Ad Infinitum

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Chapter 17: Quando omni flunkus, mortati

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Dawn’s rosy hues were painting the slumbering streets of Tortuga, most of the town still abed after the bacchanalian celebrations of the night before. Joshamee Gibbs, a new spring in his step despite the earliness of the hour, picked his way through the muddy street, stepping over the occasional drunk sleeping off the night’s libations. He yawned widely, smiling in remembrance the delightful, albeit sleepless, night he’d spent reacquainting himself with the delicious and amply endowed Sally.

What brought him out so early was news that the Jolly Mon Too had arrived late the night before and was now tied up at the far end of the quay. Gibbs would have preferred to have stayed abed as well, pleasantly pillowed on Sally’s bountiful bosom, but had promised he’d see to the provisioning of the small boat for Jack, who wished to set sail on the morning’s tide.

Reaching the Painted Lady, where Jack and Will were lying low, Gibbs gave a cursory look around at the silent street before knocking softly. To his surprise the door was jerked open almost immediately by an obviously upset Pierre.

“Do not waste your breath, they are gone.”

“Gone, you say?” Gibbs blinked several times at the irate Frenchman. “What do you mean, gone?”

“Gone!” Pierre said with a flip of his hand. “As in poof! Vanished! Parti sans un mot!”

Gibbs scratched his somewhat muddled head. “They can’t be gone gone,” he argued, “they must just be… well, only sort of gone.”

Pierre heaved a sigh. “If you do not believe me, Monsieur Gibbous, by all means, see for yourself, s'il vous plait. You will not find Capitaine Sparrow, or his friend. They are, as I have already informed you, gone.”

“Josh!” A joyful shout preceded a bundle of golden hair and dressing gown. “Have you heard? Jack is gone!”

“He has heard,” Pierre sniffed. “He just chooses to be, how is it you English put it? Obtuse?”

“Now, don’t be so hard on Josh, Pierre,” Scarlett said, wiping her hands on a towel as she joined the others. “No one was expecting them to just up and leave without a word.”

“Before the sun was even up,” Giselle added with importance. “I know, otherwise I would have heard them leave when I went to gather the eggs.”

A cold chill swept across Gibbs. He wiped a weary hand across his face. If Jack and Will had left so abruptly, it must mean only one thing… the bounty hunters had found them.

“Tell me, did you happen to meet any strange gents around here, maybe asking about Jack or Will?” Gibbs tried not to let the anxiety he felt creep into his voice.

“No, I don’t believe so.” Scarlett gave him a sharp glance. “Why do you ask?”

“No reason,” Gibbs said evasively. “Well, I best be getting’ goin’ then, sorry to trouble you so early.”

“Oh, do stay!” Giselle begged, slipping a hand through Gibbs’ arm. “We were just going to have breakfast.” She smiled. “Pierre promised to make one of his famous omelettes.”

“I best be getting down to the docks,” Gibbs said, extracting his arm from Giselle apologetically. “What with Jack leaving so abrupt like. Can’t be too sure.”

“Sure of what?” Scarlett frowned, demanding. “Is Jack in some sort of trouble?”

“I bet it has to do with that curse he was talking about,” Giselle said.

“Curse?” Gibbs turned a bewildered face to her.

“Yes, you know. The one that sea witch cursed him with.”

“And which one would that be?” Gibbs was feeling more muddled by the moment.

“Well, you know Josh,” Giselle said, blushing. “The CURSE.”

“I thought it were women who got that,” Gibbs said, wrinkling his brow. “Don’t right remember Jack being cursed. Not like Turner, mind you.”

“He’s cursed too?” Giselle sat down abruptly, eyes widening in shock. “Why, I never!”

“What is with all this talk of curses?” Pierre came back in the room with a flounce. “I will tell you who is cursed! It is I, Pierre Bouspeut, for having ever met Jack Sparrow!”

“Oh Pierre, you exaggerate,” Scarlett said fondly. “You have just as big a soft spot for Jack as we all do.”

“This is true,” the diminutive Frenchman said resignedly, sinking into a chair. “And it has been my undoing. Mon Dieu! I wake, before the light of dawn, and slave to prepare my guests the simple repast… The freshly baked bread, the omelettes with the wild mushrooms and the goat cheeses…” He sighed. “And what do I find when I go to awaken them? They have gone, poof! Like that.” He snapped his fingers and slumped forlornly into the cushions.

“That all sounds mighty tasty to me, Pierre,” Gibbs said. “I shan’t be long, I’m figurin’. Wouldn’t be mindin’ a spot of breakfast when I come back. That is, if it’s not too much trouble.”

Pierre’s face lit up and he quickly rose. “No, no trouble at all! When you return, I shall cook for you, mon ami!”

“And you can tell us all about the curse,” Giselle added.


****

Gibbs stomach growled as he contemplated the savory meal Pierre was conjuring in his kitchen. Skirting the more populous routes, he made his way through the back alleys to the waterfront, holding out hope to only find that Jack and Will had decided to make an earlier start, and that nothing untoward had happened to them. He had just reached the outer edge of the town when he heard a “Psst” coming from a stack of barrels in front of the cooper’s shop.

“Psst!” The hissing sounded again, followed by a clank. Gibbs pulled out his gun, wrapping the other hand around the hilt of his sword. He flattened himself against the wall of the shop behind him and crept towards the barrels, cocking his gun as he did.

“Who goes there?”

“It’s me, Joachim,” the nearest barrel whispered. “Captain Sparrow sent me to find you.”

“In a barrel?” Gibbs asked, raising his brows.

“No, no! I was to find you and give you a message,” the barrel replied. “But then, them men came, from the tavern, asking about the captain. So I hid.” A scruffy face popped out of the barrel, followed by a scrawny street waif. “They’ve gone now.”

Gibbs uncocked his gun, but did not put it away. He swept the docks with his eyes, seeing nothing more than several fishing boats making their way out towards the open water. Once the sun was up proper, the docks would be teaming with activity, as the many ships in port offloaded cargo and took on supplies. It must have took the lure of substantial reward to rouse those ruffians at this early hour.

“Did you see where they went?” Gibbs asked the boy, who was fiddling with a cloth bag tied to his belt.

“Went back towards town,” Joachim said, handing the bag to Gibbs. “Said some Tom fellow was nothing but a drunken fool, and ought to be keelhauled.”

Gibbs chuckled. He wouldn’t mind keelhauling that damn fool McNally himself. The wisdom of Turner sinking the Pearl sunk in as well. Wise man he’d become.

“What’s this?” he asked the boy, weighing the heavy bag in his hand.

“That’s from Captain Turner,” Joachim said, puffing up in importance. Wrinkling his brow he added, “Said to tell you he apologized for leaving so abruptly, but that this ought to tide you over, and that after all you been through, you deserved a bit of shore leave,” he quoted proudly.

“Did he now?” Gibbs jingled the bag of coin and grinned, visions of voluptuous Sally floating in his sea of memory. “Don’t mind if I do, come t’ think of it.”

Pocketing the bag, Gibbs patted the boy on the shoulder. “Excellent work, my good man!” He smiled down at the beaming boy and asked, “Any message from Captain Sparrow?

Joachim grinned. “He said he’d thank Pip for you when they saw him.”

“Pip?” Gibbs watched the receding figure of the boy as he scampered off down the wharf. Now who in god’s blazes was Pip?


****

The Jolly Mon Too slipped out of the harbor on the morning tide, her nets and lines all set, as every other morning, to try her luck with the sea’s bountiful harvest. Marcel Deschamps expertly negotiated his way across the crowded harbor, weaving his way deftly through the forest of ships and sloops moored in the deeper water of the bay.

No one paid much heed to the small fishing shallop, one of the dozens that plied the coastal waters for a living.

The serene calm of the early morn belayed the boisterous rowdiness of a typical Tortugan night. As a pirate port, Tortuga was home to a plethora of sailors of all nationalities a haven for anyone in trouble with the law. French and Dutch traders regularly stopped by, trading for pirate plunder with guns, ammunition, brandy and fancy clothing. The island of Tortuga had become known as the common place of refuge for all sorts of wickedness, a virtual seminary and nothing short of a safe haven for pirates and thieves.

In return, the presence of the pirates, with their ships bristling with cannons, offered the small island protection from the Spaniards, whose presence, across a short stretch of water in Hispaniola, could never be ignored, not even in peacetime. For the local fishing boats, such as the Jolly Mon Too, the pirates also provided them with a thriving market for their daily catch.

To Marcel, being locally born and raised, the pirates were a common presence. Even his own cousin, AnaMaria, had sailed on the Black Pearl on several occasions under the infamous Captain Jack Sparrow. Notorious and flamboyant, the pirate captain was well known in town. Too well known, apparently…

Marcel glanced nervously over at the bundle of nets in the bow, under which he’d secreted both Sparrow and his companion, the equally infamous William Turner, Captain of the dreaded Flying Dutchman. The pair had boarded in the hours before dawn, having given several unscrupulous bounty hunters the slip.

The fact that Ana herself was now bound to the Dutchman did not give Marcel any comfort, though the two months’ earnings in gold did help convince him to take a much needed holiday from the grueling life of a fisherman. The plan was to lend the boat to the two captains, who promised to return it… together with his cousin, when their cagey mission was complete.

He trimmed the sails and set a course for Port du Paix, a friendly port where the boat could be provisioned and outfitted without drawing undue attention. Marcel would disembark there, and hopefully reacquaint himself with a local girl he’d taken a fancy to.

In the meantime, it was agreed that Jack and Will would stay out of sight, at least until they’d put the island of Tortuga to their rudder. Marcel fingered the charm he wore around his neck.

A magical, blessed talisman to ward off the Evil Eye. If the perils of the sea, with its unpredictable weather, reefs and sharks weren’t bad enough, there was also the constant dread of the appearance of the Flying Dutchman, and its crew of undead monsters, harvesting the sea with its own merciless nets.

AnaMaria had sworn that times had changed, the tide turned, that the new captain of the Dutchman was a benevolent and compassionate man, that there was no reason to fear death, not at sea at least. She also wore the talisman, but for her it had always been to ward off a different type of evil. According to Ana, the worse evil sailing the seas was disguised as honest traders.

Marcel did not disagree, but as with most islanders, even with all of Ana’s convincing, he still did not fancy meeting the Dutchman without the spirits’ protection. He glanced once again at the pile of nets, and wondered how this kind man with the gentle eyes could truly be the Captain of the dreaded Death ship.

On the other hand, the other captain, Jack Sparrow, was just as Ana had always described him, if not stranger. Whatever their mission was, Marcel would be more than happy to stay firmly on shore for its duration.

****

“Ouch! That’s my eye!”

“Well, get your eye out of me elbow!”

“Jack! If you would quit squirming, we might be able to get through this with all our parts intact and unpoked.”

“I am not the one squirming, mister Bony Knees. Just trying t’ save me jewels.”

“And I’m trying to save our souls. Now hold still and be quiet.”

The two men fell silent, glaring eye to eye under the cramped cover of the nets. Suddenly, Will gave Jack a panicked look, hissing, “Jack! Where’s Elizabeth?”

“How should I know,” Jack groused, rubbing his ribs where Will had elbowed him. “It’s not my turn to keep track of your bony, er bonny lass.”

“She was just here,” Will began to fumble around, searching for the bottle.

“Oh, yes, that’s it, Will. Just a little lower, there, ahh,” Jack quipped.

“Stuff it, Jack.”

“Gladly.”

Will groaned.

“Jack. If we are going to succeed at this mission, we have to work together.”

“Don‘t you think I know that?”

The two men fell silent again.

“Look, Jack. It’s not that I don’t appreciate all you’ve done. It’s just…”

“Will,” Jack blocked any further words coming out of Will’s mouth by slapping a hand over it. “It’s fine. I know I’ve been an arse, but I have me reasons. Now stow it, soul saver. We might be discovered.”

As if in an afterthought, Jack held his finger to Will’s lips, staring him in the eye in all seriousness. “We’ll find Elizabeth.”

At Will’s understanding quietness, Jack wriggled an arm free, and found Will’s hand to give it a reassuring squeeze.

‘Thanks, Jack. For everything.” Will whispered, closing his hand tightly around Jack’s, the warmth of human contact seeping inward, soothing his anxieties. He shifted, almost unconsciously towards Jack, slipping into the companionship they‘d shared for the past eight years, that had somehow gotten lost in the turmoil of the past, long days.

Jack wrapped his arms around Will without thinking, drawing his close, and held him with no words, offering only solid, fleshy presence.

For now, it was just what they needed.

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A/N: We'll be back to your regularly scheduled posting shortly.
A heartfelt thank you to all who have read, rated, or commented on the story. There isn't a tale to begin with, if there's no one to share it with :)

- dd & mz