Ad Infinitum

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Chapter 8: Spectaculorum Procedere Debet

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“Tia Dalma!”

Jack swaggered his way towards the new arrival, arms wide in welcome, only to get his gesture rudely thwarted.

“Silence!” The sharp command blew across the deck like an errant gale, causing more than one crew member to cower. Though she resembled Tia Dalma in form, her fluid movement and presence bespoke of the powers and mysteries of the sea.

“Calypso.” Will acknowledged her with a slight bow of the head, casting his eyes to the deck respectfully.

She nodded in turn. “Captain Turner.” Waving a hand, she asked with narrowed eyes, “I see you raised the Pearl, same as your predecessor.”

“Not quite the same.” Will spoke with a familiarity not allowed to mere mortals. “I did not demand Jack’s soul as payment.”

Calypso smiled, beguiling. “Only him heart.”

Jack’s eyes widened, eyebrows shooting far under his headscarf in disbelief. Turning to Will, with questioning eyes he began to speak, and had Will hush him with a stern look. For once, Jack saw it best to stow it.

“I demanded nothing.” Will’s tone was firm, his eyes cold when returning to Calypso. “I returned a favor, as a friend.”

“And yet,” Calypso continued, sliding up to Will and running a seductive hand along his sleeve, “You allow him to stay with you, whenever he chooses, hmm?”

“Now wait a minute,” Jack’s patience for charades broke as he took two strides over and wedged himself between the two. “Captain Turner never once reneged on his vows.” He pointed a finger towards Will, then the forgotten bundle at their feet. “Loyal to a fault, is Will here. Played his role to perfection, couldn‘t have done it better meself. And now he finds himself out to sea without the proverbial paddle, so to speak.”

Jack stepped next to Will, underlining his words with stiff movements, until they stood side by side in front of the goddess.

“Can you help?” Will gestured to the shrouded corpse, seeing an opening to stop the nonsense and concentrate on what was important.

Calypso hunched down, flicking the canvas sheet away from the face of the dead, Elizabeth’s sightless eye sockets staring back in silent reproach. “Perhaps.” The sea goddess covered the face once more and straightened, her voice gentle in response. “I do not know all the ways of the earthbound souls, only that she is destined to roam unless her body and soul become one once more.”

“Her soul is trapped on land?” AnaMaria approached the group apprehensively. “My people speak of the duppy that roams, unable to find rest.”

Calypso nodded, intrigued by the new participant. “Dis is true. De duppy wanders when der is no burial. Or when der is no peace.” She lapsed into her island accent. “De ways of de earth, dey are not de same as dat of de sea.”

“So all we have t’ do is give Elizabeth a proper burial, ‘cepting this time on land.” Gibbs offered.

Jack grinned and turned to Will, miming enthusiastically as he talked. “There you go. We’ll take her ashore and dig a hole. Say a few words and chuck her in the grave. No muss, no fuss, and you’ve your bonny lass once again.”

Will scowled at Jack with a huff. “Do you really think it would be so simple?”

“William is right,” Calypso said. “Too much time has passed.” She gestured to the shrouded corpse. “Her soul has traveled to find de ferryman. She no longer roams dese islands.”

“Ferryman?” Gibbs puzzled. “Ain’t Will the ferryman?”

“Of de sea.” Calypso swept an arm around her. “Only de souls lost at sea come to him.”

“Wait a bloody minute.” Jack pointed to the musty tome that he’d read out of earlier. “You mean t’ say we have t’ find that other bloody fellow? What’s his bloody name, again?” He strolled to the book swiftly and began flipping through it impatiently.

“Charon,” Will said self-evidently, following Jack.

“Right.” Jack lipped over his shoulder to Will. “And while we’re at it, the bloody river Styx as well.”

“Who is this Charon?” Gibbs asked.

“The Ferryman of the Dead.” Will took the book from Jack and scanned it quickly, paying no mind to Jack’s protests. “The ancient Greeks claim Charon only accepts the dead which are buried with proper rites, and can pay for their passage,” Will recited out of memory, simultaneously eyeing the tome. “Otherwise they are doomed to wander on the banks of the Styx for hundreds of years.”

“So we’re back to burying her.” Ana noted.

“Yes.” Will looked up from the book. ”Properly,” he added, with a glare aimed at Jack.

Jack, in return, raised his hands in surrender and gave his most innocent look. “Tried that, mate. Didn’t work.”

“On land.” Calypso interrupted. “Dust to dust.”

“Oh yes, right.” Jack waved a flippant hand. “So all we have to do is cart her carcass around while we search for this other bloody ferryman.” He paused, finger raised as he remembered something. “Which brings up another important and muchly overlooked item.” He pointed at Will. ”Him.”

“Yeesss?” Calypso asked, eyes narrowed.

“Yes. Like what the bloody hell does he do now his dearly beloved is no longer waiting, eh? And who’s going to go traipsing all over the bloody world seeking this Charon-bloke?” Jack grew suddenly dead serious, deflated. “No land clause, remember?”

Will picked up the cue and turned to Calypso. “Despite his obvious disdain for Elizabeth, Jack does have a point.”

“Der is always a way, if dis is what you wish,” she said, once again sidling up to Will, smiling sweetly. With a malicious grin aimed towards Jack, Calypso ran her hand along Will’s arm and grasped his hand in hers.
Turning it palm up, she traced the lines in his palm with her finger, muttering an incantation. “You seek the one that truly loves you.” Calypso’s voice dripped honey.

“You must find this true love before the moon wanes once more.” She released his hand and said in an ominous voice, “Remember, the moonless tide will turn but twice before you must return to de sea.”

“And what about the heart?” Jack asked, arms crossed.

“De heart is safe, as long as de love is true.” Calypso pointed at the shrouded corpse. “She must be found before all is known. Now go. De compass will guide you.”

“A bit bloody impractical, isn’t it? Not to mention obvious. Dragging a bloody rotting corpse along.”

“Jack…” Will’s tone was warning.

“Dat is not necessary. A part of her will do.”

Jack snapped his fingers. “There you have it! We’ll just take a bit of her, a finger perhaps, and leave the rest to the fishes. What say you?”

“I say you’re bloody disrespectful as well as disgusting.” Will bit each word out through his teeth.

Jack sighed, closing his eyes briefly. “It’s not like she’s bloody there, mate! You, out of all people ought t’ know that! Bunch of bones in a sack of skin is all that is,” Jack‘s voice grew gradually lower as Will’s face turned mournful again, looking at anything but Jack.

“Nothing more.” Putting a hand to Will’s shoulder, Jack squeezed it and sought Will’s gaze. “You said it yourself, Will.” Jack shook his head for emphasis. “She’s not here.”

At Will’s vague attempt of a smile, he continued; “Now, we need to chop her up.” Jack clapped Will on the back forcefully, adding with a cheerful tone, “You want to do the honours?”


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Jack stood with his fists on his hips, hat tilted to the back of his head as he watched his crew fleeing to every which way direction. Every man and woman had suddenly remembered they had tasks that couldn’t wait a second longer, leaving their Captain to silently curse them as the churlish, milk-livered bloody goats they were.

Jack glanced at Will’s direction, his back, to be precise, since the Ferryman had opted to keep out of the way and to his own peace, staring at the sea instead of accepting Jack’s generous offer of mauling his wife’s remains.

Jack knelt to the fully revealed corpse, muttering about all kinds of goddesses and gods beings and the like, maddeningly unhelpful, dissolving into crabs at the face of the puny needs of humans.

Shrugging, he rolled his sleeves up and took a deep breath.

“You can join in any time you like, mate, I don’t mean to hog her all to meself!” Jack whooped. Grinning at Will’s back hunching in response, Jack grabbed Elizabeth’s wrist. “Mind lending a hand, darling?”

Grimacing at the stench that flowed to his nostrils when he lifted the arm, Jack took a firm grip of what was left of Elizabeth’s palm, closed his eyes tightly and wrapped his fist around the index finger. “I thought you might.”

A quick twist, a turn, an off-putting crunching sound, and the finger was hanging on a stringy strip of skin.

Peeking through one eye, tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth, Jack pulled the anatomy apart until the dermis gave away with a soft *splock*.

“Ah-ha!” Jack held the severed finger up like the Holy Grail.

Noticing Will cringing at the railing, Jack clambered to his feet, holding the prize at an agreeable distance. “I still left some for you mate, feel free to dig in!” Jack hollered, strutting towards the Great Cabin.

With a few strides, Will was in front of Jack, his face pale with anger. “You don’t know when to stop, do you Jack?”

The strangely light tone of Will’s made Jack take a step back.

“Look, William.” Jack gestured calmingly, pinching the finger between his thumb and index finger. “If you don’t mind, I’m going to find a box for this,” Jack wiggled the item in question for Will to see, while Will did his best not to see it. “Unless of course you insist on doing that yourself, to which I have no objections whatsoever.”

“I’m not going to take it.” Will flinched at the thought.

“Why not?” Jack was genuinely surprised. “One would think you’d want to, it’s your wife’s.”

Will looked away. “This was your bright idea.”

“What, you’d really rather have the whole lump to lug around? Besides, she is, or rather, was, your wife.”

Will said nothing, only kept looking away from Jack.

Jack frowned in consternation at the lack of a response, smacked his lips, and pushed Will aside. “Well I’m not going to bloody well carry it in me pocket, am I?”

“Cap'n!”

Jack got almost to the door when Gibbs rushed to Jack, having waited for the opportune moment, and halted him with a hand to his shoulder.

“Aye?” Jack barked, silently praying for a moment alone.

“When are you going to let the man mourn?” Gibbs’ quiet voice was filled with true concern.

Jack pursed a displeased mouth and turned to Gibbs. “Sometimes I wonder, with the depth of your insight, Mr. Gibbs, how it can be, that ye’ve only been shot thrice.” The look Jack glared at Gibbs served as a warning. “I trust you keep this one to yourself. My shots ain’t got names on ‘em anymore.”

Satisfied by Gibbs straightening himself like the ex-navy he was, Jack softened and waved the finger dismissively. “There’s enough time in the world for him to weep and wail when it’s due.” Jack’s voice was almost apologetic. “Right now he’s no use if he’s flopping around like a limp cock.”

With that, Jack wandered off to find a suitable bloody container.

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