Timeless Pearls (POTC 5)

Chapter 2: Giving Away the Compass

Jack and I wandered through the blackened streets of Saint Martin, both of us were soaking wet from the pouring rain that represented Jack's current mental state. My patience was exceeding my expectations, but I was not sure how much longer I could go on. Going back home, where I was sentenced to be executed, was looking better and better with every bottle of rum that Jack drank.

"The gallows or Jack... the gallows or Jack... the gallows... or Jack," ran through my head. I could not meet with Gibbs and the rest of the crew because I had no idea where they were going, and I was not certain if I could handle being with Scrum for another second. That man was always getting on my nerves.

Jack muttered to himself drunkenly, "think Captain's Jack's washed up, eh? I've not had a wash in years."

His face was somber, and I could tell that he knew that the crew was right about him. He nearly tripped over a cobblestone, and gripped my arm for balance. The touch that once pumped me full of desire was now nothing more to me than dirty fingers.

"I know," I said once he caught his footing. I tried to cheer him up by joking with him, "do you know how long it took me to get used to your smell?"

Jack continued ambling, but I could hear his boots scuffing on the rocky cobblestones below. He produced a guttural noise in his throat as a response.

I said to him, "you should know that I don't blame you for your bad luck."

"Thank you, dear. Wait, why would you blame me?"

"I don't," I shrugged.

"Me ears aren't as good as they used to be," he said.

"I said, I do not," I restated louder and clearer.

"Well, good, because I don't blame you," he said with a nod.

"Well, obviously," I said, immediately hearing the sarcasm and regretting it.

"Uh, now I'm starting to feel the blame."

"Well, when a door closes—"

"A window will open. But should we answer it?" Jack asked, trying to sound philosophical.

"You don't answer windows," I interrupted him.

"Oh, how fun for you. Jack made a little mistake," he snapped.

I looked up just in time to see some British officers up ahead and I grabbed Jack's arm to get him to stop walking. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him snap his head at me in confusion, then drunkly swirl his head toward the soldiers that were marching on the cobble streets.

"Check the alley down there!" A soldier called out.

Still clung to his arm, Jack began running to a nearby fence, yanking me along in the process. As he was putting his empty bottle down on the ground so he could use both of his hands to aid in jumping, I hopped over the fence with ease.

"Grasshopper," Jack snarled at me.

"Let's go!" I pleaded. I hoped that the soldiers would not be able to see him. I've put up with Jack for a great portion of my life, but I was more than willing to bolt the other way and leave him if I had to.

Jack slowly climbed up on top of the wooden fence, one foot at a time. I squinted at him through the rain, feeling the heavy water soak through my black coat and my hair flatly clung to my face. He stood up straight on the fence, yelping as he tried to balance on the rickety wood. I stepped back and nearly tripped over a pig. I looked down and my boots were covered in mud. I shook my foot to try to fling the sludge off before looking back at Jack, who was waving his arms considerably as he tried to balance himself.