The Turning of the Tides

TITLE: The Turning of the Tides 11/?

AUTHOR: Seraphina (lealea55@hotmail.com)

PAIRING: eventual Jack/Will slash

RATING: eventual NC-17

SUMMARY: Will's first raid. It doesn't go entirely to plan and the smith is left more confused than ever.

DISCLAIMER: Not mine, never were and unfortunately never will be

AUTHOR´S NOTE: .bennizze.jizzle.: blabbering is fine as long as you comment! so glad you´re enjoying it and that i was able to create an OC that people like!

Gypsy Luv!: so glad i could contribute to your xmas gifts...although i hope for your sake you got some more interesting stuff as well. i got a book and a bar of soap myself...guess that´ll teach me to spend xmas away from home!

EscagirlUK: Welcome to my fic! and thanks for your comment. Am trying to make the characters as believable as possible for the time period...given Will´s status, or lack there of, i thought it likely that he would lack an education and it´s so fun to have Jack teaching him. I´ve actually written a one off fic on that subject called Educating Will...I think it´s back a page if you´re interested!

Just letting you know that i´m a little snowed under at present having just moved cities, apartments and schools but am still trying to write as fast as possible!


CHAPTER 11

Once out on deck, Will made his way purposefully to the side of the Pearl trying to catch a glimpse of their target as Jack bellowed out orders. The smith was forced aside though as a rumbling, grating sound announced the readying of the cannons, their heavy wheels grating across the wooden deck, the vibrations felt through his booted feet. Gunports were opened, both on deck and below and the long nines were rolled out and put into position.

Confused, Will bounded up the stairs, that groaned with mocking protest, to the poop deck where Jack stood at the helm. The pirate captain was in his element, hand on the wheel, wind blowing his hair as his roamed the prospective battlefield.

“Jack!”

Jack paused in his order giving, but did not look at Will as he addressed the smith, instead letting his eyes roam the deck to make sure everything was as it should be. “Wha’ is it, Will? No’ much time t’ stand around an’ chat, as i’ were,” he said gruffly.

Will stood his ground, not bending to the captain’s mood. “You said that we wouldn’t use the cannons. Why are the crew running out the guns?”

Jack’s brow creased. Only now did he allow his gaze to come to rest on the blacksmith. “I never said we wouldn’t be usin’ ‘em, I said i’ was doubtful. In any case, from this angle, we won’t ‘ave a chance t’ use ‘em until we’re along side ‘er.” He motioned forward with his head.

Will looked up and saw the Libert to the left of the Pearl about a half-mile ahead of them but the pirate ship was closing fast; she may not have been a cursed ship any longer, but the Black Pearl could still move at an almost preternatural pace. Will could just make out movement on the other ship’s deck as its crew prepared for attack, her tricolour flapping proudly in the wind. Despite the small crew, it seemed to Will that she was rather heavy on the draught; a sure sign of much cargo. She was all but begging to be raided, and Will could see Jack thought this too, as he licked his lips in anticipation of what they would find in the merchant ship’s hold.

Jack yelled for someone to take the helm and manoeuvre the Pearl to meet the target’s starboard side, then ordered the gunners to stand down unless the Libert opened fire first.

“I’m hopin’ fer a surrender,” he shouted to Will over the din of the excitable pirate crew. “But knowin’ th’ French, they’ll put up a small fight, jus’ fer show. An’ I use th’ term ‘fight’ very loosely…more like poncin’ about really…the French are renowned fer it.” He made his way down the stairs to the main deck, Will following doggedly, trying to keep his emotions in check. If there was to be a fight, he would need to keep a level head.

Jack continued the shouted conversation as he strode along the length of the deck, checking cannons and crew, making sure they were of a suitable standard. “I want you t’ stay close t’ me, Will, no matter what ‘appens. You hear me, boy?”

Indignant anger boiled in Will, and he forgot momentarily the internal battle he’d been fighting, wondering if he’d be able to kill a merchant sailor if there was a need. He grabbed Jack by the upper arm and swung the pirate to face him. “I am quite capable of looking after myself, Jack,” he said heatedly, touching his other hand to the hilt of his sheathed sword. “You know I can handle myself!”

A grisly smile appeared on Jack’s face. “I know ye can lad,” and he put his hand on Will’s shoulder. “Tha’s why yell be watchin’ me back, savvy?”

All doubt fled Will’s mind at those words, and he all but puffed up with pride. Pride that retreated only slightly as he realised they were now along side the Libert and a crew of angry Frenchmen stood, muskets ready, shouting words Will didn’t understand. They may have been half the number of the crew of the Pearl, but they still emanated malice and hostility that sent a chill down Will’s spine. He could barely hear himself think over the racket of the two crews and was so caught up in the moment that it almost didn’t register to him that Jack had moved off. He ran after him, drawing his sword as he saw his captain do so, watching with wide eyes as the grappling hooks were thrown and the gangplanks placed haphazardly across the gap between the two ships.

“Why aren’t they firing their cannons on us?” Will shouted to Jack, who was getting ready to board.

“Likely they don’t want t’ risk our return fire. All this is show, Will me boy. Can’t surrender straight away lest they seem cowardly, ye see. All a bunch of bleedin’ show ponies are th’ French.” He looked at Will now, his face serious, his voice steady. “Ye ready fer this, Will? No one will think any less of you if yer not. Ye can always stay below deck with Spinoza who refuses t’ take part in such things, an’ aid the wounded should there be any.”

Will was almost tempted to take this offer, but no, he had to do this. He couldn’t let Jack see his indecision, though, and lifted his sword in readiness. “I’m ready Captain Sparrow. You can trust me to watch your back.”

Jack looked at his bosun with something that could only be described as tenderness. “I know I can, Will, an’ I do.” Then he shouted to the rest of the crew. “Alright ye mutton headed fools, no killin’ ‘less ye have to. Anythin’ of value gets divided equally among th’ crew. Time t’ do wha’ we do best. Let’s show these frogs tha’ th’ Black Pearl an’ ‘er crew mean business.”

The crew roared and swarmed upon the Libert. Muskets fired and swords clashed. Both French and English expletives sounded from all around and without a second thought, Will followed his captain down a gangplank and onto the deck of the merchant ship where he immediately found himself fending off enemy blades.

The air was filled with smoke and the smell of gunpowder as he threw one man off him and followed Jack’s retreating form through the haze, blocking blows as he went.

Will’s own movements where tight and controlled, anticipating strikes and lunges, and meeting blades thrust for thrust.

The situation differed little to the hours of solitary practise he’d put in, the added force against his sword as it blocked blows, the only telling difference. Of course, there generally wasn’t a bunch of angry pirates and equally angry Frenchmen screaming and fighting around him when he practised, nor were there muskets firing and bullets whizzing past his ears, but the principle was still there and his technique didn’t falter, and he followed closely the rules of engagement.

Will leapt smoothly to the side as a rather vicious enemy blade lashed out at his torso, narrowly missing him. Ok, so dodging wasn’t as issue either during solitary practise. But that was not the point. The point was that Jack had entrusted him to watch his back and so far Will was proving a success. Of course Jack was handling himself with ease and his own brand of pirate flare, and was making his way deftly towards a man who Will assumed to be the captain of the Liberté, greeting the white wig wearing merchant sailor with a friendly tip of the hat. It was a bizarre scene to watch as the fight went on around them and Jack spoke calmly with the captain in French. Will fought of anyone stupid enough to come near them with relative ease, but most stayed clear, picking a fight elsewhere. Jack had been right, the fight was for show and the heart of the Liberté’s crew was hardly in it and his own crew seemed to be running circles around the French. Anamaria’s fists were flying, opting for hand to hand combat in place of a weapon, Cotton and Mart were taking care of a rather large man from their respective vantage points, even young Robby had a sailor at his feet, sword at the man’s throat, daring him to move. In fact most of the merchant vessel’s crew seemed to be in much the same position and those that weren’t stood down at a few loud words from their captain.

All was silent.

Will was confused.

He turned to Jack, eyes darting around and sword still drawn as a precaution.

“They’ve surrendered?” he hissed. “Just like that?”

Jack grinned broadly. “Call it the ol’ Jack Sparrow charm.”

Will looked at him dubiously.

“Oh alright, I told Captain Moreau ‘ere that we’d leave him his crew an’ his ship unharmed if he let us to his cargo without fuss.”

Will grinned. If this was the way that Jack went about pirating then he was all for it. No serious injuries per se, just a few cuts and bruises on both sides; nothing a bit of rum wouldn’t fix. French ego was the biggest fatality.

The former blacksmith sheathed his sword as Jack shook hands with his fellow captain. A few words were exchanged and the Frenchman pointing to the hatch that led to the lower decks. Jack nodded, sheathing his own sword and turning, searching the array of pirates and sailors before him for the one he was looking for.

“Anamaria!”

The dark-skinned first mate emerged from the crowd, dragging a rather large, cowering sailor behind her. A black eye was already rearing its ugly head and blood poured from a broken nose. Ok, so perhaps it would take a little more than rum to patch up this guy.

Fixing his eyes on the woman, Jack motioned towards the hatch with his head. “Take Señor Martinez below an’ see wha’ kind o’ swag we’re lookin’ at.”

“Aye, Cap’n,” she nodded shoving her defeated Frenchman to the deck where he groaned in pain. An average sized pirate of Hispanic origin stepped over the prone sailor and obediently followed Anamaria down the hatch, drawing his pistol as Jack called after them to watch out for any sailors who had remained below deck.

As they waited, Jack turned once again to Will, smiling his scallywag smile and patting his bosun on the back. “So, Will. Wasn’t as bad as ye’d thought, I expect.”

Will nodded in agreement, Jack’s good mood catching quickly as the pirates and sailors talked amicably to each other in a mixture of French and English. “Indeed it wasn’t. I was expecting at least some bloodshed.” He looked to the groaning sailor Anamaria had left. “Well, at least more bloodshed than that.”

Jack’s brow creased and he looked serious for a moment. “Well, tis best t’ prepare one’s self fer the worst. Not every captain will yield so easily to an enemy. We’re jus’ lucky tha’ Captain Moreau is a smart man otherwise-”

He was cut off by shouts from below. Something was happening and Will wasn’t sure if it was good or bad. His hand flew to the hilt of his sword as did Jack’s, and that of every other man on deck.

“Anamaria?!” Jack called out, anxiously awaiting the reply.

Will shifted nervously. Everything had gone off without a hitch so far, and he feared they’d thought themselves victors prematurely. He waited with bated breath as all eyes rested on the opening in the deck.

A few seconds later, the woman pirate’s head popped up through the hatch, her expression completely unreadable.

“I think ye should come and have a look for yerself cap’n.”

To Will, her voice sounded shaken. With excitement? With fear? He didn’t know, and it made him uneasy. His fingers danced nervously over the hilt of his weapon, ready to draw it out at any moment should the need arise.

“Will!”

Jack’s gruff voice cut through his worry and he looked to the eccentric pirate.

“Come with me,” he ordered, walking swiftly to the hatch, his normal swaggering gait completely gone.

Will made to comply, but as Jack disappeared below deck, a sailor he was passing lashed out with the butt of his pistol. Catching the movement from the corner of his eye and hearing a shout of warning from one of the Pearl’s crew, Will succeeded in ducking to the side, the weapon glancing off of his head, just above the ear instead of cracking him across the back of his skull as his attacker had intended.

The blow brought him to his knees nonetheless, the world spinning before his eyes. He was vaguely aware of the kafuffle going on beside him as several pirates pounced on the Frenchman, knocking the pistol from his hand and quickly subduing him. Not without a few sharp French curses which would not have meant anything to Will even if he could have understood them.

There was a moment of muted silence, and he brought his hands to his head, his hair feeling wet and sticky under his fingers before a bright white pain seemed to explode inside his skull. He fought the brilliant blackness that threatened to overcome him, trying to stand several times, but failing then panicking for a moment, fearing that he’d lost all equilibrium, but telling himself not to be stupid; he’d just taken a massive blow to the head and it was normal.

Thinking it best to remain still and calm until the pain diminished and the awful feeling of dizziness subsided, he focused on the hatch that Jack had disappeared down only moments beforehand in an attempt to stop his world from spinning in front of his eyes.

Will was just starting to regain control of his senses as Jack appeared again. He began to call out to his captain, seeking the sympathy he knew he would receive, but the expression on the pirate’s face stopped him.

Jack had not looked his way at all, in fact he had not looked at anyone bar the Liberté’s captain and the fierce glare he gave this man was enough to send chill’s down Will’s spine. Jack pointed menacingly at Moreau as he approached him but Will’s hearing seemed have been affected by the clout to his cranium for the words that were spoken between the two sounded muffled to his ears. Not that it mattered; Will had no French, but still the sensation was eerie as his own heart beat seemed to echo through his skull, drowning out most of what he could hear in a pounding rush.

Jack’s words were venomous, whatever they were, and he spat them with such ferocity, as Will had never seen him use before. The other captain looked defiant despite the Jack’s outburst, which only served to fuel the pirate’s anger as he pointed behind to the hatch, hair trinkets clanging together in an accentuation of his rage.

The voices were rising now and Will’s thudding heartbeat seemed to recede as the argument became more animated between the pair. Jack shouted orders to the two of his own that stepped forward and grasped the French captain roughly by the arms. The man, perhaps a little older than Jack with a salt and pepper moustache and black hair poking out from under the wig, seemed to realise that things were not going well for him. Will saw the fear in his blue eyes, but the captain refused to let the emotion take rein over his face. Instead, he spat back just as venomously as Jack had.

At first, Will blamed what he saw happen next on the blow to his head. His eyes could not possibly be telling the truth for what he saw was something that would not leave his memory for the rest of his life.

Jack, his very own Captain Jack Sparrow, moved in a way Will had never seen him move before, his decorated hands a blur as the left one grasped the struggling French Captain by the front of his shirt, the right one disappearing into his coat and reappearing with a flash of silver. The movement was almost too quick for Will to follow as that flash of silver was followed by a burst of crimson as Jack’s dirk, a dirk that Will had cleaned and sharpened for his captain that very morning, slashed across Moreau’s throat and his blood flowed freely, a gurgling sound erupting along with the red river, the body dropping to the deck with a terrible thud followed to the gentle, perversely musical clatter of the dirk that fell next to it.

Will must have let out a sound then. Why else would Jack choose that moment to turn his gaze on him? His murderous gaze that dissipated as soon as his dark, kohl rimmed eyes took in what had befallen his bosun. But it was too late. Will had seen that look in Jack’s eyes. The pirate moved towards him, to aid him, holding out his hand to help Will to his feet, but Will could only stare dumbly at it. It was covered in blood.

Will finally found his feet and he staggered, away from Jack and away from the blood. Like a wounded animal he reeled, shying from hands that tried to help him, ignoring Jack’s pleading cries, and desperately trying not to think of the quicksilver scent of blood that was assaulting his nostrils. He lost his balance several times, the wound to his head hindering him even more, but he scrabbled on hands and feet when he could not stand, somehow making his way back across the gangplank without falling and back to the Black Pearl; to his home. The home that he shared with Jack. Jack the pirate. Jack the cold-blooded murderer. With that thought and the world around him moving in a sort of slow motion, he stumbled across the deck, faltering several times, but making it to the far side of the ship just in time to retch and vomit the entire contents of his stomach over the side. His whole body trembled, and he broke out in a cold sweat, hunched over the railing with images spinning through his head. Images of a youth, eleven years old, made cabin boy in return for passage to West Indies. Set upon by pirates. Somehow Will had managed to suppress these memories over the years, but they flooded back with full force, blending and melding with what he’d just seen.

He didn’t know how long he stayed there, hanging over the Pearl’s railing. The sun gradually sunk into the ocean and things went along behind him, pirates shouting and people running back and forth, but he ignored them. What was he doing here? Spinoza had been right. He could never be one of these people, these pirates, if it meant doing what he’d just witnessed Jack do.

Jack.

Oh, how he’d misjudged the man. He’d never thought the pirate capable of doing such a thing to an innocent man; to another pirate, yes. Even Will had had his part in disposing of Barbossa’s lot, but not a merchant captain. A merchant captain who had clearly surrendered not moments before his execution. But then again, could he blame Jack for what he was? Weren’t his misconceptions of the pirate his own fault? Jack could only be Jack, not what Will wished for him to be. Of course Jack was capable of murder…he was a pirate! But Will couldn’t help his mind arguing that Jack was no regular pirate. Capricious violence was not Jack’s style. He was a good man. At least, Will had thought him to be a good man. He’d saved Will’s life had he not? But that didn’t mean that Will could condone murder of an innocent. His head throbbed and his heart ached, but he couldn’t cry. He just stood there, shaking, the smell of the blood refusing to leave him.

He was still lost in these dizzying thoughts when he felt a slight pressure on his left shoulder. Slowly, he turned his head and stared at the hand that now rested on his person. It was clean now, the rings on it shining with their normal dull lustre in the fading rays of the sun, but Will fancied that he could still see the blood that had drenched it earlier. He could certainly still smell it…then again, he hadn’t been able to stop smelling it. Several seconds passed and when he didn’t acknowledge the hand’s owner in any other way but to stare at the offending appendage, it left its place on his shoulder with somewhat of a jerked, apologetic movement. Impossible as it was, Will imagined a bloody handprint was left in its wake.

Will looked back out to the sea.

“Will,” Jack said pleadingly, hovering at the edge of the smith’s vision, wanting, but not daring to touch him again.

Will gave no response, no indication that he’s even heard and Jack’s voice seemed to fill with hurt. “Please, Will. The hold…twas full of…Will, it was a slave ship. Nearly one hundred of ‘em all crammed down there like animals.”

Will remained silent. This was not to say that he was ignoring what Jack was saying. On the contrary, he was relieved to hear that there had been a reason for the pirate’s uncharacteristically violent outburst, but still he was at odds with an inner struggle. Yes, it had been an uncharacteristically violent outburst for the Jack he knew, but let’s face it; how much of Jack did he really know? Did he do this sort of thing often? Was there always a valid reason for it? And as for valid reasons…Will was opposed to slavery of any kind, but that was of little consequence. The fact remained that slavery was legal trade, and the French captain had only been doing his job. Who was Jack to judge? He was pirate for Christ’s sake, yet he’d taken it upon himself to end this man’s life because he didn’t agree with the man’s occupation. At least Moreau’s chosen profession was not punishable by hanging, which was a lot more than could be said for Jack Sparrow.

At that moment, Will’s understanding of right and wrong was thrown into absolute and utter turmoil. He stared down, his elbows leaning on the railing, wrists crossed and hands dangling, and wished for a brief reprieve from his state of confusion.

“Will, look at me, please.” Jack’s imploring voice reached him again.

He sighed and complied, conceding that despite this drastic turn events and his now skewed view of a pirate’s existence, Jack deserved to be heard, if only to confirm to Will that his whole belief in Jack being a descent man was indeed a fantastic misconception on his part.

As soon as he did look at Jack though, he knew this not to be true. The expression on Jack’s face, the beseeching look in those kohl-rimmed eyes, they both belonged to good man. The hands held out palm side up, begged forgiveness.

“Will, I’m sorry.”

Will looked pained, his brow creasing. “No you’re not, Jack. You’d do it again in a heartbeat.”

“Wouldn’t you?” Jack’s dark eye’s searched Will’s own brown orbs, his expression imploring.

It was a fair question, and Will cast his gaze back out to sea as he gave it the consideration that it deserved. But even after careful pondering, he had nothing and turned back to Jack whose expression had changed little.

“I don’t know, Jack. I honestly don’t know…”

Jack seemed to deflate a little, his eyes still roaming over Will’s features, hoping that there was immediate forgiveness there that he’d somehow missed. No such luck. The boy would have to come to terms with it in his own time. He frowned when the fading sunlight glinted off wetness just above Will’s right ear. His reached out to touch it, but pulled back quickly as if he’d encountered something hot when Will shied away from the hand. Gods, would the lad never let him touch him again?

“You’re bleeding,” he said quietly with concern.

Will brought his own hand to the wound and cringed slightly as he touched it. His fingers came away sticky and looking at them, he saw the deep red of aging blood. No wonder he’d not been able to escape the smell.

“I’m going below deck to help Spinoza now. You could come too, and he can see to that.” There was hope in the pirate’s tentative suggestion, and Will felt a rush of affection in his chest for his captain, which only served to confuse him even more.

“I…I think I’ll stay up here for a while.” He paused, unsure of what to say next, not wanting to hurt Jack’s feelings, but not wanting him to think that all was forgiven either. “I need to gather my thoughts.”

Jack gave a tight-lipped smile. Will detected disappointment in the captain’s features, but was not swayed, and he fought the urge to call to Jack as the pirate spun on his heel and strode off, disappearing below deck.

Will sighed and turned back to the sunset. Who was Jack to judge that man, indeed? But if that were the case, who was Will to judge Jack?