Seeing that Jack was out of key-grabbing range, the dog sniffed the food, and his tail wagged eagerly. Dropping the ring of keys, he began wolfing down his supper. It took him less than a minute to polish it off, and lick the dish so clean it looked like it had been scrubbed.
Now we wait, Jack thought, nervously. He was very conscious of time passing. Teague could be back any minute. He knew better than to dash across the room and try to grab the keys. The dog was faster than he was.
The dog took a few laps of water, then picked up the ring of keys again, and moved back to his customary place on the Turkish rug, standing there, cocking his head at Jack. Then he yawned, so widely Jack could see all the way down his throat. But somehow the mutt managed to hang onto the keys.
Jack began talking to the dog again. “Hey, doggy, a nap would be good after such a great dinner, wouldn’t it? I’d love one meself, frankly. It’s been a long day.”
The dog yawned again, and this time Jack yawned with him, hearing his jaw crack.
“Now you’ve got me doing it,” he mumbled. “Am I going to have to sing you a bloody lullaby, doggy?”
The dog shook his head, seeming a bit unsteady on his paws. He turned in a circle. Once, twice…usually he turned three times, but this time he gave up at two, and flopped down, eyes closing. In another minute he dropped the keys, rolled over onto his side, and began to snore.
Jack darted forward and grabbed the keys. The dog stayed safely in the Land of Nod. Backing up, Jack began to tuck the ring inside the waistband of his britches for concealment.
Rap…rap…rap…rap…
Cursing, Jack yanked the keys out of his britches, laying them carefully beside the somnolent canine. Then he spun around and unlocked the door. Esmeralda was standing there, her hand raised to knock again. “Hurry!” she whispered. “They’re coming down the ladder!”
Jack reached out, grabbed her by the wrist, and yanked her inside the cabin, then relocked the door. Quickly he pulled her across the room, avoiding the snoring dog, then opened the door to the captain’s pantry. Pushing her inside, he stepped in after her, and shut the door.
It was close quarters. They were squeezed together, the shelves at their backs, and the closed door six inches from their noses. But for the moment, they were safe.
Jack heard the key scratch in the cabin’s lock, then the door opened, and Teague entered. The Keeper lit a lantern, then walked around the cabin for several minutes, once pausing to say hello to the dog, but apparently the sight of his pet asleep didn’t rouse any suspicion. His steps neared the door to the pantry and Jack and Esmeralda froze, terrified, but he didn’t open the door. Instead he headed over to the bulkhead. Jack heard him take down his guitar, then the mattress rustled as Teague sat down on the bed. Moments later, he began strumming the guitar, tuning it. After a few minutes, he began playing a soft, haunting ballad of lost love.
Hearing the music, Jack frowned. Surely Teague had not come back to retire for the night. The evening was still young.
He turned his head, very conscious of Esmeralda pressed up against him. His chin brushed her forehead, and, unable to resist, he nuzzled his face against the silk of her hair.
Jack was surprised when he felt her fingers reach up and touch his shirt, not far from his navel, then he felt a tug at the fabric and realized she’d undone a button. A finger slid inside his shirt, caressing his belly, sliding softly across it, stroking. His breath caught, and he gritted his teeth, remembering that he couldn’t move, or make any sound.
In response, he turned a little, sliding his arm around her, pulling her even closer. His hand slipped soundlessly over her satin sleeve, to her waist, then moved upward. He kissed her temple, feeling the fine, short hairs there tickle his mouth.
Esmeralda’s fingers moved again, and another button of his shirt was undone. She slid her hand up, over his ribs. It was maddening, to touch each other like this, without being able to speak, or make a sound. Jack’s head swam, whether from the close air, or because Esmeralda’s skin was so soft and warm—he didn’t know. His thinking mind seemed to have vanished.…
And all the while the guitar strummed, the music speaking of love, and loss, and passion.
Jack delicately kissed his way down her face, her brows, her eyelids, her cheeks, a brush across the lips, her chin, then he pressed his mouth against her ear, feeling the metal of her earring against his lower lip. Delicately, he touched his tongue to her earlobe, then again, traced the outer shell of her ear. He felt her fingers tighten against the skin of his chest, and she swayed slightly. He tightened his hold even more, steadying her.
There was a knock on Teague’s door. Jack and Esmeralda froze, listening, as the music stopped. “Who is it?” Teague called.
“Mortensen, Captain Teague.”
Jack recognized the name of one of Teague’s senior lieutenants, the man in charge of the dungeons, and prisoner interrogations.
“Come in,” Teague commanded.
Jack heard the cabin door open, and footsteps. “Captain Teague, I’ve come about the prisoner, de Rapièr.”
“What is it?” Teague asked.
“He’s made his last request, which you said he was to be allowed, Captain. He wants to see your—that is, he wants to see Jack Sparrow. Will you permit that?”
Teague was silent for a moment, then he spoke. “Very well,” he said. “But I want you there when they talk. I don’t trust Jacky not to try something stupid.”
“Aye, Captain Teague. I’ll not leave him alone with de Rapièr.” Mortensen paused, then asked, with forced casualness. “Um, by the way, sir, do you know where Jacky might be? I sent men out, but we haven’t been able to locate him.”
“He’s usually in The Drunken Lady,” Teague said, dismissively. “Drinking.”
“Aye, Captain Teague. We tried there. Captain Barbossa said he had been there, but he’d left.”
“Try the brothels,” Teague said. “He’s probably tumbling some trollop.”
Standing there, his hand touching Esmeralda’s warm, fragrant skin, Jack was embarrassed, even as he had to fight a hysterical urge to burst out laughing at the sheer absurdity of the moment. He felt Esmeralda’s body shake, and for a moment he thought she was weeping, but then he realized she, too, was fighting not to laugh.
“Aye, Captain,” Mortensen was saying.
The bunk creaked, then booted feet hit the deck. Jack heard the faint thrum of guitar strings as the Keeper hung the guitar back on the wall. “I’ll walk back with you,” Teague said. “Captain Villaneuva was hosting a game of Hazard tonight, aboard his vessel. Jacky boy might be there. I’ll check.”
Two pairs of booted feet crossed the deck. The narrow crack of light marking the edge of the door shifted, then went out, as Teague took the lantern with him. The cabin door shut. Jack heard the lock click.
Neither he nor Esmeralda moved. Jack counted in his head. When he reached two minutes, he let out a sigh and relaxed slightly.
“How long should we wait to make sure he’s not going to come back?” Esmeralda whispered.
Jack was still mentally counting. He figured four minutes, to be sure Teague was really gone. “Another minute or two more, love,” he replied, softly. “Just wait.…”
She stirred against him. “Jack, I can’t wait. I want…”
“Be patient, love.” Gritting his teeth, Jack forced himself to keep counting.
Four minutes.
“Now,” he said, and pulled her against him, his mouth finding hers in the dark, cramped space. Her lips moved, parting. Jack tightened his hold, kissing her until his head swam. She tasted faintly of rum punch.
Her arms slid up around his neck, holding on tightly, and she returned his kisses. They were breathing hard, gasping in the close darkness. He kissed her throat, her shoulder, and felt her undoing the last buttons on his shirt. Her fingers slid across his shoulder. She whispered his name, then she muttered something in Spanish, an endearment, he thought, though he was
too distracted to translate it.
Jack’s world slid sideways, past and future spiraling away, his mind spinning out of control. He could not see, but he could hear, and taste, and touch, and that was more than enough. The slickness and rustle of satin, the softness of silk, then the even softer feel of fragrant skin, and the touch of long hair falling over his shoulders. Esmeralda was more intoxicating than an entire bottle of the best rum ever distilled, and he lost himself in her.
Later, he stood there, still holding her, reluctant to let her go. The world that had spun away came slowly back into focus, and he came back with it, to the reality of the captain’s pantry, and Esmeralda in his arms, kissing his jaw softly and murmuring “Jack, Jack…mi corazón…”
There was so little air left in the cramped space that he wanted to open the door, but he was conscious of his own dishevelment—and hers. Jack began setting himself to rights. Esmeralda was tidying herself too, he could tell by the rustling of satin.
When her rustling sounds ceased, Jack reached behind him and opened the door to the pantry. Comparatively cool air flooded in, feeling wonderful against his sweaty face and neck.
Stepping out of the pantry, he waited a moment to let his eyes adjust to the greater level of light coming in from the windows. The cabin was now fully dark, but Jack had served as Teague’s cabin boy for years, before he was considered old enough to do a man’s work aboard ship. He knew where things were. Quickly he located the lantern, and the flint and steel. When the flame caught, he closed the little door, then placed it on the deck, where its illumination was mostly blocked by the Captain’s pantry door. He couldn’t afford to have light shining through the big cabin windows; the duty watch might see it, and come to investigate.
Standing back-to-back, Jack and Esmeralda finished adjusting their clothing. He tucked his shirt back into his britches, then he stepped back into the pantry to find and pull on his abandoned waistcoat. He heard more rustling, and knew Esmeralda must be tugging the bodice of her dress back into place, then shaking out her petticoats, followed by her skirt, so it lay smoothly atop them. When he finally turned to look at her, she was running her hands through her hair, which had come loose; it flowed over her shoulders and down her back.
Realizing the significance of her unbound hair, Jack went back into the pantry, knelt down, and carefully retrieved all of her hairpins. She didn’t attempt to put her hair back up—Teague didn’t even have a mirror hung in his cabin, but, working by feel, she pinned it back from her face, leaving it loose down her back.
Jack walked over to the sleeping dog, then bent over and picked up the ring of keys, saying a silent “thank you” to the gods of the sea that Teague hadn’t taken them with him. He tucked them down inside the front of his britches, pulling the tails of his long shirt to wrap around them, so the fabric would muffle any betraying jingle of metal. After buttoning his waistcoat, he was satisfied that nothing showed.
Then he blew out the lantern, put everything back in place, and shut the pantry doors. Finally, he unlocked the door, leaving the cabin as he’d found it. After relocking the door, Jack placed the key back in its hiding place.
Together, but not speaking or touching, they made their way to the ladder and climbed back up to the weather deck. Jack took Esmeralda’s hand as he reached the top. Rufus was still on watch, and the pirate gave them a knowing glance, but tipped his hat and bade them a polite good night.
They walked down the gangplank in silence, and in silence continued along the docks toward Venganza. As they walked, Jack searched for something to say, but his gift of loquacity seemed to have deserted him. Glancing sideways at her profile as she picked her way along the docks, Jack wondered what she might expect from him now. He still couldn’t believe what had just happened—and the intensity of it frankly scared him.
The walk back to Venganza seemed endless.
When they reached the gangplank, he stopped, and she turned to face him. Esmeralda finally raised her eyes to meet his, but she didn’t break the silence. Jack had been hoping she would, willing her to speak, so he’d have some idea of what to say, how to act.
Reaching out, he took her other hand, so he was holding both of them. He knew crewmen and her grandfather might be watching them, so he didn’t dare offer her so much as a kiss on the cheek.
It felt so strange, to be tongue-tied like this. Usually he was excellent at conjuring up seemingly sincere phrases, not to mention extravagant flattery. He’d told Melinda that he loved her any number of times, because she seemed to like hearing it, even though she undoubtedly knew better. Yet here he was, lucky Jack Sparrow, facing the first woman he’d ever really cared about—and there were no words, no words at all.
She watched him, her expression uneasy. “What will you do now, Jack?” she said, finally, keeping her voice low. “What are you planning?”
Jack sighed, relieved. His feelings were a muddle, and he didn’t feel capable of sorting them out, much less sharing them. He managed a faint smile and squeezed Esmeralda’s hands. “Not going to say, love. You can’t tell what you don’t know, and it’s better that way.”
“You’ll…you’ll be careful, won’t you, Jack?” He could feel the tension in her. Her voice was low, as though she had to force words past a tightness in her throat.
Jack summoned his best happy-go-lucky grin. “It’s what I’m best at, darlin’. Don’t worry about me for a moment.”
Esmeralda gave him a quick, impatient glance, a look that clearly told him he was an idiot for even suggesting that she wouldn’t worry.
Jack shrugged slightly, with a “what can I say?” expression, and gave her hands a final squeeze. “Must run. See you tomorrow, love.”
Then he let her go. Turning, he strode away, moving so fast he was nearly running, the boards of the dock echoing his footsteps.
The ramshackle structure of piled-up ships that made up Shipwreck City was built on an island in the middle of the caldera. The dungeons of the pirate’s bastion were located beneath the city, carved out of solid rock by generations of pirates. They were extensive, but, at the moment, overcrowded. The crew complements of two pirate vessels totaled nearly a hundred and fifty men. Jack found the obscure entrance, then wended his way down a stone flight of timeworn steps, lit only by a smoky torch. When he reached the bottom, he saw there were several pirate guards lounging around, but only one sat behind a table.
Roger Mortensen, tongue tip caught between his teeth as he concentrated, was laboriously making entries in some kind of logbook. As Jack stood in the shadows, silently watching, the head jailer ostentatiously dropped his quill. When he bent over to retrieve it, he pulled out a flask and refreshed himself from it, using the tabletop to mask his actions.
This is my moment, Jack thought. Summoning his most fey smile, he waltzed up to Mortensen, saying in dulcet tones, “Hallo, Roger. A little parrot told me you were looking for me.”
Mortensen choked, but managed to swallow, and swiftly concealed the flask before he straightened up. “Where’ve you been, Jacky? We searched everywhere!”
Jack smiled slyly. “Obviously, you didn’t look everywhere, Roger. If you had, you would have found me. Quid pro quo, ipso facto, rigor mortis, and carpe diem, as they say. So…what’s all this to-do about, anyhow?”
Mortensen frowned as he attempted to follow Jack’s discourse. After a moment, he abandoned the effort. “Jacky, de Rapièr asked to see you.
Final request, and all that. Cap’n Teague approved it. You ready to talk to him?”
Jack shrugged unconcernedly. “If I must, I suppose. The first cellblock I presume? The solitary cell?” He made as if to head down the leftmost corridor, the one leading to the closest cellblock.
“No, he’s in the second cellblock, and not so fast,” Mortensen said, stepping quickly to bar his way. “I have to accompany you. Captain Teague’s orders.”
Jack drew himself up, suitably affronted by this blatant lack of trust. “Really, Roger! Recall that I�
�ve been roaming this benighted oubliette of yours since I was a mere sprat. I’m hardly likely to get lost! ”
Mortensen flushed. “Orders is orders,” he maintained. “Cap’n Teague said I have to go with you, and stay there while you talk to de Rapièr.” His reddened eyes took on a malicious gleam. “Cap’n Teague warned me you might do somethin’ stupid, Jacky boy.”
Jack rolled his eyes and pouted. “I don’t believe this! I agree to go talk to Christophe, who is, without a doubt, among the most annoying pimples on the backside of Mother Earth, out of the goodness of me kindly heart, seeing as he’s fated to swing tomorrow at sunrise, only to have you inform me that I can’t even talk to him in private?”
“Don’t blame me, Jacky,” Mortensen said. “Take that up with Cap’n Teague—if you got the stones, mate.” He guffawed at his own wit. “Now stand still while I search you.”
Jack folded his arms across his chest with an air of exaggerated patience. “First I can’t talk to Christophe privately, then I have to stand here and let you paw me, Roger? All on the orders of Captain Aren’t We So Important Keeper of the Bloody Be-Damned Code, Teague? I think not! I’m going back to Miss Fanny’s. Sophie promised me a threesome with a succulent raven-haired sea-nymph.” He turned away with a flounce.
The beefy Mortensen grabbed his arm and jerked him to a halt. “Oh no you don’t, you insolent little git. I spent half the evening lookin’ for your sorry arse, and I’m not lettin’ you out of my sight until you’ve had your sodding visit with de Rapièr, damn his Frenchy Code-breaker soul.”
Jack could smell the rum on Mortensen’s breath, and the big man was just a trifle unsteady on his feet. You’d better sober up before Teague gets back, Roger, he thought. Or you’re likely to wind up next to Borya tomorrow at dawn.…
Having never intended to leave, Jack allowed Mortensen to halt his retreat, then stood there, lower lip thrust out. “Oh, very well,” he said sullenly, raising his hands in the air. “Search away if you must. I’m unarmed. But my fa—Captain Teague will hear of this, you’d best believe it.”
Pirates of the Caribbean: The Price of Freedom Page 38
