Ad Infinitum

****

Chapter 11: Memento vivere

****

“We can’t just sail the Black Pearl into Port Royal.” Will pointed towards the infamous ship’s black sails. “She’s too well known, we‘ll be slaughtered on sight.”

“Will’s right, Cap’n,” Gibbs agreed. “Besides which, the crew, and that meaning myself as well, are not too keen on making our presence known, in such an obvious fashion, t’ the Royal Navy, what with us all havin’ a price on our heads.” Gibbs gave an apprehensive glance around and lowered his voice. “Not to mention the fact…” He paused and gave Will a sheepish look. “Begging yer pardon Will, but the men are not so eager t’ be sailin’ with the Captain of the Dutchman. Say it’s bad luck.”

Jack scowled. “Is that so? I trust you have a better idea, Mister Gibbs?”

Gibbs nodded again, eagerly. “I was thinkin’ perhaps we could make port at Tortuga. Let thems that want t’ leave the Pearl go their own ways.”


“And how do you propose we find Elizabeth?” Jack’s scowl deepened. “I’m doubtin’ seriously she decided to pop into the Bride for a pint.”

“Jack’s right,” Will said. “We don’t have much time, and Elizabeth’s soul could be anywhere. We have to have some way of finding her.”

Gibbs brightened suddenly. “What about Ana’s boat, the Jolly Mon Too?”

Jack snapped his fingers. “Excellent suggestion, Mister Gibbs!” He began to pace the deck, enthusiasm replacing his previous dourness. “She’s not going to be needing it any time soon. Don’t think she’ll mind us borrowing it, for a short while.”

“What about a crew?” Will asked, stopping Jack in his tracks, not as sure as him about the idea.

“Won’t need one,” Jack dismissed Will’s scepticism with a confident grin and impatient wave of the hand. “She can be crewed by two men.” Mind made up, he turned to Gibbs. “Adjust course for Tortuga, Mister Gibbs.”

Gibbs breathed a sigh of relief. “Aye, Aye, Cap’n.”

“So what will become of the Pearl?” Will stepped to the rail, running a gentle hand along her wood. The ship hummed contentedly beneath their feet in response, her bow slicing through the aquamarine waters, careless of any headings as long as there was the sheer joy of the sea.

Jack looked around, a puff of pride in his chest. “She’s due for a good cleaning. We’ll careen her on Tortuga. Won’t be anyone running off with her that way.” Jack grinned and thumped Will on the back. “Besides, it’ll do you good. No better way to get your land legs, in my book, than a lusty visit to the island of Tortuga.”

****


“We’ve at least three days, with a following wind, before we reach Tortuga. He has to sleep somewhere.”

Jack scowled at his defiant crew who stood, to a man, dead set against bunking with the furloughed Captain of the Flying Dutchman.

“Ain’t no where in the Articles we signed, sayin’ we’d be crewing with the Captain of the Damned,” said the leader of the surly bunch, turning a sour face towards Will.

“The Death Ship!” Another crewman hastily crossed himself, while two others spat and made hand gestures to ward off the Evil Eye.

Seeing no easy way to reason with his recalcitrant crew, Jack threw up his hands in disgust before retreating with Will above deck. The men who were on dogwatch warily kept their distance while going about their duties.

“A bunch of perfidious superstitious blaggards, the lot of ‘em,” Jack muttered, glaring at them.

“I can’t say that I blame them,” Will said. “I can sleep on the deck.” Will glanced around and pointed. “There, beneath the forecastle.”

“That’s ridiculous.” Jack waved off Will’s suggestion. “I have first watch. You can sleep in my cabin.”

Will shrugged off the idea. “I’ll take first watch. I rarely sleep anyways.”

“We’ll both take watch,” Jack growled, stalking off to the helm, as the watch bell tolled the change.

Will made his way to the forecastle, to stand as lookout. It was just as well, he was not in the mood for company…or sleep.


****


The evening passed without incident up to seven bells, when the light breeze that had been blowing astern during the first part of the night died away, leaving a dead calm in its wake.

The crew, nervous already, were practically jumping out of their skins. Not a breath of air was stirring, as if a heavy black cloud had shrouded the entire sky. The sails hung heavy and motionless from the yards; the perfect stillness, and the darkness, truly alarming. Silence descended over the ship and every one stood as though waiting for something to happen.

A distant flash of thunder warned of an approaching storm. Jack gave orders for the studding sails to be taken in and sent two aloft to clew up the main top-gallant sail. All hands were called on deck to ready the ship in the face of the impending storm.

A sudden cry was heard from those aloft, followed by several others as the crew pointed in unison to the main mast. The topsail yards had been deserted, the sails loose, and beating in the inconstant wind; the men sent aloft having abandoned their task.

The reason for this was readily apparent. There, upon the main top-gallant-mast-head, sat a ball of light, After a few minutes it disappeared, only to show itself again on the fore top-gallant yard; and after playing about for some time, disappeared again, before appearing once more upon the flying-jib-boom-end.

“It’s the fires of St. Elmo!” one of the men called out, hastily crossing himself.

Several others fell to their knees and covered their faces, for it was said that if the light shone on one’s face, they’d best be making peace with their Maker, for their days were numbered.

“We’re doomed!” Cries went up as the men cowered on deck, fearful of what was to come.

One of the crew, a bald-headed, burly sailor who went by the curious name of Curly, pointed an accusing finger at Will.

“It’s all his doing,” he said, his voice both accusing and fearful. “Everyone knows the fires are the souls of drowned sailors.” He looked around in dread. “Even now, they might be trying to climb aboard, looking for a soul to drag back to the depths.”

As if on cue, lightening lit the sky and torrential rain began to pour along with the resounding crash of thunder.

“He’ll have us all for his crew!”

“He brought the storm upon us,” another crewman pointed out, defensively.

“He’ll curse the lot of us,” called another, from near the rail “He’s another Jonah, I tell ye!”

“Better we throw him overboard than all perish!” came a shout from among the others.

“Enough!” Jack bellowed, making his way across the rain lashed deck, his wrath more fierce than the storm swirling around him. “The next word out of one of you mutinous louts and it’ll be you we’ll be tossin’ to the sharks.”

The crew returned to their duties, keeping a wary eye on both Captains, as the storm abated as suddenly as it had begun., By the time the watch bell rang, the seas were once more calm, the star studded skies belaying the presence of the passing storm.


****


Jack wearily removed his sodden coat, throwing it in a heap onto the floor of the cabin, followed swiftly by baldric and hat. Struggling to remove his rain soaked boots he paused in mid-hop to peer at his new cabin mate where he stood halfway down the stairs.

“Well? You just going to stand there and watch me undress?” Jack grunted as he managed to pull one boot off, revealing a wayward toe peeping through a worn, wet sock. He wiggled the toe with a contemplative look before peeling the wet sock away. Turning to address the other boot, he continued casually, “You might be immortal, but you could still catch your death standing around in them wet clothes.”

“Perhaps I ought to…” Will’s sounded bone-tired, his countenance both drooping and dripping.

“Nonsense!” Jack waved away his suggestion. “You need someplace to sleep as far away that mutinous bunch of miscreants as possible.” He tugged the remaining boot off and held it up triumphantly. “We’ve three days t’ go, if the winds stay fair. Best make the best of it, eh?”

Jack sank down into his chair and pulled a bottle of rum towards him, taking a retiring sip before choking and sputtering, then returning the bottle to the table with a thunk. Wiping his mouth he stared at the languidly bobbing bone in the bottle. Sticking his tongue out with a shudder and a grimace, he grabbed the other bottle sitting there, carefully eyeing its contents before chugging several mouthfuls.

“Do something with your wife, would you?” Jack said, scanning over Will while waving a hand towards the other bottle.

“Jack…” Will’s voice held a sharp edge, but Jack’s admonishment managed to propel him the rest of the way down the stairs and into the room.

“Not that I mind sharing me cabin with the two of you…” Jack began but stopped when he saw the distraught look on Will’s face. Clearing his throat, he continued in a softer voice. “Sorry, mate. Been a long fucking day.” He held out the bottle in his hand to Will with an encouraging gesture. “Here, it’ll warm you. Best medicine in times like these if you ask me.”

Will slumped on the chair opposite him and took the bottle. Swirling its contents he said in a silent, mournful voice, “Been a long fucking life.” He drank deeply then, without further comment.

Jack quietly, so as not to disturb Will’s thoughts, took another bottle out of the crate on the floor, and waited to see what would happen next.

Minutes passed and Will didn’t speak, just continued to steadily drink while staring at the remains of Elizabeth floating serenely in the miniature sea of rum.

“Hmm.” Jack huffed almost amusedly, seeking Will’s gaze and lifting his bottle for a toast; “For the many fucking long years to come.”

Will leaned forward, lifting his eyes from his wife’s pointer finger.

The clink of the bottles, tinged as if in agreement, was lost in the vague, last rumble of the retreating storm.

****


A/N: We don't mean to whine, we really don't, but we have a question to all our dear readers: Is the story really not worth even the poorest rating? If so, any suggestions as to how we could better our writing would be most welcome. We're amateurs here, and rely on your feedback entirely. With nearly 17 chapters written, it is a terrible thought that we're writing into a void.

Thank you for understanding.

- danglingdingle and mamazano