble of his skull, Jack knew that this didn’t really make any sense. No amount of specious justification could purge his memory of the look of hurt he saw on Will’s face.
And then Will was on board his ship. This ship. He sighed heavily at the bittersweet sensation associated with this particular memory. The sails made a soft sloughing sound in the steadily growing wind, half in consolation, half enviously. Jack tried not to dwell too much on the thoughts replaying in his head about how he had felt when he found out the Pearl was gone forever. He had sat on the shore and not let anyone approach him for almost a day. Eventually he allowed Gibbs and Tia near him, the two concerned faces on either side of him insisting that they walk further into the harbour for food and lodgings, that Jack needed to eat and rest properly. Jack strode silently ahead of everyone, his head bowed. He obstinately refused to look at anything other than his feet until they reached the port. Finally he lifted his head, and saw her. She was nothing like Pearl, because none could compare to her, but she was one long entrancing curve from stem to stern. Tia had murmured so only he could hear,
“Dat be de only ship in dis wicked world dat could love Jack Sparrow ‘alf so much as him lost Pearl. Her name Stella Maris. Learn to love her, and she gwan bring you good fortune.” Jack felt like this was his worst betrayal of all, but the often surprisingly pragmatic part of him knew it was a foolish man who ignored the advice of this peerless witch. Before the sun rose the next morning, they had left Singapore, and the somewhat peeved crew they had usurped from the ship, far behind.
Jack slowly started to acquaint himself more thoroughly with his untried paramour, and as he grew accustomed to her, he also found himself, despite his misgivings, spending more and more time with the newest member of her crew. Infuriatingly uptight, obstinately courageous, unrelentingly hardworking, and quite, quite beautiful. Two months passed, three, then four, and Will started to behave more and more strangely. Jack could barely stand it, to have Will so close all the time and so very far away. He’d do his best not to look at him, but at times he couldn’t help it, and occasionally he would catch Will looking back at him, with that same cryptic expression that made Jack’s chest tighten. Then Will would flare up at him for the smallest of reasons, or would do his best to ignore him. At other times Will seemed to seek him out, and they’d sit for hours talking, because Will said, “I need to talk to someone.” If Will needed him for something, anything, Jack was loath to refuse. Sometimes they’d talk and the sky would grow dark around them as night fell, and Jack would suggest that they went below deck to his cabin, because, “it’s gettin’ nippy up here, mate,” but Will would always refuse. In all the time Will was on his ship, never once did he set foot in Jack’s cabin. He would come to fetch Jack if they needed him above deck, and he would wake him when it was Jack’s turn to take watch, but he remained resolutely outside the doorframe at all times.
So, their discussions were always conducted in the relatively public domain of the deck. They skirted the issues of the immediate past for some time, and instead Jack would regale Will with stories he had heard and adventures he had encountered on his travels. Will would just listen, or question Jack about certain points he was yet to grasp about navigation or rigging. Several times Will would point out a glaring inconsistency in one of Jack’s tales with a sarcastic raise of his eyebrows. They would laugh, there might be a playful reference to sea turtles, and for a moment that old, desperate, long-suppressed hope would rear its head inside Jack’s ravening belly. Then Will’s face would change, and a fearful, haggard look would mar his fine features, and he would fall silent again. Jack put it down to the usual behaviour displayed when someone is bereft of something they love, and can’t allow themselves a moment of joy without feeling guilty. It was the same for him as he mourned Pearl, but the mask Jack wore was more adept than Will’s at showing the world its array of expressions while the man behind it painfully and slowly felt the warmth creep back into his numb heart.
It was several weeks into these intermittent colloquies before Will could bear to bring up the topic of Elizabeth. When he did, Jack found it very strange that Will seemed to be doing his best to justify why he couldn’t marry her to him of all people. He also noticed how uncomfortable it made Will to discuss it, but that he forced himself to do it anyway. Jack hadn’t felt too wonderful discussing it either. He recalled one of their exchanges. It had been on the same watch as this, just before dawn. Will had stayed up with him, and they had taken it in turns to hold the wheel while the other sat, or, in Jack’s case, lounged on the deck with a half empty bottle in one hand. It was Will’s turn to stand at the wheel, and Jack noted the distress on his face as their conversation continued. He hated seeing that expression, and said,
“Listen, mate. You really don’t have to tell me all of this, if you don’t want to. Don’t seem to be doing you much good. Your face looks like you’ve run out of rope and had to use your own innards to secure the mast tackle.” Ah, at least Will looked annoyed now, rather than distraught.
“Jack,” Will snapped, “has it ever occurred to you that I might just want you to listen, rather than keep interrupting me all the time?”
“Oh. ‘Scuse me.” Jack sat up, pressing his hands together in his ingratiating gesture that parodied prayer. The last thing Jack wanted was to hear Will talk about lost love. “Carry on, like.” He leaned back onto his elbows, giving Will his best smile.
Will looked at Jack and sighed, the frown softening slightly. “What was I saying?” It was Jack’s turn to sigh and roll his eyes,
“You were telling me about love and sacrifice,” Jack said, doing his best not to sound too droll, as he thought, “and I was doing my best not to listen while I watch your mouth move.”
“Oh, yes, that’s it… Love does require sacrifice, Jack. But self-sacrifice, not the sacrifice of anything and everything that stands between two people. That’s another reason I couldn’t marry Eliz… Miss Swann. I couldn’t love someone like that, because I knew she couldn’t love me in return. At least, not in the way I believe love should be. When I learned she was willing to do anything at all to ensure my safety, and our marriage, even to the extent of endangering others and, and,” Will’s brow furrowed again, and he gestured awkwardly in Jack’s direction “all the rest, I knew that if I married her, I wouldn’t be her husband. I’d be,” Will grimaced, “I’d be a prize she’d bartered at the cost of someone else’s life.” He lowered his head and Jack couldn’t see his face any longer. It was difficult to hear the next words he spoke.
“Besides, she would have found out that I… might not have been be the husband she’d hoped for. And I don’t think I’m worth the price of someone else’s life.” His voice had become even quieter and he jerked his head in Jack’s direction without looking at him.
“Not your life, Jack. Sometimes the right thing to do is let someone go.”
“Even if it meant you died?” Jack asked softly. He realised he was shivering, but the night was warm.
Will nodded.
“Don’t ask for much, do you? I remember you being willing to do pretty much anything to ensure her safety, including die for her.”
“Exactly. I’d die for love, but I don’t want anyone else’s blood on my hands in order to get what I want.”
Jack wasn’t too keen on continuing the morbid topic. He didn’t really want to think about his recent encounter with the Reaper. And he was starting to feel rather befuddled, and couldn’t decide whether that was the tiredness, the rum, or something to do with what he imagined he could hear in the silences between Will’s words, the thing that was making his legs and arms shake. He tried to sound jovial,
“I’m sure you’ll recover, mate. Meet a nice girl in some port somewhere. Settle down. Happy ever after, et cetera.”
“I don’t know if I could love another woman again.”
“Really? I’m sure there’ll be an indefinite number of tavern wenches who’ll take turns to try to change your mind.”
Will made a small sound of vexation, and finally lifted his head to look at Jack. The hard look on his face cracked as soon as he made eye contact. He dropped his head again, giving it a little shake,
“You wouldn’t understand.”
Jack sat up again, frowning, trying to put his finger on something like gossamer that was floating through his brain. He was surprised to hear his own voice saying,
“What do you think love is, mate?”
Will stared at him, and opened his mouth as if to say something. Then abruptly he twisted round as he heard footsteps. Jack had never been so relieved, and so hopping mad to see Mr Gibbs approaching.
Jack thought about other incidents in the various discussions they had had. Sometimes Will would forget to flinch when Jack conversationally laid a hand on his arm or his knee, unable to resist. Jack recalled three whole glorious minutes when he had very subtly and slowly managed to press his thigh against Will’s, and Will hadn’t moved until Jack had leaned his head in a little too closely. Will sprang up like he’d been struck and hurried away, urging Jack to do the same, on the pretext that they had spent far too much time away from their duties. Jack didn’t see him for hours after that. And in every tavern in every port they stayed in, Will slept alone. What Will didn’t know was that Jack slept alone too.
“Ah, there’s nothing more seductive than purity,” Jack thought. A far-off flash momentarily lit a dark patch of ocean. He heard the first, distant rumble of thunder. He remembered how he had tried several times in various taverns to encourage Will to spend an evening with one of the merry-eyed women they met in the ports along the way, even offering to pay for him. He wasn’t quite sure if he was doing it to prove to Will that not every woman’s love need be unrequited, or prove to himself that he wasn’t jealous. “Just ‘cause you ain’t married don’t mean you can’t tumble with a pretty wench,” Jack had said during one night as they sat in an inn on shore leave. He was ignoring the dubious look on Will’s face. “In fact, it’s slightly more frowned upon if you tumble with them and are married. And don’t you think it’s about time that your greenness is redressed?” Try as he might, Jack couldn’t use the word ‘virgin’ to refer to Will. It made his stomach feel… odd. Almost like the way he used to feel when he thought about treasure. “Or do you intend to remain trussed-up for the rest of your life? It’ll drop off, you know.” Will had rolled his eyes and stood up from the table,
“I’m leaving now. See you tomorrow.” Jack disliked having his plans scuppered, especially when he was trying to do what he considered to be an act of charity, and called to Will’s retreating back,
“Really, Will, you do make me wonder if my first suspicions were not in fact, correct. Have you ever considered a career in the Italian church? In the choir perhaps? I hear there’s always a demand for castrati…” The only response was a hand gesture that Jack was sure he would never have seen Will use a few years before. “Well, I might not be able to make a man of him,” Jack thought ribaldly, “but I’ll make a sailor of him yet.”
As time went on, Jack had started to wonder whether he was going madder, or if Will was, well, amenable towards ambiguities. As Will’s behaviour became more erratic, Jack’s patience, “Such as it is,” he thought reproachfully, was stretched to breaking point. He had almost started to begrudge Will’s presence, because it was a constant, tortuous aggravation of the stymied cravings broiling just beneath the surface of his skin. His shell was staring to crack, and he decided that he had to know one way or the other. He could think of only one way to broach the subject – by dropping a few hints during a duel with Will. It was the best way to get Will’s attention, and besides, Jack wanted the physical contact, whatever guise it came in.
“Unfortunately,” Jack brooded, waiting for the next flash of lightening, “what I consider to be a hint quite often turns swiftly into a big bloody unsubtle kick in the balls.”
He had found Will on the fore deck, practising between his daily duties as usual. He didn’t announce his presence, or ask Will if he wanted a sparring partner. He’d been refused that honour too often in the past. Instead he crept up behind Will, drawing his sword as quietly as possible. Will whipped round, sword raised.
“I heard you coming,” Will smiled. Jack almost stopped in his tracks. He hadn’t seen Will smile in a long time. This wasn’t helping him resolve the issue at all.
Jack lunged at Will, who deftly stepped sideways, simultaneously flicking his wrist up and driving Jack’s sword out of the way. Jack grinned, then threw himself into the skirmish with gusto. The bright, ringing sound of steel on steel resounded over the undulating ship.
“You’ll almost be as good as me, some day,” Jack said as he dodged a sword thrust, then ducked behind Will’s back, almost imperceptibly brushing against his shoulder, catching a faint trace of the scent of Will in the air. Will had already spun round to lock swords again.
“Ha! I’m already better than you, and you know it,” he countered with a grin, his blade rasping along the edge of Jack’s sword.
Jack thought, “You are, in so many ways, luv, and I do know it.” What Jack said was,
“It’s a pity your prowess remains unproved and so unapparent in other areas. But I suppose you’re not likely to get much courting done if you spend all day playing with your sword.”
Will laughed, “You’re not going to distract me that simply, Jack. I’m used to your taunts by now.” He leaped easily onto the rail of the ship to avoid Jack’s thrust, then down again onto the deck, noiselessly as a cat.
“Besides, if I didn’t spend so much time playing with my sword, as you so tactfully put it, then your head and neck would have parted company several years ago.”
“Oh dear,” Jack thought, “this ain’t going right at all. I think I might have to up the ante.” He bore down on Will, who darted out of the way with a bright glint of sun on steel.
“Then, don’t you think it’s about time you found yourself another girl who constantly needs savin’, mate? You don’t seem too keen on any of the lovely specimens I’ve gone to the trouble of acquainting you with.”
Jack saw the beginnings of a frown appear on Will’s face. The first few tendrils of hair had started escaping from his queue and whipped around his face at every turn. “As if I need any more distractions,” Jack mused, jumping backwards as the tip of Will’s sword whooshed past Jack’s abdomen, a little too close for comfort.
“I’m startin’ to get a bit worried about you, Will. You’re not still moonin’ over old whatsername thingummy, are you?” The angry head shake made the curls even more troublesome.
“Well in that case, what’s stopping you from parting company from your, er… last reminder of boyhood, eh? There’s no wedding you have to keep yourself unsullied for now, is there?” Jack knew he was being cruel, but several months of restraint had frustrated him beyond measure. He felt the self-destructive streak in him struggle to gain the upper hand.
Will faltered very slightly as Jack drove forwards with a complicated series of cavazione and contracavazione, but his voice remained steadily forceful.
“Jack, this is all completely inconsequential. Anyway, why are you so determined to pair me off?” Will’s eyes had gone very wide, and if Jack hadn’t known that Will wasn’t scared of anything, he could have sworn that Will looked terrified.
Jack wasn’t quite sure how, but his plan seemed to be backfiring completely. He knew he was pushing it too far, too fast, but the raw, painful feeling inside him was swamped by a wave of stubbornness, determined to see it through to the bitter end.
“I’m curious mate, is all. So is it just that those particular ladies weren’t to you liking, or is the disinclination more general?” Will narrowed his eyes, and aimed a thrust at Jack’s mouth.
“What the hell’s that supposed to mean?” Each slash of his sword became more lethal, and Jack realised that they weren’t practising any more. Jack felt the pricking of something resentful and dark and dangerous in his gut, and lashed out with tongue and sword.
“Will, let’s just say that not all boys are cut out to be great philanderers of the female sex. Particularly boys that are cut like you.” Jack felt the taper light as he risked all and flicked his eyes to Will’s crotch, letting the innuendo hang in the already tense air.
Will was furious now. Seething, he slammed his sword against Jack’s with his full weight, leaning in over the crossed blades, his head an inch higher than Jack’s, and bellowed,
“Don’t speak to me like that, Jack! And stop implying that I’m a eunuch. Can’t you come up with a more original insult than that? And do not refer to me as a boy. I’m a man. Like you.”
Here it was, the opportune moment, and Jack could sense that the fuse was about to blow. Backing out of the sword lock, he sprang out of Will’s reach for long enough to retort,
“Well, a man, then, who prefers company other than that of the feminine persuasion. Perhaps you are one of those men, savvy?” “Like me,” Jack thought.
Seeing that Will was incandescent with rage, Jack had half-expected what happened next as Will charged at him. Will feinted to the left, and with a flash of his wrist, he disarmed Jack and levelled his sword to Jack’s throat, backing him against the side of the galley house.
“I should kill you, you know,” Will hissed.
“If you wanted me dead, you really shouldn’t have developed the habit of saving me. Tends to give a man the wrong impression.”
Jack almost thought he heard the explosion as something fractured completely inside Will. With a roar, Will closed the gap between them, laying the blade of his sword against the skin of Jack’s neck. Jack had been ready this time. Will heard a click, and realised that the pressure against his belly was the barrel of Jack’s pistol. Jack saw Will crumple slightly; he looked disappointed, and momentarily very young.
“I should have known that you’d cheat.” His face hardened again, a cold look of resignation in his eyes. “Do it,” he challenged, looking squarely at Jack.
Jack suddenly felt exhausted. Everything was so very wrong.
“Why would I?” He did his best to sound nonchalant. Jack looked into Will’s eyes, trying to read the expression, but all he could see was a reflection of himself, right down to the middle of his black heart. There were so many things he wanted to say. He took a breath, and in a low, sincere voice, said,
“I like having you around.”
Will’s eyes narrowed further, his brows knitted. Jack wasn’t quite sure if Will was about to cry or headbutt him. He felt the blade cut deeper into his throat. He set the lock on his pistol again, and withdrew it from Will’s stomach, replacing it on his hip. Then he slowly raised his hand and put two fingers against the cross-guard of the sword, trying to alleviate some of the pressure on his neck; his fingers were just next to Will’s fist, which was clenched so tightly round the hilt his hand trembled.
“I don’t think this is a good idea,” Jack’s eyes gestured in the general direction of the sword, “besides, you told me you needed me. To talk to. So let’s talk, eh?”
“What?!’ Will spat, ‘I do not need you! I want nothing from you! Particularly conversation, seeing as you’ve evidently not mastered the art of listening!”
Finally Jack’s temper and frustration got the better of him, and he snapped,
“Then why are you here, eh? Why exactly do you want to be here?”
Jack regretted the words even as he heard them coming out of his mouth. “Oh bugger,” he thought, “I think I’ve just sunk this ship.”
The steel at Jack’s throat suddenly seemed warm compared to the icy glare Will gave him. Will looked at him unblinkingly for several seconds, then in clipped, measured tones, he said tersely,
“I’ll just wait until we get to the next port and then I’ll leave. Stay out of my way until we do.”
With a flash of metal and fury, Will thrust his sword back into its scabbard, turned on his heel and stormed off, leaving Jack with a thin red ribbon at his throat, and what felt suspiciously like a wound right in the middle of his chest. Will didn’t speak to Jack after that, except to respond with frosty formality to any direct order or question.
“Well,” Jack reminisced, “something wound up that tight is likely to snap at some point. Sometimes it just needs that final twist.” He grimaced to himself as he thought about how he had avoided all the nearby ports for the next few days, thinking it hadn’t become apparent to anyone that they were sailing off-course. The great mast behind him creaked softly, sharing the joke. He patted the wheel affectionately. There’d never be another like his Pearl, but Stella had her own charms, her own voice. Besides, Stella had one advantage. She bore more treasure than Pearl had ever carried.
Jack glanced up as a dazzling flash zig-zagged across the sky ahead. Two hearbeats later, and the welkin reverberated with the boom of thunder. Jack’s patience, “really, got to be the most overrated virtue…” was wearing thin. He longed for the watch to be done. The electricity in his pores eddied and shivered over him, and he was aware of the ache building somewhere below his hipbones.
“Hmm,” Jack observed ironically, as the beginnings of a wanton smile played at the corners of his mouth, twitching at his moustache, “and I thought the tension in the air was because of the thunderstorm.”