The Troubles of Jack

Soon the ships get roped together. There is tension between the two crews but no real sense of danger, after all, there is an unspoken camaraderie among pirate-types…. Betrayal is not uncommon but occurs almost exclusively among good friends. And Jack and this new-comer “Jasper” have yet to be formally introduced, save their brief ceremony yelling across the waves.

Not wanting to be upstaged, Jack takes several of his strongest men to accompany him across to the Gray Maiden. The men include Gibbs, three tanned lads of twenty or so who were good with a cutlass, and Marc, because Marc, unlike the rest of his crew, was pretty. And Jack wanted to show him off.

Sauntering cockily around on the deck of the Maiden, Jack is keen to observe the fantastic condition of said ship. Polished masts, untattered sails, healthy and confident looking crew, yes, the Maiden was impressive indeed. But was it fast? Was it well-stocked in the essentials: booze, weapons, unspoiled rations? This Jack was curious to find out. There were prospects to be sown here.

He can’t help but notice the eyes of the Maiden’s crew pecking at Marc, who feels sufficiently naked enough, wearing those oversized breeches and a sheer white tunic that does little to conceal his flesh after the rain has soaked it through. The boy shivers under their stares, and Jack lends a protective shoulder for him to lean against.

Finally the group is escorted into the dining cabin, another jealousy-inducing panorama of exquisite proportions. The solid oak table stretches twelve men long and four men wide, not an inch of it’s surface untouched by goblet or plate. The delectable musk of roast pork and heady wine tickles Jack’s nostrils.

Seated, king-like, at the end of the table, is Jasper McGregor.

Strong-jawed and of hardy completion, Jasper is several years Jack’s junior and towers over him at a stalky six-foot-four. A thick gravel of stubble lines his proud chin, his face definitively masculant but with a cold, cruel arch to the black brows. His lips are in the curl of a permanent sneer, and his straight coal-black hair is tied behind his head with a black ribbon.That flamboyant red feather dances in his hat as Jasper nods his head to his guests.

“Welcome, members of the Black Pearl and notable Capitan Jack. Please, take a seat. Have some ‘nosh.”

Jack’s receptive ears pick up on the lilt of a scottish accent, drowned out somehow by french intonation. He and his men seat themselves awkwardly, and everyone except Jack Sparrow begin to gorge themselves on fine food. Jack, being ever the arrogant, just puts his feet up on the table.

Jasper laughs. “Ye prefer drink, I take it?” He passes a bottle of french brandy to Jack. He takes a gulp, and passes it around to the rest of his crew.

“S’abit unusual, seein’ pirates around in the Caribbean.” Jack leans back in his chair, rocking his heels on the oak table. “Pirates, ah mean, other than ourselves.”

Jasper’s eyes flutter along the faces of all five of Jack’s guests. He smiles. “I am aware that ye claim stakes to these waters. Ah’ve heard a lot about ye, Jack. We pose no threat.”

“Oh, I’m not marking you a threat, Jasper. May I call you Jasper?” Jack tweets, smirking cheekily at the other Capitan. “Listen, mate… what I mean is for the past five years me and me Pearl’ve been floating along la-dee-dah and havin’ out run of the place. Namely ‘cause ah’ve killed everyone prior. So I find it very…. interestin’… that ye’ve suddenly turned up, is all.”

Jasper closes his fingers together. They are long and slender, and slip between one another like spider’s limbs. Something about the thinness of his hands makes Jack flinch. “My men and I are on our way to the exotic slave routes of Cuba and the Americas. It just so happens that the Caribbean stands between the Atlantic and our destination. Savvy?”

Jack wraps his lips around the bottle of Brandy, suckling heartily at it. He gives a meandering glance to the guards that Jasper has stationed by the door, and tucks his hands behind his neck. “Aye, savvy, Jasper.”

“So do I have your permission to cross?” Jasper leans in, cold green eyes pricking at Jack.

“Ah believe that would require some mild negotiation. Howsabout us two Capitans make a pact, thin? A little bit of scratchin’ my back, scratchin’ yours ‘n aw.” Jack motions with his fingers in the air, scratching at an invisible back. Jasper sneers giddily at him.

“I wouldn’t expect there to be otherwise. What did ye ‘ave in mind, thin?”

Jack curls his fingers into his palm, sticking out his lower lip. He can feel Gibbs staring at him, can hear his heels stabbing the floor with anticipation. Finally, he says…

“Ah need men.”

“How many?”

“…Sixty or so.”

Jasper laughs for a very long time.

“That’s quite a negotiation!”

Scrunching up his nose in disdain, Jack rattles his knuckles along the oak table, playing with a pewter fork. He stabs at a roast potato, then drops it back onto it’s plate. “Take it or leave it, mate.”

“Tell ye wot.” Jasper leans in heavily, grinning briskly at poor Capitan Jack. “I’ll give ye thirty men. In exchange for somethin’ special. Somethin’ ah need.”

“And what might that be?” Jack turns his eyes to the other Capitan, sneering sarcastically with all his gold teeth.

“A pretty lad. Say, the likes of that one.. right thar.” That long, spider-like finger comes out, and points directly at Marc, who sits sunken in his chair, chewing hastily on a mouth-full of seasoned yam (a delectable little treat from Africa, Jasper would later boast to him).

Jack stiffens. He follows the arrow-like finger, already knowing quite well what the Capitan had in mind. He coughs, very unintentionally. He wasn’t quite ready to give the boy up, considering he still had supsicions of him knowing more than he lead on, and he had since developed an affinity for the young lad’s ability to lie and fuck. (Two things Jack highly prioritized.)

“That one? Right there?” Jack repeats, and watches as a chunk of yam drops from Marc’s mouth, who gives Jack a worried look.

“Aye. Who is he?”

“Why, that’s…. Hobble… Higgle… Hamston. Hamston, our blacksmith. Couldn’t bare to lose him, mate, too important to the ship. Ye’ll have to pick another one.” Jack chokes around his words, fidgeting his hands around in the air.

Jasper scoffs, leaning back in his chair and extending his arms. “Fer fucks sake. E’s no blacksmith, Jack, e’s practically a woman!”

“Best blacksmith there is!” Jack pouts, gesturing wildly. “We’ve got much prettier blokes on board, ah’ll bring ‘em over, we’ll have a wedding, savvy?”

But Jasper has his eyes set on Marc, and with an eerie twist of his hand he summons his guards to his side. He whispers something to them. They dispatch from the cabin with a scuffle of feet.

Jack cracks his knuckles, a nervous tic. He can smell his men, sweating and stinking up the place.

“There’ll be fourty men standing on deck when ye git up there. I keep the smithy. I might even give ‘im back, if I grow tired of ‘im.”

Gibbs nudges Jack in the spine. He grunts, then looks over at the brandy, and takes another swig. With a selfish sneer he tucks the bottle under his arm. Then he stands up, slowly, dragging his feet, walks over to Marc, and places a hand on his shoulder. “This ‘un ye said?” He asks to Jasper, flicking his hair over his back casually and piercing at the other Capitan with his kohl-streaked eyes.

Jasper peers at him, then nods slowly. “Aye.”

“E’s yours.”

------------------------------------------

....WILL BE CONTINUED.
What do you think? :) Comments are welcome!