More Seductive Than Purity

Chapter Three



Jack saw the flash of another lantern and with some relief heard Gibbs approaching, just as the first few fat drops of tepid rain began splattering on the deck. It was dawn, but the lowering clouds made it almost impossible to tell. Only a deep indigo glow at the horizon indicated that night was over. The sun would be a hermit today.

“Fine mornin’, ain’t it Mr Gibbs?”

“Aye Cap’n, though I wonder if I wouldn’t like it better if I was a fish. At least this rain might cool the air a little. It’s been so fiendish warm for days now.” He reached into his pocket for an oilskin hat, set it firmly on his head, then took the helm from Jack. “What’s the bearing?” Jack handed a compass to Gibbs. This was not the beautifully wrought object that he had once bartered from Tia. That hung from his waist as always, though its practical use had come to an end some time ago. Now even when he concentrated very hard, for the past year and a half Jack’s compass resolutely refused to deviate anymore from the same magnet that constantly drew Jack’s eyes, wherever it stood, or sat, or lay.

“Keep her nor’, nor’ west,” Jack replied. “If the weather worsens, come get me.” The last syllable was elongated into a yawn.

“Off ye go, Jack. Go get some sleep.”

“Aye, sleep.” He turned, lifting his own lantern in one hand, and raised the other in a parting gesture to Gibbs.

Despite his tiredness, sleep was the last thing on Jack’s mind as he opened the galley house door and descended the steps, holding the lantern aloft. All he could think about was what waited for him in his cabin, in his bed.

“He really is the most extraordinary boy,” Jack thought, then winced, laughing to himself. “No. Man. Extraordinary man.” The grin widened as he thought about how livid Will became if he was ever referred to as a boy. “I really must take more care with my nouns. They’re most improper… Oh, bloody hell,” thought Jack, “even my inner voice is glib.”

It was hot below deck, and Jack’s damp clothes clung to him. He walked along the corridor and closed his eyes against the light of the lamp he held, running the other hand along the wall next to him, blindly feeling the still unfamiliar knots and bumps beneath his fingers, so different from Pearl’s. He hadn’t yet had enough time to acquaint himself completely with Stella’s body, and was still learning all her surfaces and textures. He stopped in front of the cabin door, and for a moment laid his head against the frame, listening to the far-off sound of the rain and rushing wind, brushing his knuckles over the wood of the door. There was another almighty crack of thunder, and the ship rolled slightly, creaking and shuddering in rebuke.

“Shhh. It’s alright darlin’. I’m here. Jack’ll look after you,’ he whispered, petting the wood soothingly. He realised that those were the exact words he had used the first time Will had ever crossed over the threshold of this self-same door into his cabin, very much not under the circumstances Jack had hoped for.

Jack remembered looking down at the top of Beckett’s head, and thinking to himself how true it was that short people really shouldn’t be allowed positions of power. Not because they were actually any worse than tall people who were powerful – bad is as bad does - but simply because it was terribly off-putting to be patronised by someone who only came up to his chin.

“I didn’t think you’d make it that easy for me, Sparrow. Anyone would think you were trying to draw us off on purpose. Now why would that be, I wonder?”

“Well, shall we discuss the terms of my arrest?” Jack danced around the sword thrusts of the four naval officers who were doing their best to surround him. He had had to abandon the idea of shooting Beckett with his pistol when he realised that the pricking at the back of his neck was not from the ravening mosquitoes, but from the blades of Beckett’s lackeys.

“What makes you think I’ll negotiate with you?” Beckett said, inspecting his nails as though they had just made a particularly fascinating remark.

“I’ll agree to come quietly and not kill you all, if you agree to let the crew leave and go about their business without setting your new pet on them too.”

“Oh,” Beckett gave a condescending smile, “I don’t actually have the Kraken under my command any more. But making you think I still did has made it so much easier to capture you. Really, the complexities of engineering are not so far beyond the command of the Navy that they couldn’t replicate Jones’ alarum device. You see, I couldn’t very well take you at sea with only a skeleton crew to man the cannons. You’ve done most of my job for me. How very co-operative of you.”

This piece of information was enough of a distraction for one of the men to catch Jack off-guard and almost land a glancing blow on his leg. Jack parried, ducking under the swinging sword of another officer, and flicked a gash open on the arm of a third man.

“You ain’t got me yet, mate. Difficult to raise a full crew when you’re disgraced, ain’t it? Not much cop, are they, this lot. And you ain’t likely to get me unless I do co-operate. You know better’n anyone how tricksy it is to catch Cap’n Jack Sparrow.”

“Oh dear. How typical of your arrogance to assume that it’s all about you. Actually I’m more interested in capturing a young man who has rather foolishly decided to join your crew. William Turner must regret that decision every day. Though I think he’ll regret it today most of all.”

“What do you want with Will?” he said, shoulder-barging one officer into another, and turning to kick another in the tender place between his legs.

“Well, considering that you are still listed as officially dead, I’m somewhat more likely to be rewarded by the Crown and win back my position from Governor Norrington with a living wanted criminal.” He saw the look on Jack’s face. “Oh, yes, those letters of marque. Didn’t you ever consider that they might be forged? Dear, dear, evidently not. I’m greatly flattered by the degree of trust you have in me. Oh and don’t worry, Jack. I’ll make sure that you are officially dead soon enough.”

Jack’s head swam, thoughts racing as he parried sword after sword. “I should’ve set you down in the nearest port like you wanted Will, ‘stead of trying to keep you with me in the hope you’d forgive me. Again…And I had rather hoped that Beckett would be satisfied with just my neck alone. Now I’ve gone and put a death sentence on your head as well as mine. Again… You’d better bloody well do what I said, Joshamee Gibbs, and get him and the rest of them off this damned island while I keep this lot busy. At least now you don’t need to worry ‘bout that overgrown calamari chasin’ you all over the place. Mind you, even if I had set you down, knowing Beckett he’d still come after you, but you’d probably have had more of a chance of escapin’ if you didn’t have me there gettin’ you into more trouble. Yet again.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Jack saw a figure sidling through the bushes. It was Mercer. “Oh bugger, just what I didn’t need,” Jack thought. These officers he might just have a chance against. If Mercer joined them, he’d have real trouble.

“Ah, Mr Mercer, have you had any luck in finding our quarry yet?”

“The rest of our officers are busy with this fella’s crew,” he jutted his chin in Jack’s direction, drawing his sword as he made his way up the hill. Jack swung wildly at the nearest officer, dropping to the ground and rolling out of the way as another blade whizzed past his ear. But over the melee, he heard Mercer say,

“There’s still no sign of Turner, though.”

“Really? How terribly inconvenient. We’ll just have to search the island once everyone else is dead. I’d like to start with Mr Sparrow. Mr Mercer, if you please.”

Then Mercer was in the throng, and Jack didn’t know quite how, but suddenly his left arm was twisted up behind him, even as he slashed another scarlet line across the chest of one of the men. He felt cold metal close around his wrist.

“Bind his hands behind his back, if you please, I’m starting to grow bored of this. And I want Turner in shackles within the hour.”

The pommell of Mercer’s sword cracked against Jack’s right arm and he was punched by two officers at once. His sword fell to the ground and he struggled frantically as he felt several hands close on him.

“I think this is really just about you and me, ain’t it Beckett? Let’s keep it that way, eh? Leave Will out of it.”

Beckett raised an eyebrow and laughed superciliously,

“You always did have an eye for a pretty boy, didn’t you Sparrow.” He took a step closer, his voice dropping into a honeyed cadence, “but then, so do I. Although I like mine best of all when they’re swinging several feet from the floor with a rope around their necks.”

Jack thrashed violently, trying his best not to allow his other hand to be forced up behind him into the waiting vice. He glared at Beckett.

“I don’t think Will is the sort of man who’d appreciate your idiosyncratic seduction technique.”

Beckett raised the other eyebrow.

“Judging by the fact he hasn’t rushed to your aid, I assume I’d be right in thinking that he’s impervious to your techniques too. How heartbreaking that must be for you. You’re not used to not getting what you want, are you. Well, neither am I.” He took another step towards Jack, nodding to Mercer. Mercer locked his arm around Jack’s neck, his sword against the scab left by the edge of Will’s blade from three days earlier. “I don’t think your Mr Turner is going to have a great deal of choice about what I do to him once I’ve got my hands on him.” He drew up to his full shortness, and tilted his head back to look up at Jack, smiling sadistically, “It really is quite dreadful what can happen on Royal Navy ships, particularly to captives. But I suppose the crew have to have some entertainment,” his lips curled into a sneer as he added, “As do I.” With a dismissive wave of his hand in Jack’s direction, he said, “Mr Mercer, will you kill this man?”

Then a lot of things had happened in quick succession. Suddenly there was a thud and Beckett lay face down on the ground with a dagger in his back, and Will was racing up the hill towards them. Jack laid a sharp kick into the shinbone of the man behind him, and managed to wrest his hand away with the manacle still attached. He swung it round his head like a flail and cracked it over the head of the tallest officer. Mercer had set off towards Will. Jack retrieved his sword. Then, two men lay dead at Jack’s feet, the other two fleeing back to the ship. Will had stabbed Mercer through the heart. And all the while, Jack’s head was buzzing with one thought.

“You’re here. After everythin’ I’ve done.”



But then the blood came; Will, white and faint in Jack’s arms. And Jack thought again how he should have let him go.

Jack laid Will down on the sheets Mr Cotton had put on his bed. Jack, Cotton and Gibbs managed to get Will’s coat off between them, trying to move him as little as possible. Jack used a dagger to cut away Will’s shirt, soaked in scarlet. He baulked when he saw the wound beneath. It wasn’t very deep, but it gashed a line round the left side of Will’s waist beneath his ribs, and was pumping out blood with every heartbeat.

“Jack?” He heard Gibbs’ voice break the silence.

“I know, I know,” there was a hard rasp in Jack’s voice, “he needs a doctor. Set a course for Tortuga. We can be there in less than a day.”

“He won’t last three hours, Jack. You know that. That wound needs to be cauterised now or we’ll lose him.”

Jack closed his eyes and shuddered, passing a hand over his face. He set his mouth into a tight line and said gruffly,

“Light the fire, Mr Cotton.” He drew his sword and gave it to Cotton, gesturing that he put it in the hearth. “Mr Gibbs, go and fetch me some water and sponges. Sharpish!”

Jack sank to his knees by the bed as the men commenced the flurry of activity around him. He looked at Will, who was growing paler by the minute, his blood pooling a red stain across the white sheets. Jack felt something like an icy stone sinking through the middle of his body. He thought grimly to himself,

“I’m about to lose the one bloody thing I had left to care about because I couldn’t have it on any terms other than me own. I couldn’t just wait to see if he came to me. Oh no, I had to know there and then, didn’t I. And then I wouldn’t let him leave. For someone who abhors subjugation of any kind, you’d do a pretty bloody good job as a gaoler, Jack Sparrow.” He took one of Will’s hands, flinching when he felt how cold and limp it was, and leaned over to whisper,

“I’m going to make you a promise, Will-bloody-Turner. If you pull through this, I won’t stop you from doing what you want ever again, even if it means you leave and don’t come back. And what’s more, I will never call you a eunuch again, savvy? So you’d better bloody well live, ‘cause I don’t usually make promises to nobody… Not ones I mean to keep, anyways.”

“Cap’n, the fire’s ready.” Gibbs set down the bowl of water on the table by the bed. Jack didn’t look at him, but took one of the proffered sponges, put it in the bowl, then composed himself and stood up.

“Help me turn him over.” Between the three of them, they carefully eased Will over onto his side to expose the wound. The movement made Will regain consciousness again, and he cried out in pain.

“Wha’s happening Ja…? Oww!”

Jack squeezed out the sponge in the bowl and started to wipe away as much of the blood as he could from Will’s waist. Will groaned again as the rough sponge aggravated the gash.

“Shh, luv, it’s nothin’. Just a bit of a cut, is all,” Jack cajoled, forcing his voice to sound calm, but his face was stony as he saw the blood flowing out of the wound again. To Gibbs he said, “Bring me my sword.” Gibbs nodded and crossed the room. Jack leaned over Will again. Will’s breathing was fast and shallow, his eyes rolling. Jack took a deep breath.

“Will, this is going to hurt. But it’ll only be for a moment.” Gibbs handed him the sword. Jack sighed, looking from the glowing tip to the convulsing body. This is not what he had ever envisaged when he had thought about having Will in his bed. Not how he had ever wanted it to be. There are some prices too high to pay for getting what you wish for.

“Hold him down,” he said to the two men. Jack heaved another breath and lowered the flat of the sword towards Will’s waist. Will frowned, trying to comprehend what was happening, his eyes unable to focus on the sword.

“I want you to know that I never meant for this to happen,” Jack said sternly. Then he gritted his teeth, and with a grimace lay the searing metal against Will’s side, drawing it over the sundered flesh. The hiss as it met its target was immediately drowned out by a deafening roar from Will. Gibbs and Cotton had to use all their strength to keep the thrashing body still as Jack sealed the wound shut. The stench of burned skin filled the cabin. Will’s eyes rolled back into his head and he went limp, mercifully lapsing back into unconsciousness.

Jack staggered back, his legs shaking, and Cotton relieved him of his sword before he dropped it to the floor. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the angry red mark. “I may as well have run him through meself,” he thought gloomily. The blood had stopped flowing though, and Jack shook himself, bringing his attention back to what needed to be done.

“Mr Gibbs, I trust you can bring this ship into Tortuga. Go and see that it’s done. Mr Cotton, bring me some oil, bandages, and more water. And please, would someone fetch me some rum?”

Jack didn’t move from the bedside after that. He washed as much of the rest of the blood off Will as he dared, and dressed the burn with oil-soaked bandages. Within the hour, Will had grown feverish as Jack had expected, and Jack patiently wrung out sponge after sponge and pressed it to Will’s forehead, or held it to his dry lips, allowing the moisture to trickle into his mouth.

Jack refused to let anyone else look after Will. When Gibbs came in again after a few hours to check how Will was, he asked Jack if he’d like to go up on deck and stretch his legs. Jack shook his head.

“He’s never abandoned me when I needed him. This is something I have to do, and only me. I owe him that much.”

Dusk came, then night, and Jack was hardly aware that someone had lit the lamps in the cabin. One by one the crew had come to visit the bedside, and to ask if there was anything they could do. Jack’s eyes never deviated from the bed. Will’s temperature was still rising, and he was becoming delirious. Throughout the night he cried out in pain each time he moved, and every now and then uttered half-formed sentences, which Jack listened to with increasing distress:

“Oh, it’s you.”

“Don’t touch me!”

“It hurts. It hurts so much!”

“NO! I can’t, it’s wrong.”

“Please, help me to understand.”

“Why do you want me here?”

“Don’t. Let me go. Don’t let me go.”

“You’ve got the most…(Jack couldn’t hear the adjective, but had a fairly good guess)…eyes I’ve ever seen.”

“Get out of here! Get out of my head!”

“Mmm. Feel’s good… Stop talking…”

“I’m going mad. And I’m going to hell. This can’t be happening…”

But mostly it was Jack’s name, over and over again. Jack had a horribly queasy sense of hollow victory as he realised that all his suspicions had indeed been correct, and now it was too late. Any chance of confirming them had been well and truly quashed. Will’s condition worsened. He was burning up with fever, his body shuddering. Jack realised as he sat alone, wordlessly urging Will to survive with his eyes, that he had forgotten how to pray. Suddenly Will reached out and gripped Jack’s arm, his eyes opening wide with pain, looking through Jack glassily. He gasped, his voice barely audible,

“What have you done to me?”

And Jack wept.