The Turning of the Tides

TITLE: The Turning of the Tides 9/?
AUTHOR: Seraphina (lealea55@hotmail.com)
PAIRING: eventual Jack/Will slash
RATING: eventual NC-17
SUMMARY: Will tries to outwit Spinoza. It doesn't work. They both try to outwit Jack and meet with success.
DISCLAIMER: not mine, never were and unfortunately never will be.
AUTHOR´S NOTE: thankyou gypsy luv and .bennizzle.jizzle. for your comments. Am very happy you guys like it. Double post because i´m away for xmas!

CHAPTER 9

Will clenched and unclenched his fists, fingers sliding on sweaty palms at his side. Swallowing the nervous lump in his throat he tried to remain calm shifting slightly from one foot to the other.

Fleeing from this particular foe was not really an option; they were, after all, in the middle of the Caribbean Sea and one could only hide for so long on a ship before someone came across them. So instead he stood and met his fate head on, hoping to God that this would work.

Spinoza. Ship’s physician and all round pain in the arse. Good at his job but was all this really necessary? Will did not think so as he watched with trepidation and quite an amount of disgust while the funny little man examined the contents of the mug first by swirling it, then by sniffing it and finally by sticking his little finger in it and putting the sample to his tongue.

Will held his breath.

The first time he had seen Spinoza do this with a sample of urine, he had been a little surprised. The way Jack and the rest of the crew had made it sound, he had half expected the old man to take a swig and have a good gargle but the truth was far from being that revolting. Of course tasting urine in any way, shape or form was completely repulsive but it could have been worse.

Spinoza paused as if in thought, head cocked to the side and one eye squinting before clearing his throat.

“Well Master Turner, this is some very healthy urine indeed.”

Will exhaled with relief. Jack’s plan had worked!

Spinoza continued. “It is a pity, however, that it is not yours.”

Or maybe not. The young smith’s mouth open and closed several times but he could think of naught in response. There was nothing he could say to that. What a pity indeed.

He was saved a reply though as Spinoza looked up at him through cloudy spectacles. “I know all about Jack and his little scam. No need to look so surprised Master Turner. I’m no idiot and you’d do best to remember that. I know about every key and every trunk that fool of a pirate uses in this little charade of his. But you too are no fool Master Turner so it pains me to see you try and pull a stunt like this.”

Will had the decency to look abashed. He felt stupid right now. This was the last time he put faith in one of Jack Sparrow’s plans. The last!

Spinoza’s face softened though as he looked at Will with a degree of fondness.

“But, I guess that if you’re well enough to be trying to pull the wool over the eyes of this old man then I guess I’m finished with your urine.”

A sigh of relief escaped Will’s lips. He even managed a small chuckle as he scratched the back of his neck with embarrassment. For his whole life, Will had, as a rule, steered well clear of any form of lie. He was no good at it, he knew, and recent events only went towards supporting this. So not being familiar with lying, he was therefore not accustomed to dealing with being found out. Changing the subject seemed like being the best option at this point.

He turned to the wall where previously there had been shelving but where iron racks full of the good doctor’s supplies were now attached. Will had constructed it the day before in between attaching a handle back onto a skillet and sharpening a pair of scissors. Life as the Pearl’s bosun was certainly turning out to provide one stress after another…Will was sure he’d never resorted to sarcasm before he’d met Jack. Then again, he’d not resorted to a number of things before he’d met Jack, lying included.

Removing one of the small bottles, Will uncorked it, smelt its contents, cringed and replaced it, moving on to the next bottle. “So you know all about Jack’s little collection and you’ve said nothing to him?”

“Of course I know about it,” Spinoza said, placing the mug on the desk next to Will and picking up a mortar and pestle. “I just finished telling you that I am no fool. Now pass me that bottle,” he said, pointing to a vial on the top row of the rack.

Will did as requested and watched as seeds from the bottle were poured into the mortar and ground into a coarse powder.

“As for me giving no hint of my knowledge to our dearest captain,” Spinoza paused to push his spectacles back up his noes- the exertion of pounding on the seeds had caused them to slip- and looked up at Will with a sly grin on his face. “Well where would be the fun in that?”

Will raised an eyebrow, replacing the bottle handed to him by the doctor and retrieving another that the man asked for.

Seeing that Will still didn’t understand his motive, Spinoza straightened and yelled loudly over his shoulder back down the length of the ship. “Captain Sparrow to the infirmary!”

Will heard the same thing yelled by several people, each sounding more distant than that of the voice before it. It was the main method of communication between decks and most of the time it was fairly effective until either it came to Mr Cotton and his bloody parrot or someone passed on the message slightly askew. Messages gone awry could end up being very interesting indeed as Will had found out only the day before when he’d called for a sword to clean and found himself holding something akin to a pumpkin. Upon questioning the crewmember responsible for delivering it to him, he was informed that it was a gourd. The same man then asked why it was that Will had wanted a gourd in the first place.

But this time it seemed to have been successful as the sound of footfalls on the stairs were heard followed by the appearance of Jack, weaving through hammocks and wearing a concerned look on his face as he saw Will standing by Spinoza.

“Wha’ is it? Nothin’ wrong with me bosun I hope…I’ve only had ‘im a bloody week!”

“Master Turner is fine, Captain.”

“Well what’s th’ blasted problem then? I’ve got a bloody ship t’ run ‘ere. I can’t be wastin’ me time with a nutty ol’ witch doctor now can I?” Jack winked at Will, grinning like a Cheshire cat. It was no great secret that these two liked to goad each other into quarrelling. In fact, Will was fairly certain that there was an unwritten tally kept by the crew as to who won arguments the most. It would seem that Ezra Spinoza was far more gifted in the area of rhetoric but it didn’t stop their captain from trying.

Will looked at Spinoza, waiting for his return fire but there was none. There was, however, a slight twitch of the lips that only Will caught and he wondered where all of this was going. The doctor had, after all, called for Jack to assist in his explanation and he wasn’t going to tell the captain that he knew all about the armoire and its contents now, then what on earth did the little man have in mind?

Will waited, straight faced and eager.

“The problem is with other members of your crew,” Spinoza started, turning back to the mortar and pestle so that he was side on to his captain, and added a few more miscellaneous ingredients to the stone bowl as he spoke. “It would seem that a few of them are suffering from stomach pain and I fear an outbreak of intestinal worms could very well be the culprit. So,” he said, crushing the mixture in the bowl. “I shall require a sample of your urine straight away, Captain.”

The grin was wiped straight off Jack’s face as he stood a little straighter, looking altogether more sober which was a feat for a man such as himself at eleven o’clock in the morning, sobriety being reserved for special occasions such as hell freezing over and the appearance of a winged hog in the sky.

Jack stammered. “Well, er, if ye’d jus’ like t’ give me a minute or so…I’ll return presently. Can’t do it in front o’ people like.” He gestured to Will and Spinoza, then spun deftly on his heel and made his way back through the swinging hammocks. His footsteps sped up to a run when he thought he was no longer in view of the good doctor. As the thumping boots faded up the stairs, Spinoza began to giggle- a strange sound coming from and equally strange man- continually grinding away at the powder he was concocting.

“Who’s got stomach pains then?” Will asked, a little concerned and hoping that whatever tasks Jack had him doing later in the day didn’t involve any close contact with these particular crewmembers. Intestinal worms? He shuddered and reached for another bottle to examine from the rack.

Spinoza dropped the pestle and took a pinch of the power from the mortar, rubbing his thumb and forefinger together to test its consistency. Grunting with satisfaction, he poured a little vinegar into it and began mixing it to a paste.

“No one, Master Turner, under my care, has ever suffered from stomach pains or intestinal worms for that matter and I’ll have much to say to the man who insinuates otherwise.”

“But you just said-“

“I know what I just said boy! I’m not daft!”

Will frowned and after a beat, “So you lied?”

“I lied no more than your captain will be lying when he comes back down here with a mug of week old piss, warmed by the rays of the sun, expecting me to believe that it came straight from the source in the last five minutes or so.

“Can’t go in front of people indeed. Well he seems to have no trouble whipping it out when three sheets to the wind and pissing over the side of his beloved ship with an audience looking on all the while.”

Spinoza straightened and turned to the young blacksmith beside him. “The problem with Jack is that he thinks that he has one up on everyone all the time. Right now, he’s rifling around for some key, oblivious to the fact that I knew he would do just that. It amuses me Master Turner, so much in fact that it matters not to me that he does not know that it is *I*, in actual fact, who have one up on *him*.” He studied Will now, squinting harshly over the half lenses of his spectacles. “And now that I have someone to share this with it makes it all the better. Now you too can take comfort in the knowledge that you have one up on the infamous Jack Sparrow!”

The squint turned into a grin, Will’s face mirroring that of Spinoza as he thought about Jack searching for the key among all the rubbish that littered his cabin floor. It was a glorious notion indeed!

With that thought in mind and a smirk on his fine features, Will uncorked the small bottle in his grasp and sniffed it, his head jerking back as he caught the scent of the contents. He looked startled for a moment. The smell hadn’t repulsed him in any way it was just so shockingly familiar. Tentatively, he sniffed it again.

Spinoza, having gone back to his task of preparing whatever it was he was making, looked up and adjusted his glasses.

“Lavender oil,” he stated, watching Will’s reaction.

“Yes,” The smith inhaled sharply and closed his eyes, an abundance of sweet, floral odours filling his sinuses. Will’s voice sounded clouded by memories as if he’d forgotten he wasn’t alone. “It reminds me of my mother,” he said, recalling the scented kerchief his mother would wear tucked into her dress, just over her breast so that when she held Will close he could smell it through the rough fabric. Then memories of kissing Elizabeth’s hand when they greeted and scent of lavender at her wrist’s came to him. “And of Elizabeth. And…” His brow crinkled in concentration as he tried to discern the images in his head. The odour conjured up a room in his mind. A room piled high with maps and candles and rum bottles and a mad pirate standing in the middle of it. Again his head jerked back and his eyes flew open to find Spinoza watching him intently.

“Jack,” the old man finished for him.

Was there a smile playing on his lips? Will couldn’t tell. Perhaps it was the flickering flame of the lamp on the desk playing tricks on his eyes.

“Yes, it reminds me of Jack.” Not an hour ago as he sneaked into the Captain’s quarters had he been aware of this underlying scent yet had unable to identify it. But why on earth would Jack or Jack’s room for that matter, be smelling of lavender? It had to be one of the least pirate like smells he could think of. Did Jack realise he smelt of lavender? Will was sure that if the pirate were aware of this fact, he wouldn’t be at all happy about it. Didn’t do much for upholding his image now did it?

The youth raised his eyebrows at the doctor.

“I put a few drops on his pillow when I think of it in the hope that he will get some natural sleep instead of the drunken stupors he so often finds himself in.”

Will nodded and smiled slowly, smelling the lavender oil again. So Jack didn’t know and he wasn’t going to be the one to tell him either? Let it be something else he had over Jack. Will really was beginning to enjoy this and was only slightly perturbed that the oil seemed to bring forth images of Jack only and nothing of his mother or Elizabeth. He shook his head as if trying to rid his mind of the pirate, feeling the slightest bit drowsy from the effects of lavender and looked to what Spinoza was doing.

Old but sure hands added some more vinegar to the paste to give it a more liquid consistency then the mixture was poured into a small vial. Spinoza held the vial up to the lamplight. It was black and opaque and its odour was just starting to reach Will’s nostrils, cutting swiftly through the lingering scent of lavender. It was even more putrid than the stuff the physician had put on Will’s ribs and possibly even more potent and concentrated.

“What’s that for?” Will asked, nose crinkled and fearing that it may be for him to ingest, the final part of his treatment.

Spinoza cocked his head at the sound of running feet on the stairs and the jingle of metal against metal. He then winked conspiratorially at the young smith without providing an answer as Jack appeared through the throng of hammocks, a mug held far out in front of him, baldric swathed chest heaving with exsertion.

He had to have sped through all those keys and trunks to have had time to warm up the sample even slightly and gotten back to the infirmary in the ten minutes he had. Will was impressed as he suppressed a smirk and stood well away from the mug the pirate captain thrust into the hands of the physician.

Another conspiratorial wink was given to Will, this time by a smirking, out of breath Jack as Spinoza dipped his little finger into the mug and put the digit to his tongue as he had done not half an hour before for Will. But this time there were a few theatrical ‘um’s’ and ‘ah’s’ added to the balance as the strange little man seemed to be mulling over the taste, a frown on his face, his eyes to the low crossbeam above them.

“Oh dear, oh deary me.”

The smirk was wiped off Jack’s face. This seemed to be a common occurrence in the presence of the ship’s physician

“What? What’s tha’ supposed t’ mean ye little bugger?!”

“Deary, deary me.” Spinoza shook his head. “This just won’t do. It just won’t do at all.”

“What?!”

But Jack, like Will, was refused an explanation as with a flurry of oversized hands, the mug was set down on the desk and replaced with the vial of whatever it was the honourable doctor had been preparing.

“Drink this!”

Jack recoiled as the smell hit him, fingers twitching in front of him as surveyed the small bottle in an untrusting manner, foot work that of someone circling an opponent as he looked at the offending substance and offending doctor, as it were, from every angle possible. This went on for a few seconds before he straightened, brought his hands together in a steeple, took a deep breath and said “No.”

Spinoza’s eyes widened. “No? What do you mean ‘no’ you daft bloody pirate?”

Jack did his best to add some diplomatic flare to his features but it wasn’t a strong point of his. After all, he was a pirate captain and diplomacy came somewhere between paying for things and saving puppies on the unwritten pirate manifesto of things not to do. And as Jack hardly ever paid for things and as of yet, had not come across a puppy in need of rescuing by him, or by anyone else for that matter, the art of diplomacy was a thing somewhat defunct in his personality. Well, perhaps defunct was too strong a word; ‘work in progress’ was maybe a better way to describe it. So Jack’s expression, while lacking in anything diplomatic, was something more akin to his scallywag grin, with a touch of pleading added into the mix.

“Wha’ I mean, my most esteemed an’ knowledgeable doctor,” He paused for effect but seeing the nonplussed look on Spinoza’s face, continued with a flourish, “Is that I ‘ave taken yer request into very careful an’ scrupulous consideration an’ ‘ave decided, despite yer recommendations tha’ I will NOT be ingestin’ THAT…EVER.”

Will watched his captain wave his arms about madly with great amusement, trying and almost failing to keep a straight face. Perhaps he *could* manage the odd white lie if it meant being entertained so. Spinoza was doing very well too, he thought, the old man managing to look thoroughly enraged.

“There were no recommendations made on my part, Sir, merely orders…*doctor’s* orders, which I suggest you take or the next time you get shot in the arse I may not be so gentle when I dig the bullet out.

“The body is a bundle of pressure points my dear *Captain* Sparrow, all connected to each other. Messing with these points in one place can have detrimental effects on the functioning of points in other places, *savvy*?” Spinoza smirked now. “And we wouldn’t want the *performance* of our captain to be ambiguous at the most, now would we?”

Jack’s eyes grew wide as he looked quickly down at his own crotch, looked back up and scowled, grabbing the vial off a very proud looking doctor. Then, pinching his nose, he downed the lot of it, coughing and spluttering and swearing as he did so before thrusting the empty bottle back into the hands of Spinoza. “Happy?!”

“Quite.”

Jack turned to storm off but was stopped by the doctor.

“Not so fast, I’m not finished with you yet. Now, there’ll be no rum for you for the next three days and I’ll be wanting a sample morning and night for each of those days.”

Will had to surreptitiously cover his mouth with his hand as a look of sheer disbelief and horror cross Jack’s dark features but removed it quickly and did his best to frown gravely as the pirate looked to him for help. But Will rewarded him with nothing but a shrug. The creativity of Spinoza was endless. Who knew it could be so fun to torture someone?

“No rum?!” Jack sputtered and Will was for a moment unsure if the pirate actually had an understanding of what those two words meant probably not having heard them used together in the same sentence in his life.

Spinoza nodded in concurrence. “No rum. It will weaken the effects of the medicine.”

A strange sort of daze seemed to encompass Jack and he didn’t appear to be able to respond in any way but to stagger off in a state of utter dejection as if he’d just lost his best friend…which in a way he had, Will observed, waiting for the heavy and this time completely uneven footfalls of the pirate captain on the stairs as he went above deck, before laughing out loud and turning to an equally pleased Ezra Spinoza.

“No rum? And what was that you gave him anyway? Was there really anything wrong with him?” The questions were coming thick and fast. Will couldn’t help this sense of excitement he felt at this small victory he and Spinoza had over Jack who generally got his own way by the simple declaration “Because I’m the captain and I say so!”

They had outwitted Captain Jack. To hell with the art of rhetoric, being devious was ever so much more rewarding.

Spinoza laughed. “Calm down lad or may have to give you something. No there was nothing wrong with him and the content of that vial was nothing more than a laxative. Should stay in his system for the next couple of days.”

Oh what a glorious day to be alive! Will thought for a second. “Do you really think he won’t drink?”

At this Spinoza grin became sly. “Of course he won’t. He knows I’ll know from the taste of his urine if he has and I know for a fact that there is not one sample in that damned armoire of his that does not contain rum. The only way he can get around it is if someone else provides the sample for him and I very much doubt that any of that lot would give up his ration of rum no matter how much the captain ordered him too. That leaves you and you’ll be informing dearest Jack that you’re still taking a tincture as prescribed by myself.”

Will grinned, looking into the flame thoughtfully and sniffing at the lavender without even realising it, again conjuring up images of Jack.

“You can keep that if you like, to help you remember.”

Will looked up sharply from the flame, his eye meeting Spinoza’s and he’s be damned if they weren’t dancing.

“Of your mother and Elizabeth that is,” the old man added, but there was still that twinkle in his eye as if he knew that Will was not thinking of them at all. “Now off with you, Master Turner. I’m sure we both have plenty to do.”

Will nodded, an idea starting to form in his head as he looked at the rack he’d made for Spinoza. Something on a much bigger scale would be ideal for storing maps, he was fairly certain. Pocketing the lavender oil, he tipped a non-existent hat to the doctor and turned to leave.

“And remember what I said about me being no fool boy. Don’t you get mixed up in any of their shenanigans Will,” he called after the retreating Turner, for once addressing the lad by his first name. “You’ll never be one of them. You’re better than that.”

Will paused in his step, then continued through the hammocks. He *would* be one of them. That’s what he was here for and if not, well what else was there on the Black Pearl for him?