The Turning of the Tides

TITLE: The Turning of the Tides 8/?
AUTHOR: Seraphina (lealea55@hotmail.com)
PAIRING: eventual Jack/Will slash
RATING: eventual NC-17
SUMMARY: Now aboard the Black Pearl, Will finds some interesting characters have joined her crew in the months since he last saw Jack.
DISCALIMER: not mine, never were and unfortunately never will be.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: much silliness in this chapter, just getting in some slapstick beofre we get to the serious stuff. There is some talk of religion and i'd just like to stress that i accept all religions, just not a lot of things done in their name. My point is that the views in this chapter towards certain religions are not my own, just going with beliefs of the time. Also, a thankyou to Gypsy Luv for your comments. Should be posting regularly up until chapter 14 as i´ve written up to there so you shouldn´t have to wait too long for updates...actually i lie...i´m on holiday from the 24th of Dec til the 10th on Jan...will try and get to a computer when i can though.


CHAPTER 8

Will gave the stair one final bang with a hammer then setting the tool down gently on the deck beside him, he stood slowly and placed a shod foot on the piece of wood in question. Then, rubbing his hands together and praying to every deity he’d ever heard of, he put his weight on the foot now resting on the step.

*SQUEAK*

“Confound it to hell!!!” he cried, kicking the step and stubbing his toe, which only produced a flow of expletives the likes of which he was sure he’d never used before this week. This week being his first as part of the crew of the Black Pearl. Bosun, to be exact and the last four days had been filled with him fixing everything that needed to be fixed and even the odd thing that didn’t.

A dud cannon that apparently had never worked had been mended within an hour, a flaw in one of the anchor chains had been repaired, cutlasses and swords were sharpened and polished and left looking better than they ever had since they’d been pilfered from the dead and a new down pipe had been constructed to increase water catchments into the rain barrels on deck.

Now he was down to the most mundane of tasks like the squeaky stair for instance, as Jack ran out of things for him to do. Not that he’d seen the pirate captain much over their days at sea and Will was surprised to find him self experiencing an odd sense of loss at this. He’d assumed that once he started his life on board the Pearl, everything would right itself but he was missing Jack’s company. Naturally he would never admit this to anyone least of all himself and put it down to the fact that Jack was the person he knew the best on board and once he made newer and stronger acquaintances among the crew, this feeling would go away.

Of course he was already familiar with some of the faces; The quartermaster Gibbs and Jack’s unlikely first mate Anamaria. He also knew Mr. Cotton and subsequently Mr. Cotton’s parrot. There were other remnants of the motley crew that they had picked up in Tortuga the month or so before but there were also many he didn’t know. He’d never had the pleasure of meeting the former bosun, Jamie, or “poor Jamie” as everyone seemed to refer to him as, and was never likely to as the situation stood. But they all seemed amicable enough and if they were loyal to Jack then he was bound to find some worthy companions among their ranks.

All this aside, Will was hating the task at hand. The problem being that Will held no particular respect for wood and visa versa it would seem as he hopped around the deck, toe throbbing and wishing for all the world that the Pearl was made of iron…except of course for the part where if that were the case, they would, the whole lot of them, be on very close terms with the bottom of the Caribbean Sea and permanent residents of Davey Jone’s locker. But that was not the point.

The reason for this seemingly mutual disrespect was that Will could not manipulate wood as he could metal. He couldn’t bend it and shape it and make it into something as beautiful and heart felt as he could with his carefully crafted swords. He didn’t mind feeling the odd burn from the sparks of red hot metal, and sometimes welcomed it as it made him think that he was putting his whole self into whatever it was he was creating at the time.

Metal did not insist on stubbing his toe.

Well, he’d be damned if he spent another minute on trying to rid the stair of its squeak and he sat down on it, ignoring its groan of protest -a mocking groan if ever there was one as if it were trying to make the point that it had gotten the better of him- and pulled off his shoe.

Examining the digit, he noted with some pique that the joint was already swelling. The idea that maybe he should seek out Ezra Spinoza, the Black Pearl’s newly acquired physician to take a look at it briefly crossed the blacksmith’s mind, but he quickly thought better of it.

The funny little Jew was indeed talented beyond belief in his chosen profession; Will’s now painless ribs attesting strongly to this, it was just some of his methods that tended to put everyone off.

On the night that Jack had brought him back to the ship from Tortuga, the crew, both old and new, had greeted Will with warmth and enthusiasm. And then the way had parted and a strange little man with tufts of grey hair sprouting crazily from his head, including his ears and the tip of his nose on which a pair of spectacles perched, had appeared before him. Sharp eyes stared out from behind the glass lenses and it seemed to Will that nothing could be kept from this man that he wouldn’t see.

Without a ‘hello’ or ‘how do you do’, the fellow strode up to Will, mind you, he barely reached the boy’s chest in height, and tugged at the torn shirt.

“Well come on boy, off with it!”

A very affronted looking Will stared down slack jawed at the man and Jack moved to stand between them.

“Spinoza,” the warning but tired tone in Jack’s voice had suggested that it was not unusual for the funny little character to be acting in such an abrupt manor. “He’s fine an’ is not in need of any of yer particular attentions.”

Just what those particular attentions were, Will had no idea at present as he continued to stare dumbfounded at this new acquaintance.

“I’ll be the judge of that,” declared Spinoza as he pushed the captain roughly out of the way and looked Will up and down. “And he is not fine. The ribs is it boy?”

Will’s eyes widened to impossible diameters and he stammered; “H-how did you know?”

Spinoza threw his hands up in the air and addressed the crew that stood around them. “How did I know?! How did I know he asks?” And then to Will, “Because it is my job to know, dear boy!” He thrust a wrinkled and seemingly oversized hand for one so small towards Will. “Ezra Spinoza, physician to the crew of the Black Pearl, herbalist, acupuncturist,-“

“Satanist!” some one from the crew yelled out followed by a response of laughing and clapping.

Spinoza scowled but was otherwise unperturbed. “What’s your name, boy? I must know who it is that I am diagnosing to be able to do so properly.”

Will’s mind was still reeling from the satanist comment and it seemed that Spinoza had picked up on this too.

“Don’t worry lad. I’m no Satanist but I suppose to this bunch unenlightened ignorami, it is synonymous with being Jewish. Get your heads around that men, and I’ll be pleasantly surprised! Couldn’t come up with a sentence of polysyllabics for all the rum in the Caribbean! And why aren’t we moving?! Haul anchor or something! The sooner we get out of here the better!”

The pirates had muttered and cursed as they moved off to their respective posts, some disappearing below to catch some sleep, other swinging themselves up into the rigging and the Pearl groaned as they got underway.

Will stared in disbelief as the crew followed the orders of this little man but even more impossible to comprehend was the sight of Jack, standing by and watching this go on. Surely as captain, he wouldn’t let Gibbs, let alone this strange little fellow claiming to be a physician, give orders without his permission.

As it was, Jack turned to the two of them with no comment on what had just happened and said with a flourish of the hand, “Ezra Spinoza, I give ye Will Turner, Bosun to the Black Pearl an’ very dear friend to her captain.”

Will blushed.

Spinoza snorted. “Is that so? Well I wouldn’t be surprised if your bosun has a cracked rib or two. Look at the way he’s standing man! What good will he be to you then?”

Jack frowned as he gave Will the once over. “Nonsense! Nothin’ wrong with ‘im. Right Will?!” Jack slapped him hard on the back.

Will groaned.

Spinoza lifted an extremely hairy eyebrow. “Indeed. And how is your urine Master Turner?”

Will thought that there was nothing more that night that could shock him but as it stood he had been very wrong. “My ur- I’m sorr- WHAT?!”

“Your urine boy. Is it clear or cloudy? Acidic or not? Pungent? You can tell a lot about a man from the appearance, smell and taste of his piss.” Spinoza pushed his spectacles back up his hairy nose and gazed at Will expectantly.

“Pungent? Taste?! I…I…” Will was lost for words. As far as he was concerned, his piss was like any other. He’d never really paid any special attention to it and it was certainly not polite to hold a conversation about such things he was fairly sure. All in all it had always seemed a fairly generic sort of thing to him but apparently not. And this bizarre character standing before him was enquiring after his…enquiring after the *taste* of all things. It was completely and utterly preposterous not to mention completely and utterly foul. But then again he was on a pirate ship and these things were to be expected. But urine? No nothing could have prepared him for this.

Turning to Jack for some assistance in the matter he found the pirate, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. “Spinoza,” Jack’s voice sounded pained. “Please try an’ refrain from scarin’ me bosun away before he’s even settled in. And Will,” he said turning to the wide-eyed lad standing next to him. “Don’t be takin’ any offense to wha’ the little devil says. If it’s broken ribs ye’ve got, well he’ll fix ye right up t’ be sure. Although jus’ how ye broke them is quite beyond me comprehension.” Jack didn’t seem to notice Will’s look of disbelief at the last comment and continued on. “Now, your quarters will be with th’ rest o’ th’ crew below deck although if you’re injured mayhap a palliasse would be better suited to yer needs than a hammock an- yes Gibbs, what is it?”

Will hadn’t even noticed the quartermaster’s approach as he was still trying to get over one shock after another. He silently welcomed the return of the old sailor though as he’d been decent to him on his last stint at sea and was also fairly normal. And by God, was Will clutching for normality now! A lad about Will’s age stood next to Gibbs, a piece of paper clutched in his filthy hand.

“Cap’n,” Gibbs started, addressing Jack by his proper title and scowling slightly at his own proximity to Spinoza. “Robby ‘ere ‘as somethin’ I’m mighty sure ye’ll be interess’ed in.” The older man gave the youth, who was perhaps a head shorter than Will and just as slightly built, a nudge toward his captain.

Jack squinted at the young pirate in front of him, evidently not recognizing him as one of his crew. But then again, a lot of them had only joined him in the last few weeks so who could blame him if he hadn’t committed each and every one to memory yet? Especially one as non-descript as this Robby. Lanky, but not tall, mousy hair that stood up at odd angles and was that stubble trying desperately to squeeze itself out of that filthy face? Definitely nothing memorable about him. Not pretty like his Will…hang on a second where had that come from? Jack frowned, pushing THAT little thought to the back of his mind where it surely belonged and tilted his head back, looking down his aquiline nose at the boy.

“Well come on lad. What’ve ye got for ol’ Jack?”

The youth handed the paper in his grasp to Jack. The pirate captain opened it and began to read it’s contents, eyes darting quickly from side to side as he devoured each line of writing.

Will watched, fascinated at the way the kohl around the pirate captain’s eyes made the whites look so bright. He hadn’t remembered the effect of the black outline to be so striking.

His captain’s frown was lifting and a smile broke across his features as he looked up from the paper at Robby.

“Just who did you pilfer this off son?” he asked, handing the paper to Spinoza without looking at the physician.

Robby, evidently eager to please, smiled earnestly. “A man in th’ Bride. Well t’ do chap I reckon, Cap’n. Merchant or some such. Looked right out o’ place in there ‘e did so I slipped me ‘and in is’ pocket…thought ‘e might ‘ave a bit o’ coin or one o’ them fancy pocket watches what fellas like ‘im tend ta ‘ave and I found tha’. Didn’t think nothin’ much o’ it to tell the truth Cap’n wha’ wiv me no’ bein’ able to read naught much an’ all but then master Gibbs ‘ere, well he saw me wiv a couple o’ the other lads tryin’ to make a paper boat out o’ it an’ he read it an’…well ‘ere we are.”

Jack tugged at the twin plaits of his beard as if in thought. “Here you are indeed. Ye do realize tha’ this is a manifest of every merchant ship sailin’ into the Caribbean for the next month don’t ye lad?” he asked, addressing Robby.

“Aye Cap’n. Tha’s wha’ master Gibbs ‘ere told me.”

“An’ do y’ also realize that it names their exact routes, ports o’ call an’ number o’ souls on board then?” Jack’s grin was growing wider and wider.

Robby’s grin seemed to be growing exponentially to the older pirate’s. “Aye Cap’n.”

“An’ are ye aware of what this information might mean to a lot o’ scallywags such as…well such as ourselves?”

Robby nodded so hard that Will feared his head may just fall right off. But he could see why Jack, Gibbs and the boy would be so excited about such information coming their way.

Looking at Spinoza who was folding the paper and handing it back to the captain, he didn’t miss that the physician’s face was void of the same fervor and he wondered why. Such information would mean that the crew of the Pearl would know almost the exact location of merchant ships over the course of the next month. Ships laden with supplies from all corners of the earth. Not only would they be aware of the location of said ships but also of the number of their crew meaning they could pick off the smaller ones easily and leave the well manned ones alone. This meant minimal risk to the pirate crew.

Well the other three’s enthusiasm more than made up for Spinoza’s lack of it and Will supposed that he was happy too…at least he supposed he should have been. In point of fact, he was unsure of how he felt. After all, he had once been travelling on a merchant ship that had fallen victim to pirates on his crossing from England. Not altogether an enjoyable experience but then again, Jack Sparrow was no Barbossa and if they did pick the ships with smaller crews the likes of which were most likely surrender to a pack of scoundrels such as themselves rather than try and put up a fight, well that wouldn’t be too bad now would it?

Will guessed that he would find out soon enough where it was exactly that he stood on such a subject but by the time he did it would be too late to do much about it. Indeed it was probably too late now as he’d already accepted Jack’s offer to be his bosun. He was a pirate now and pirates attacked and robbed merchant ships, no two ways about it. Will’s hand came up to scratch the back of his neck as he pondered this piece of information a bit more, watching the last bit of land slip away on the port side of the Pearl as they left Tortuga behind.

Jack in the meantime was positively elated and gave Robby a pat on the back.

“Pity it doesn’t list their cargo but never look a gift horse in the mouth as they say! Gibbs,” he barked to the quartermaster. “An extra ration o’ rum for young Robby ‘ere. That’ll put some hair on his chest,” he grabbed an equally delighted Robby’s chin and scrutinized over the boys face. “An’ his chin!”

The three laughed again in great manly and pirate like jubilation and with a signal from Jack, Robby climbed up the stairs to the poop deck to tend to the shrouds on the mizzenmast. Jack then turned to Will who was still poring over his thoughts; the pirate captain’s smile unwavering. He grasped Will’s shoulder and the smith jumped having been interrupted from his reverie.

“Right Will, ye’ll go with Spinoza below deck. He’ll tend to yer ails an’ see you settle in alright. Meself an’ Mr Gibbs in the interim will be in my cabin,” he said indicating to the door behind him with his head, trinkets tinkling as he did so. “Where we will be decidin’ on th’ best course of action with regards to acquiring a fair an’ decent amount o’ swag!” The pirate threw his arms open and looked up at the clear night sky. “What a fortuitous evening this has been! First I find me Will and then this lovely LOVELY piece of parchment is delivered into me very own hands.” He then clutched the paper to his chest before stuffing it into a pouch that hung from the leather baldric that crossed his chest from the shoulder. He then looked at Will, his smile faltering a little. “What is it Will? What’s the matter?”

For Will’s expression was thunderous indeed. He pulled Jack closer too him. “You’re leaving me alone…with HIM?” he hissed looking over Jack’s shoulder at Spinoza who although was not as yet saying anything more, was rolling his eyes at the signs Joshamee Gibbs was making at him to ward off evil. “He wants to taste my urine for the love of God!” The doctor chose that moment to look up at Will, the little man’s mouth quirking slightly as he seemed to read the youth’s face. Will tried to smile in an attempt to hide his topic of conversation with Jack but he had the distinct impression that it was useless.

As it was, Jack pulled away, laughing again and looking back and forth between his bosun and his doctor. “Not to worry Will. Spinoza’s not a bad old stick, even if he does worship the devil.” Jack was educated enough to know that this was not at all true but enjoyed stirring the pot a bit. He winked at the old man who appeared not to worry about such comments from the pirate, quite aware that it was all in fun. “I’ll look in on you later when you’re all fixed up. But for now, there’s work to be done. Gibbs! Find me some rum an’ meet me in my cabin presently!” Jack then slapped Will on the back in a friendly fashion that didn’t feel too friendly to Will who winced as once again the pain flared up in his ribs before Jack spun around on his heel and sashayed towards his cabin, arms out in his usual manner and disappeared through the door.

Will watched the captain’s retreat with panic and quite a bit of pain then turned to look nervously at Ezra Spinoza. The physician gave him a reassuring smile.

“Don’t look so forlorn young master Turner. Despite what these lot and many others believe, the people of David do not worship the devil.”

Will chuckled warily and began to follow the little man to the stairs that led below deck. Then Spinoza stopped abruptly and turned to face the smith again.

And with a friendly jovial grin, announced, “We just killed your messiah!”

~*~*~*~*~*

Will shifted on the dirty old palliasse, trying not to think about the possible vermin that could very well have been nesting in it. Then again, he doubted they would have hung around after smelling the concoction Spinoza was currently heating over a small brazier. There was the definite smell of vinegar in there along with the unmistakable odor of melting wax.

“There now,” Spinoza said, taking the small pan off the heat and setting it on the shelf above the palliasse. “That should just about do it.”

Will looked up at him with skepticism from his position on the floor. The palliasse was one of four set up at one end of the middle deck. After that, hammock upon hammock ran for at least one half of the deck, the other half, barely visible to Will through the throng of swinging canvas except for lanterns that were lit up there, was filled with bolted down tables where the crew took their meals and rested when off duty. Several of the hammocks were currently occupied by snoring, farting men who either couldn’t smell or were used to the revolting stench wafting from Ezra Spinoza’s alleged infirmary. As well as the four foul looking mattresses, a desk was set up and shelves above it full of herbs, infusions and tinctures with a fiddle rail around the edge, supposedly to keep the small bottles from flying off in rough seas. If the weather got really brutal though, Will doubted it would save the collection at all.

Spinoza followed the lad’s gaze and nodded. “Yes, I know it’s not the best way of housing them,” he said, seemingly reading Will’s mind again. “But until I’m able to find a decent cabinet maker in the next port as well as some glass, I’m afraid it will have to suffice. But that’s another matter altogether.” He turned back to Will. “Are you ready master Turner?” He motioned with his head to the pan on the shelf.

“I’m to drink it?!” Will was mortified. He wouldn’t be able to swallow something that smelt like that. Not to mention the fact there was wax in it.

Ezra threw back his head and laughed. “Of course not lad! It’s a fomentation…for a dressing.”

Will sighed with relief and watched with mild disgust as hairy hands first sprinkled salt on and then removed the four fat leeches that had been placed on the rapidly bruising ribs of the young smith cum bosun. The leeches were then thrown into the brazier and he cringed as he heard them burst with the heat.

Some remarkably clean bandages were produced from somewhere and the hairy hands proceeded to dip them into the pot and then fold them over the darkened ribs. Will hissed and winced slightly at the heat of the wax but then relaxed as it began to cool and mould to his skin.

“Wormwood for the swelling,” the doctor narrated as another bandage went on. “Elder for the bruising, comfrey for healing and marjoram for the pain.”

Will tried to ignore the voice in his head that scolded him and told him that he wouldn’t be in such a position if he’d stayed in Port Royal and accepted his place and craned his neck to watch the process with a sense of uneasy fascination. Once the ribs were covered with the ointment infused bandages, Spinoza began strapping them on using strips of torn linen. His hands were remarkably gentle for such a rude little individual, and Will felt greatly indebted to him.

“You know,” he started as Spinoza motioned for him to sit up slightly in order to strap the linen around his chest and over his shoulder. “I could fashion you a rack of sorts for your bottles and such and attach it to the wall…I was a blacksmith you see. It wouldn’t be difficult.”

The older man smiled and pushed Will to lie down again. “That would be greatly appreciated, Master Turner, but I doubt that your captain would agree to having you do such menial tasks as that when there’s a whole ship to look after.”

Will frowned and thought for a second. “I’ll have a word with Jack,” he said firmly. “I know I can persuade him.”

“There is no doubt in my mind that you can.”

What was that supposed to mean? And what was that quirk in the corner of the old man’s mouth? Will closed his eyes so that he didn’t have to look at that little quirk and changed the subject, listening to the soft groan of the Pearl and she made her way through the water on her way to God knows where.

“How did you come to be on the Pearl?” Will asked quietly as Ezra Spinoza fastened the last of the linen to his chest. “Your name, ‘Spinoza’…it’s Spanish isn’t it?”

Ezra chuckled at the boy’s intuitiveness. “Ever heard of the Sephardi, Master Turner?”

“Will, please call me Will. And no I haven’t.” He cracked open an eyelid slightly as he heard Spinoza moving about. Seeing that the man was only cleaning up after himself he closed it again and relaxed, the strange aromas from the dressing mixing and making him a little drowsy. “What is it?”

Again there came a short chuckle accompanied by the clinking of miniature bottles. “Not ‘what’ Will, ‘who’. ‘Who are THEY?’ in fact. They are the Jews of Iberian descent. That is to say, from those expelled from Spain and Portugal during the inquisition. They fled all over Europe and some even back to the homeland, to Israel. My people escaped first to Germany but they were still dogged by the Dominicans and so they moved north to the Netherlands and finally east and over the sea to England. I’m a White chapel lad myself…not much different to you I should imagine.” He picked up Will’s shirt after putting everything back in it’s place and finding a needle usually reserved for the suturing of blade and bullet wounds, he took a seat at his desk and began to repair the damage done to the garment by the harlots of Tortuga. “As for how I ended up here, well I guess it’s a similar story to that of many on board the Pearl and by that I mean that I’m here quite by accident.”

Will wasn’t here by accident the smith thought to himself drowsily, he was here because he wanted to be here on the Black Pearl, because he had purposely sought out her rogue pirate captain. Yawning, he continued to listen to Ezra’s story.

“In White chapel, I did much the same as what I’m doing here; I was a physician and a good one but only ever did I treat other members of the Jewish community. Safer that way you see. The reaction towards us is much the same everywhere you go. Many Christians are superstitious like Master Gibbs who is unquestionably certain that I will bring you all bad luck despite the fact that I no longer practice my faith. It doesn’t matter how much I try to assure him that a drunken quartermaster and equally drunken captain is bound to bring us a good deal more bad luck than I am. He is quite convinced that he is right.”

Will chuckled and nodded his agreement. That sounded exactly like the Joshamee Gibbs he knew.

Spinoza continued with his story.

“Sadly, one day, not so very long ago, I made the mistake of agreeing to help deliver the baby of a Christian woman, the wife of a cleric actually as there was no one else available. The child was breach and no one could have saved the both of them. I was caught between a rock and a hard place as the saying goes and so I opted to save the life of the mother as I was fairly certain the babe would not have survived long anyway. The husband came home and found out what had happened and I was forced to flee the country as he’d accused me of both witchcraft and murder. And so I escaped to the Americas, a new start in mind and nothing to lose. I’d never married and any other family had died when I was young. I was free, so to speak.”

Just like Will. He was free, no family to speak of. There was of course Elizabeth whom he would always love but not even that could keep him happy and in Port Royal. The truth was, he didn’t know *what* would make him happy but now that he was on the Pearl, and adventure was at his fingertips, he was sure to find whatever it was he was looking for. But for now, lying on that palliasse which wasn’t too bad if you didn’t think about it, rest sounded like it would keep him happy enough.

“One day,” Spinoza kept going with the story. “ As I sat in a tavern in Santo Domingo, considering my options, of which there were few, a brawl broke out between patrons. I sat under a table in the corner of the tavern, not wanting a bar of it and unable to make it to the door without going through the melee. So I’m sitting there, drinking my ale and who should crawl under there, pistol in hand and a bullet lodged in his left buttock, looking for shelter, but the infamous Captain Jack Sparrow. We got to chatting under that table as the brawl wore on for a good hour and I happened to mention my profession and we came to an accord. He would get us out of the bar unscathed on the proviso that I would dig the iron pellet out of his arse and sew him up again later. And he did, and so I did.

“That was just under a month ago and I’m still here and it’s thanks to me that there will be hardly a scar left on his majesty’s piratey behind. Speaking of the devil,” he said, looking up as he tied a knot in the thread he was mending Will’s shirt with to see Captain Jack, arms folded and moustache jerking as he tried not to smile but instead look the part of a serious pirate captain.

“Tell me Spinoza,” he said loftily, the usual growl in his voice. “Just how often do your conversations revert to the subject of my derriere?”

At the sound of Jack’s voice, Will who was a little slow with the heady scent of herbs that surrounded him, jerked up, his head connecting with the shelf above the palliasse. He saw Jack standing there smirking and suddenly felt very naked without his shirt. Looking around wildly for it, he saw it in the hands of Spinoza who was just beginning work on a new tear.

“Not as often as you should like, I’m sure,” the old man said, looking sternly over his spectacles at Will who sat rubbing his head and staring longingly at his shirt, then up at Jack and then back at his shirt again. “I didn’t just spend a good hour patching you up, Master Turner, for you to be creating more work for me. Lie down and if you’re cold, there’s a blanket at your feet.”

Will looked at Spinoza strangely. The air that evening was quite warm and so it was highly unlikely that Will would be cold. Old eyes looked back at him evenly and appeared to read him like an open book. The doctor knew he wanted to be covered and had made an excuse for him. Thankfully, he grabbed for the blanket, lay back down and quickly drew it up over his naked chest.

Jack watched all this with a frown on his face. Something had just happened, and he’d be damned if he knew what. Shame the lad had covered up though…hang on a second, where had that come from? Shaking his head he looked to Spinoza.

“So ye’ve fixed ‘im up then?”

“I have,” the doctor said stiffly, needle darting in and out of the cotton shirt at a astonishing speed, stitches so small and neat it was a wonder there’d be a scar left on Jack’s arse at all! “Although prevention, I find, is always the best remedy.” He paused his hand and now looked meaningfully at Jack over the top of his lenses. Will had explained to him how the cracked ribs had come about, but it would seem that Jack was oblivious.

The pirate frowned and cocked his head to the side having no idea what Spinoza was insinuating. “Yes, I guess it would be.” He shook his head as if to rid it of confusion then smiled down at Will once more. “Will me lad…how IS your urine?”

Will groaned and pulled the blanket up over his head, cursing Jack for reminding the little old man of something he seemed to have forgotten to do.

Ezra snorted. “Thought we’d forgo that one tonight. It’s late and he needs rest. But I’ll be checking on it tomorrow morning, and the next morning, and possibly every morning for the next week.”

Another groan emanated from beneath the blanket.

A small smile skipped across the physician’s mouth. “But apart from that, he’ll be ready to do your bidding tomorrow, whatever that might be.” Again the smile played over the old man’s mouth.

“Quite.” Jack gave Spinoza a sidelong glance full of confusion. What the hell was that supposed to mean? “Well, there’s a cannon needs seein’ to. That’s number one priority seein’ as we’ll be needin’ it afore the week’s out.”

Will’s head popped out from the cover, his curls a wavy mess around his flushed face. It was bloody hot under that blanket! “What do you mean we’ll be needing cannons?” he asked, a little alarmed.

Jack looked at him, a little surprised. What did the boy think they’d be needing them for? He didn’t carry around the bloody great hulking things for show, that was for certain. “We’re headed for the Virgin Islands. According to the manifest young Robby lifted off that fellow in the Bride, there’ll be several small merchant ships coming through that way throughout the week. We need the cannons to do a bit of pirating Will. Doubtful that we’ll get to use ‘em though,” he said, reassuring Will and hoping to God that the lad was up to it. He had wanted to be a pirate after all. “One look at Spinoza ‘ere and we’ll have the whole lot o’ them surrendering!”

At that, Will laughed. Spinoza couldn’t hide his smile either as he shooed Jack out of his infirmary telling him that his bosun needed rest if he was to start his orders the following day, providing of course that his urine was clear!

~*~*~*~*~*~

Spinoza had kept his word too, and badgered Will every morning for a sample of his home brew. But this morning, Will had tried his best to avoid the little man. The poor boy was having performance anxiety and couldn’t have squeezed a drop out if his life depended on it. His toe, therefore would have to remain unseen by the doctor and he would have to find something else to keep him occupied because the stair he was sitting on presently was not going to stop squeaking unless he pulled the whole thing off.

He slid his shoe back on, sans stockings as after a week’s wear without rest or wash, they were tattered and dark grey and had been finally thrown overboard.

Grabbing the hammer he’d place on deck, Will stood and the stair groaned again as it was relieved of his weight.

Sighing, he walked over to one of the rainwater barrels, placed the tool on the wood that covered half of it and scooped water up in his hands, pouring it over his head and face. The cool liquid was refreshing on his flushed and sweating skin and he considered finding something to do below deck, out of the cruel rays of the sun that were currently beating down unmercifully on him. But as he wiped the water from his eyes, he saw a head covered with tufts of crazy grey hair protruding from it, appear from below deck, it’s owner obviously looking for someone as he searched the stern of the boat with his eyes.

Will looked around frantically for somewhere to hide before Spinoza decided to look his way. After assessing his situation quickly, Will decided there was only one place for him to go and that was through the door behind him; the door to Jack’s cabin.

Slipping in, Will closed the door silently behind him. He didn’t want Spinoza to hear the clicking of the catch after all. He stood for a second, against the wooden panel, not daring to even move his hand off the handle lest he give the game away. After a few seconds, Will let out his breath, not even aware that he had been holding it in the first place.

Confident that he hadn’t been seen but not willing to leave just yet, Will turned around to examine his surroundings.

He had never before been in Jack’s cabin. The only time he’d spent on the Pearl in the past had in fact been when Barbossa was captain and then most of the visit had been spent in the brig. It would seem that the captain’s quarters somewhat nicer than the brig.

Carved mahogany paneling stained so dark it was almost black covered every wall but ample windows made from distorted glass would make sure that there was sufficient lighting when the heavy red curtains were drawn. Only half of the drapes were open at present and oil lamps supplied the rest of the light spilling over a table in the middle of the room, a desk and a massive armoire on the portside wall and a spacious bed built into the far wall, the grid window behind looking out onto the wake the Pearl left behind her. No hammocks or stinking palliasses for Captain Jack Sparrow, thank you very much.

Other furniture was dotted around the room; stuffed chairs, side tables and the like, all of which Will assumed would be bolted firmly to the floor. But all this was inconsequential because this wasn’t what Will noticed first. The primary thing that hit him as he gazed around the room was…it looked like the entire royal navy had seen fit to declare war on it and had done so without mercy. Maps were everywhere, not even concentrated to one area in fact but literally everywhere. On the table, on the floor, even strewn over the bed. The desk top -a pull down affair that could be pushed up and locked- looked as though it had not seen the light of day in a decade even though it must have only become this way since Jack had reclaimed the ship; a little over a month.

Will walked over to the desk now and stared down at the pile of papers that littered it, a frown crossed his face as he tried to determine what an open book on top of the pile was. There were columns drawn up and they were filled with numbers, lots of numbers. Will may not be able to read very well but he understood figures and knew that in one column there were dates and in the columns next to them were very large numbers. He suddenly realized that they were profit margins. What the devil did a pirate need to record profit margins for?

He was reaching down to flip back a page when then flat of a sword slapped down on his wrist. Will reeled back with shock and looking up sharply, found himself face to face with Captain Jack Sparrow and a sword pointed at his throat.

Will laughed with relief. “Oh Jack, I didn’t even hear you come. I was so busy-“

“Snooping?” Jack finished for him, raising an eyebrow and showing no sign of lowering the sword.

Will’s eyes flew wide open. “You are joking aren’t you? Even if I *wanted* to snoop it would be next to impossible in a place like this. Jack, your quarters are truly disgusting.” The lad crinkled his nose and cast another look around the room as he said this quite unsure of where one would begin should one wish to undertake the task of cleaning it up.

Jack lowered the sword, smiling broadly as if he’d just been paid a great compliment. “And perhaps tha’ is the very reason for which I do it dear William.” He placed the sword back in his baldric and leant on the table with one hand. “So if you weren’t snooping, wha’ brings ye to me quarters?”

Free from the blade at his throat, Will stepped forward and began flipping through the book as he’d been trying to do before Jack had caught him thinking it unlikely that the state of the room had anything to do with tactics and everything to do with the fact that its resident was a pig. Said porcine pirate watched the smith intently. “I was avoiding Spinoza,” he said, not looking up from the book.

“Ahhh, “ Jack replied with understanding as Will turned his head side ways in an attempt to read what was written in the margin. He was unsuccessful as the words were too long and unfamiliar. He would have to do something about teaching Will to read and write. Perhaps lessons during a dogwatch? Two hours each afternoon with him and he’d have the boy reading anything written in proper English and even some that wasn’t. He wasn’t game to broach the subject now however. Will was embarrassed about his illiteracy. He’d have to butter him up first…but that was for another day. “After your piss again is he?”

Will was only half listening though as he pored over the book. “What?” he asked glancing up quickly at Jack and then back down to the book. “Oh, yes, he is.”

Jack frowned. “Why not jus’ give ‘im some then an’ be done with it?”

“Because I can’t go under pressure,” Will said, blushing violently and then changing the subject. “These *are* profit margins aren’t they?”

“Aye.”

“What need have you to record profit margins?” Will asked incredulously. “You’re a bloody pirate!”

“Will, Will, Will,” Jack said with a flourish of his free hand, the other still was on the desk although he wasn’t resting much of his weight on it. Too much more and the whole thing was likely to snap off. “Piracy is a profession lad. I run a business here. It is my job to make ends meet, to feed and pay me crew so that they in turn make me more profit. If I didn’t keep a record of it, well, I’d be up the proverbial shit creek, would I not?”

Will snorted, still looking over the numbers and doing quick calculations in his head. “I guess so but you’ve made an error here.”

Jack’s theatrical demeanor dropped and he looked at the book. “What? Impossible! I check them over at least three times before I record anything!”

“Well that’s as the case may be but you’ve definitely made a mistake here and come to think of it…right here too which means that these, these and these calculations must be out also.” The youth jabbed at the book with his index finger to show Jack what he meant then grabbed one of a dozen quills that were scattered around the desktop. He then proceeded to try to find an inkpot among the debris, which was proving to be highly unachievable until Jack produced one from under several maps, a candle and an empty bottle of rum. He also handed Will a sheet of clean white parchment.

“What’s this for?” Will asked, looking at the paper in Jack’s hand and then up at the pirate himself.

“To do your calculations on.”

Will waved it away and dipped the quill in the ink, turning back to the book. “I don’t need that, I’ll do it in my head.”

And to Jack’s amazement he did and within five minutes, the figures for that entire week were completely redone by one William Turner who upon completion of his task, set down the quill, stood up straight and looked at his Captain.

“What?” Jack’s jaw had dropped and he had no idea why.

“What?! Ye jus’ did that all in yer noggin, that’s what!” he said, tapping the side of Will’s head.

Will was confused. “Of course I did. How else was I to do it?”

Jack shook his head, beads and charms tinkling in his hair. “Will, wha’ ye just did then took me three hours, two quills, a whole pile of parchment and a bottle of rum to complete…and even then I got it wrong.”

“Perhaps if you left out the rum…?”

Jack waved his hand dismissing Will’s last comment. He scratched his chin, his head tilted and thought for a moment that perhaps this was the opportune moment to broach the subject after all…

“Will, I ‘ave a proposition for you, mate.”

Will looked at him warily but with expectation. Propositions from Jack Sparrow could as a rule go one of many ways, most of them bad but he heard the pirate out all the same.

“Evidently yer familiar with book keeping.”

Will nodded. “I did them for the forge. Brown was always to inebriated to remember.”

Jack nodded. “Thought as much. What would ye say if I asked you to do mine for me? I mean there’d be a lot less to it…no taxes and tha’ sort o’ rot and you can teach yer captain how you do those calculations quick smart in tha’ head of yours.”

“And?” Will prodded. There was more to this, he was certain of it.

“An’ in return, ‘ol Jack ‘ere will teach his delightful new bosun t’ read an write all nice like so tha’ he may write all th’ love letters he likes to whomever his heart desires.”

Will frowned uncertainly, and, for a moment Jack feared he had perhaps over stepped the mark and that this hadn’t been the opportune moment after all but then the smith nodded and stuck out his hand.

“We ‘ave an’ accord then?”

“I guess we do Captain Sparrow,” Will replied as Jack took the proffered hand and shook it.

Jack looked very happy with himself as he slammed the book shut and put it aside. “Good, now that that’s settled then, I think that I may be able to help you with yer Spinoza problem.”

Will raised an eyebrow as he began to explore the room a little more, turning over maps to find more maps and more quills and you guessed it, more empty rum bottles. At least the bulk of the mess was made up of paper, which meant there was no real smell that accompanied it, just the benign odor of the captain himself plus something else that Will found familiar but couldn’t put his finger on.

“And how do you propose to do that? I can’t be forced to relieve myself, Jack. Believe me, I’ve tried.”

Jack didn’t think he wanted to know the particular details of that little scenario so he left it untouched and instead gestured grandly to the armoire that stood next to the desk.

“The answer to your problem, Master Turner, lies in there.”

Will stopped sifting through maps on the table and looked at Jack and the piece of furniture in question. “Well…aren’t you going to open it, and reveal this marvel to me?”

Jack grimaced and brought his hands together as if in prayer. “Well ye see, there’s one small problem with that. The truth is that it’s locked.”

Will rolled his eyes. “And let me guess…you’ve lost the key?”

Well that was bloody wonderful. Why on earth did Jack even bother suggesting such a solution (whatever it was), if it was so very flawed from the offset?

“Well I wouldn’t say ‘lost’ as such. I mean it *is* in this room and don’t roll your eyes at me, Mr Turner. It may be a shambles but it’s a highly organized shambles. Just hold yer horses an’ we’ll sort this out.”

And so, Jack started rummaging around in piles of paper looking for a key. It wasn’t like looking for a needle in a haystack…it was much, *much* worse. At least a haystack was restricted to the size of a haystack. Unfortunately the cabin was quite spacious and everywhere you turned there was flotsam and jetsam.

“So apart from your issues with our favourite physician, how are ye settlin’ in?” Jack’s voice drifted up from under a pile of paper in the corner as he scuffled around looking for the key. There was a clang and a curse from Jack. “Oh I wondered where tha ‘ad got to.” And the crown Will had retrieved for the pirate came flying across the room, narrowly missing the smith’s head. Jack’s own cranium popped up on the other side of the table and he grinned apologetically if not a little roguishly. “Sorry Will, didn’t mean t’ aim tha’ at you.” Then he disappeared again leaving Will to follow his movements by sound alone.

“They’re all fine,” Will called back, wondering if he should seek shelter under the table lest another object come hurtling through the air and he wasn’t as lucky. Life with Jack seemed to be full of promise in the injury department, that was for sure. He opted for clearing a small space on the bed and sitting on it. Not exactly what one would call soft, but then it was several times better then his current sleeping arrangements. What he wouldn’t give to have a bed like this! Oh well, captain’s privilege he guessed. “Mr Cotton’s parrot did bite me the other day, though.” Will directed his voice to the left of the table, as that’s where the noises of scrabbling seemed to be coming from. Will prayed that it was his captain and not an abnormally large rat. He must’ve been right, though because he heard Jack’s laugh from that area.

“Tha’ jus means he likes ya.”

“Mr Cotton or the parrot?” Will asked looking up at the ceiling. More carved mahogany. The room was a potential bloody tinderbox with all the paper and wood. One misplaced lamp and they’d know all about it as they fled in the long boats. Will’s thoughts were interrupted as Jack bobbed up in front of him, a key in his hand.

“Both!” There was that scallywag grin again as he held up his prize.

Will looked down dubiously at the pirate captain at his feet. “So, that opens the armoire?”

“Well no,” Jack said, reaching to his left and dragging a trunk over. “This opens the trunk.”

Will rolled his eyes once more as Jack unlocked the trunk and threw back the lid. Inside lay piles of new clothes, all folded neatly in a vast comparison to the rest of the cabin. Jack took out a pair of kaki green breeches, a matching vest, and a fine white cotton shirt and threw them at former blacksmith who sat looking severely nonplussed on his bed.

“Er, thank you,” Will said, unsure of how to react. He wasn’t seeing how a new wardrobe was going to help him with his current problem.

“No worries mate.” Jack’s face was screwed up in concentration as he dug around blindly in the trunk, the remaining clothes no longer folded neatly but half strewn across the floor. Evidently this didn’t bother the pirate and he gave a shout of triumph and produced another a key.

“So *that* key opens the armoire?” Will asked hopefully, fingering the green fabric on his lap’

“Afraid not Will my boy. Now put those clothes on,” he said as he stood and walked over to the starboard sideboard.

Will’s eyes flew up. “What, now?!”

“Well the ones yer in aren’t gettin' any cleaner now are they lad?” The pirate was now inserting the key into a hidden lock and a panel sprang open.

“Well, no they’re not,” Will said huffily. “But I’ll be damned if I do it just because you say so.”

Jack arched an eyebrow, moustache twitching. “Damned y’ are then because I am your captain an’ I’m telling you t’ put the clothes on.”

Well stuck out his chin in defiance. “What I am wearing is perfectly acceptable. A few holes here and there, yes, but they’re mostly mended and-“

“Ye stink Will. Put on the bloody clothes.”

Will mouth opened and closed a few times but there was really nothing he could say to that. To be told that you smell by a pirate captain to boot…well there was only one remedy for it. He stood and made to pull off his shirt but caught Jack staring at him. He narrowed his eyes and pirate, who put up his hands in defense.

Jack rolled his eyes. “Stop acting like a blushing virgin you silly twit. I’ll look away if you’re going to be that bloody precious about it,” he snapped, disappearing into the hidden compartment. Truth be known, Will didn’t really smell awful at all. With all the herbs Spinoza had been treating him with, the boy actually smelt quite pleasant but Jack had wanted to see if he could bend his new bosun to his will. What? He was a pirate! Pirates did that sort of thing!

Will, once assured that Jack wasn’t going to be observing him, Pulled the grey looking shirt up over his head and flung it in no direction in particular, hoping that it would lie and fester somewhere on the captain’s floor. He picked up the new shirt and let it slip over his head, careful not to disturb the strapping still wrapped around his torso. He wouldn’t admit it but the new cloth felt wonderful caressing is skin and the clean, fresh smell was also welcome. Next, he kicked off his shoes, untied his breeches and let them fall to the floor where he pushed them under the bed with his foot. The shirt was long enough that it reached down to his thighs and covered everything that needed to be covered but nonetheless he looked in the direction of Jack’s arse, still poking out of the cupboard he was rummaging around in, making sure that the pirate was continuing to overt his gaze. Satisfied, he took the new breeches and slipped them on, hopping on one leg as he threaded the other into the garment and then, visa versa. He then pulled them up, tucked in the shirt and fastened them, pleased with the cut of the fabric and not minding the colour at all, either. He was just buttoning up the tailored vest that hung mid-thigh when Jack reappeared, dragging out another trunk and holding up yet another key.

He took one look at Will who was straightening out the vest and smiled broadly, unlocking the trunk as he did so. “Much better, mate. Now ye lookin’ more the part. Stole them off a very well to do tailor in the Bahamas. Wonderful work ‘e did. Very stylish indeed.” He ignored Will’s tight-lipped frown and reached into the now open trunk, taking out a pair of boots not unlike his own. “These should fit ye well enough,” he said and tossed them to the young Turner. A baldric followed close behind and Will strapped it over his shoulder and put on the boots. The leather was lovely and soft and enclosed his feet perfectly. They gave him more support than his shoes did and would do a better job of protecting his Achilles in a sword fight. He decided that he didn’t wish to know where Jack had gotten these and hoped the pirate would refrain from telling. What he didn’t know couldn’t hurt him was probably the best policy he could adopt when it came to Jack Sparrow. Then he felt something cold and metallic under his toe. Pulling the boot off again, he tipped it upside down, and out fell another key.

“And what does this open?” he asked, tossing the object to Jack who was still rifling around in the trunk, and returned his foot to it’s new leather home.

“Tha’, my dear boy,” Jack said with triumph as he slammed shut the trunk and stood. “Opens this ‘ere armoire!” And he strode over to the solid wooden structure, Will close behind, now very eager to see what was in the wardrobe that could help him in his predicament.

Jack slid the key home and turned it. There was a small click and the door swung open slowly, hinges groaning. And when it was fully opened, Jack stood smiling at its contents, arms crossed and looking very pleased with himself.

Will stared slack jawed. “Oh, Jack,” he said, his tone unreadable. “Please tell me…oh, it’s not…oh God, but it is.” He looked from the contents of the armoire to Jack and then back again and they both stood with completely opposite expressions on their faces, staring at shelf upon shelf of bottles of…

“Yes Will, it’s piss.”

Will groaned and laughed and groaned some more. He was so disgusted, yet so hysterically unbelieving. His hands went to his hair and ran through it until they came to rest at the back of his head.

There had to be fifty bottles in there. Fifty bottles of yellow liquid, all lined up harmlessly on shelves that seemed to have been constructed for this very purpose.

“Isn’t it wonderful?” Jack cried and pulled out a draw under the shelves. Will’s eyes widened in horror as some of the bottles shook with the disturbance, but breathed a sigh of relief when they settled although the contents of some continued to slosh about slightly. Reaching into the draw, Jack pulled out a book, not dissimilar to the one he used for his profit margins and opened it up. “Now Mr Turner,” Jack started in a business like manor. “I believe that pickled eggs, salted pork and dry bloody bread were on the menu this morning. Did you partake in said meal?”

Will nodded, dumbstruck.

“And rum…did ye drink yer ration of rum?”

“I don’t drink rum, Jack,” he managed to answer, but was unable to peel his eyes away from the site before him. It was an awe-inspiring setup indeed even if was truly revolting.

“Hmmm,” Jack said, tapping his chin as he regarded the book. “No rum you say? Well there’s bottle number thirty-two ‘ere in the pickled eggs, salted pork and dry bloody bread column, but I still had a wee nip of rum tha’ morning. This could prove problematic.”

Will dragged his eyes away from the spectacle before him to look at the book Jack had in his hands. There were numbers in various columns that were labeled with what he assumed the food Jack had eaten that day. “Jack…WHY?!!!”

“Because he’ll know tha’ ye’ve not taken rum this morning. Don’t ask me how, he’s just got a way with these things, but I don’t have *any* specimens of the non alcoholic variety.” The answer was given matter of factly, as if it were perfectly normal for one to keep a cupboard full of catalogued urine in one’s living quarters.

Will shook his head. “Not why could this prove problematic…Why do you have an armoire full of piss?!!!”

Jack looked up from the book. “Because, dear William, we all suffer from your little problem from time to time, so it keeps the little bugger off me back. Give ‘im some piss and he’s happier than a pig in mud as it were. The whole crew uses this system, an’ regularly donates to it, I might add.” He flashed a toothy grin. “But tha’ still leaves us with the problem of you not havin’ had any rum this morning.”

“I could have some now,” Will suggested, unable to believe that was actually entertaining the idea that this might actually work. But then again Jack did have a way of coming up with daft plans that were often successful…but just as often not.

Jack shook his head in negation. “No, that wouldn’t give it enough tome to go through…hang on a second.” The pirate’s eyes lit up and he stared excitedly at Will. “The good doctor hasn’t got you drinking a tincture each morning, has he?”

Will smiled, catching Jack’s excitement like a bug. “Why, yes he has; a foul, disgusting one made from herbs and-“

“Rum,” Jack growled happily, replacing the book in its draw and reaching into the armoire, pulling out the bottle labeled ‘thirty-two’. “Now,” he said, handing the bottle to Will who took it gingerly, a half smile, half grimace on his face. “Pour some o’ that into a mug an’ leave it out in the sun for a few minutes jus’ to let it warm up a bit. If it’s cold he’ll know straight away tha’ something’s not right.”

“Puts a whole new meaning to standing around like a stale bottle of piss, doesn’t it?” the blacksmith remarked as he held the bottle up to the light to examine it more closely.

Jack chuckled. “I fear we’re ‘aving a terrible influence on yer vocabulary Will.” He closed the armoire, removed the key and then went back around the room, replacing each key in turn. When he locked the trunk that had the clothes in it, he stood, strode over to Will and then tossed its key over his shoulder. It landed with a clink somewhere in the mess near the bed.

Will raised an eyebrow in question.

“Not riskin’ the sneaky little devil finding out about my little collection or we’d all be lost.” The pirate explained, rubbing his hands together. “Right. Time for me to return to the helm. Anamaria’ll ‘ave me bollocks if I leave her up there any longer with Cotton an’ tha’ damnable parrot of ‘is.”

Will nodded and headed for the door. He stopped and looked over his shoulder as Jack called his name.

“I’ll see you back ‘ere at four o’clock for our lessons, savvy?”

Will nodded and reached for the door handle.

“Oh an’ one other thing lad…never accept a drink from Spinoza eh…especially if it’s yellow.”

Will laughed. “Pot calling the kettle black, don’t you think captain?” he asked nodding in the direction of the armoire. “Until four o’clock then!” And Will left to find a mug…preferably one of Jack’s.