the Dalaverse

More of "A Simple Twist of Fate." At the governor's party, everyone is busy. Will molests a fountain, Elizabeth spies and tries to form an opinion on the new arrivals, Jack schmoozes and discovers his green.



A Simple Twist of Fate: Chapter Two



“Jack, I’m not going and that’s final.”

“C’mon, Will, you can’t expect to make me go to this party all alone.”

Will threw his hands up in exasperation. “That’s right, I don’t – in fact, I don’t expect you to go to a party at the governor’s mansion at all.”

“But darling,” Jack whined, flopping down onto Will’s bed and propping his head on his hands, “everyone important will be there.”

“Go and bother them, then,” said Will, flicking a thumb and forefinger against the nose rubbing against his shin. “And you have your own damn bed.”

Jack had already tried pouting and begging, so he took the tricky route of bribery. “There’ll be lots of rich people.”

“Yes, and if you pick any pockets we’ll be found out, so do try to contain yourself.”

He bounced with a hopeful grin. “That’s why you’ve got to come and keep an eye on me, savvy?”

“No,” Will said for what felt like the thousandth time.

“Fine wines? Cheeses?”

“Still no.”

“Stinky cheeses?”

Will looked down at him, raising an eyebrow. “Why would I need a stink like that when I can smell you any time I wish?” In actuality, he was very fond of cheese, and they were unable to keep any decent ones fresh for long at sea. But if Jack did not remember that, Will wasn’t going to be the one to remind him.

Jack screwed up his face as he thought. Finally he offered, “Pretty girls?”

Against Will’s better judgement, he felt the interest take hold. It had been awhile since the last port. Then he remembered that these would be wealthy girls, no matter how pretty, and he would have nothing to offer them. He pulled a pillow over his face. “Can’t you get someone else to go? Go find Gibbs or Ana.”

“Anamaria is with the Pearl and most everybody else is out drinking after a long day of looking for work,” Jack retorted. He poked Will in the stomach. “You’re it. Get dressed.”

“I am dressed,” said Will, running a defensive hand over his shirt. It was a bit worn, perhaps, but it was perfectly clean. He’d known Jack was going to become insufferable once he got his hands on those nice clothes.

Jack shook his head solemnly. “You are not, I’m afraid.” Launching himself off the bed, he began rifling through the tiny wardrobe in a corner of the room. Will sat back against the wall, resigning himself to the idea of going to this ridiculous affair. He knew he’d get no peace until he agreed. Trust Jack Sparrow to meet up with the richest man in town and get himself invited to a party only hours after they’d arrived. What little society Will had been around in his lifetime had not impressed him greatly, and he was not looking forward to standing silent at Jack’s side all night. On the one hand, it would keep him from having to talk to anyone else, because Jack tended to monopolize any conversation of which he was a part; on the other hand, Will would be expected to ooze sweetness and politeness to these complete strangers while Jack talked them up.

A woolen vest hit him in the face and he groaned. “Do I really have to wear this?”

“Yes,” Jack replied, tossing more clothing out to him, “and stockings too.” Having provided Will with an outfit, he attacked his coat where it hung on the door, flicking off imagined bits of dust and tugging its lapels straight.

Will pulled faces at his back while dressing. “I hope you plan on finding someone to burn off this manic energy with.”

“You offering?” Jack asked with a leer at Will’s bare chest.

Used to this nature of teasing, which had been going on since Jack had introduced him to his first bordello, Will merely rolled his eyes. “No more than ever.” He struggled with the absurdly white stockings. Thank goodness it had been a dry day, because he’d never be able to avoid kicking mud on his own legs while wearing these pathetic little shoes. Buckles, Will thought in disgust, pulling them on. My boots don’t have any need of shiny stupid buckles.

Jack came and held him at arm’s length as he stood. “Mm-hmm, mm-hmm, love the cut of the breeches, the shirt is nicely pressed, but dear me, boy, we’ve got to do something about that hair.”

Will covered his head with both hands. “You are not cutting it or throwing a wig on me!”

“Of course not,” said Jack, his hands reaching out, “let me just tie it back –”

“I can do that,” said Will huffily. “I’m not a complete heathen, you know.”

Jack made a grab for him, catching him by one ear and making him yelp. “Yes, but it looks a mess when you do it. It wants oil and a comb – just sit down and let me fix it!” He pushed down on Will’s shoulders and Will obligingly dropped down onto the bed, turning to let Jack attend to his brown curls. He didn’t mind his hair messy, and God knew no one else on the Pearl was going to complain.

But we aren’t on the Pearl now, he thought with an inward wince. I’ve got to play by the rules of the land, or at least however well Jack has interpreted them.

Jack chuckled softly around the leather tie he was holding between his teeth. “Your father hated to be overdressed, too. It took all I had to convince him to put on his wedding suit once it was bought – and I had to pick it out, I might add.”

Will screwed up his face as Jack hit a tangle while dragging the comb through his hair. “You helped him buy his clothes and yet you didn’t attend the wedding.”

An almost undetectable pause as Jack secured the thick brown mane into a knot. “Had somewhere t’be.”

Another question was on the tip of Will’s tongue, but he fell silent. It had taken him years to understand the distance in Jack’s eyes when he spoke of Bill. One very long night in Port Morant had left him with the assurance that nothing had ever happened between the two of them. Jack claimed not to remember anything he’d said that night. It was plausible – Jack had been so drunk that Will had actually gotten Gibbs to come check him over once he’d passed out. Whether or not Jack could honestly recall the things he’d mumbled into Will’s shoulder, they’d both been careful to never bring it up again.

Finished smoothing the ends of his tied hair, Jack got up and dragged Will to the tiny cracked mirror above the washstand. “What say you?”

Will tilted his head. He was looking into the mirror and a clean-cut, respectable stranger was looking back. It was one thing to see Jack’s transformation, quite another to experience his own.

“I suppose...it’ll do,” he said slowly, rubbing the mustache Jack had ordered him to keep neatly trimmed.

“Of course it will, you’re a dashing rogue and I’m sure you’ll have all the females swooning over you immediately.” He dragged Will to the door and paused to frown over his shoulder. “Only try to do it stationary-like, in a corner or something, because I’m supposed to be a higher class of dashing rogue and I’ll be making the rounds.

“Whatever you say, Jack,” Will muttered as he followed his captain out the door. God save me from mad pirates and rich widowers’ daughters.
~~~~~~~~

Elizabeth had deigned to attend the party and she had even put the new dress back on after begging Estrella to give it some breathing room. She had graciously accepted a few dances, tasted some of the sweets, slipped under her father’s arm to beam radiantly at his friends, and had a brief chat with the commodore, in which he narrowly escaped spilling his wine in her lap. All of it had been done under protest – except perhaps the nibbling of the sweets – but she was prepared to go to great lengths to please her father and put forth the picture of a modest, graceful girl just blossoming into adulthood.

Just about the only thing she was not prepared to do was sit with Mary and Mabel Truesdale and listen to them prattle on about that awful shade of lavender and this gentleman’s new commission and the affair between the baker and the apothecary. For that reason, she was currently hiding behind a tapestry depicting St. George slaying his dragon, in the back of the ballroom, near the doors leading out onto the patio.

Taking another sip from the wine glass she’d brought with her, Elizabeth gleefully watched the Truesdale twins trying to ferret her out. They’d walked right by her a quarter of an hour ago, tittering about the young man who’d come on the ship this morning. He was by the refreshment table at the moment; Elizabeth glanced over to see him scan the crowd, looking supremely uncomfortable. He’d been neglecting to ask any of the girls at the party for a dance, despite clear signals any man of his age should have been able to recognize, and she didn’t think she’d seen him open his mouth once all night. He merely wandered, looking lost and provoking her sympathy.

He was wandering closer now, probably heading for the open doors to her left. It was the nearest she’d been to him all night, since he had arrived late after she’d already retired to her hiding spot. As he walked past, she noticed warm hazel eyes and large, rough-looking hands – there was a large scar across the knuckles of the right.

Hmm. So he dresses like a gentleman and he has the hands of a laborer, she thought idly, her interest further piqued by this close glance. A farmer perhaps, just come into wealth? From marriage – that would explain why he doesn’t dance. She dared to peek out of her secluded spot just enough to keep sight of him as he walked over to the fountain. It was unusually deserted; no one but Elizabeth saw him accidentally break the small penis off the cherub spouting water into the pool. She covered a giggle with her hand when, after glancing worriedly around, he stuck the appendage into the statue’s horn. It obstructed the flow of the water for an instant before the system adjusted to its new composition. She caught sight of his left hand as he raised it to fiddle with his hair-tie: no ring. Unmarried, then. It was possible he was just shy. He trailed his fingers in the fountain, a slight smile visible on his face under light of the outdoor candelabrum.

He was interesting, and interesting was one step up on the road to exciting. Elizabeth was deciding whether or not she wanted to emerge and ask his name when she was suddenly stumbled into by a fellow party-goer.

“Beg pardon, miss,” said the man, righting himself and steadying her with a hand on her elbow. Elizabeth looked up into animated black eyes set wide in a tanned face, framed by fine cheekbones and offset by a fastidiously groomed mustache above full lips. He was incredibly handsome, though in a different way from the younger stranger, and moreover, he was fully aware of it.

Even recognizing him for a cad, she still felt her heart flutter a bit when he took her hand and bent to kiss it, a warm press of his mouth and the scratch of his mustache against the back of her palm.

She cleared her throat, letting a bit of chill into her voice. “I do not believe we have met for you to take such liberties, sir.”

The man grinned fetchingly and released her hand. “My apologies, dear lady.” He bent slightly at the waist in a truncated bow. “I was momentarily stunned by your beauty and forgot my manners. The name, if you would like it, is John Smith, late of Portsmouth and newly arrived in this quaint island town.”

He does like the sound of his own voice, she thought with reluctant amusement. Men of Smith’s demeanor usually irritated her beyond tolerance, but she happened to like the sound of his voice as well.

When he straightened, something jogged her memory and she blurted out, “Oh, you’re the captain of the new ship!” She had seen him talking to her father for much of the night, quite admirably looking interested in his stories. Elizabeth loved her father dearly, but his pet stories were horrendous and only his dearest friends and those with questionable hearing were likely to stick about when he launched into one.

“Owner, if you please,” said Smith with a smart nod. “My captain is quite a short, grizzled man and I’d hate to think I might be mistaken for him – or him for me, as a matter of fact.” He gave her that winning smile again, which was virtually impossible not to return. Elizabeth made a brief attempt to resist before giving up a grin of her own, hoping he didn’t think she was flirting with him.

Well, all right, perhaps she was, a bit.

Reminded of the young man who’d turned the fountain’s cherub into a eunuch, she glanced over Smith’s shoulder, but the patio was empty.

Smith was looking at her expectantly. “Do you have a name as well, or shall we keep an air of mystery about your identity?”

“Elizabeth Swann,” she replied, fighting the urge to curtsy. There was something courtly about this man, making her carry her head a little higher.

“Ah, the governor’s daughter,” said Smith. He cast a look out at the party. “He’s been searching for you for quite some time, you know.”

Elizabeth twisted her hand around the stem of her glass. “Yes, well, I’ve been – ah – occupied –”

“Hiding, in other words,” said Smith blandly. At her sharp look, he fixed his features in an expression of utter seriousness. “Please forgive me for being forward. I assure you, the secret of your location is safe with me.”

“Thank you, Mr. Smith,” she said, smiling at him again.

He gestured out towards the dance floor. “It appears as though my colleague is in need of some assistance.” Before she could ascertain which gentleman he was pointing to, he’d taken her hand and kissed it a second time. She tried to decide if she should be offended, but it was far too hard to take umbrage with his jovial, almost elfin face. “I hope we will speak again, Elizabeth.”

“As do I – on the condition that you please call me Miss Swann,” she said with an arched eyebrow. He was charming, but he wasn’t that charming.

Smith nodded politely. “And as long as we are indicating how we should like to be addressed, I must ask that you call me Jack.”

“I don’t believe that is entirely –” Elizabeth began, but Smith merely winked at her and turned, weaving his way easily through the crush of people.

She frowned. He was either exceptionally polite, or he was rude. She either enjoyed his company, or she was incredibly irritated by him. It would take more than one meeting to decide on that.

Ducking back into her hiding place, she found him again as he reached the spot he’d pointed out. To her surprise, he pulled her nervous stranger away from a gaggle of girls (including the twins; he had just received even more of her sympathy) with yet another winsome smile. Oh, that was just wonderful – now she would have to endlessly hear about the both of them for the duration of their stay in Port Royal.

She watched them as they spoke, their heads bent close together in obvious fellowship. So that was Jack’s – Smith’s colleague.

Elizabeth suspected that having Jack – Mr. Smith, damn him, it was only proper – involved might drastically increase Port Royal’s chances for excitement.

~~~~~~~~

Will took the red wine from Jack’s hand and drained it, ignoring Jack’s muttered, “I didn’t offer that, you know.” It wasn’t a particularly good year, but he’d had some plans for it nonetheless.

“Thanks,” Will gasped, handing the empty glass back.

“You looked like you were in need of a rescue,” said Jack, sliding a fingertip around the glass’s rim. “Never seen you shy away from a pretty woman before, not even a collection of them.”

Will pursed his lips. “I don’t know quite who I’m supposed to be,” he said. “I know I’m your nephew, but am I a sailor? Am I educated? Should I pretend to be mute or dim-witted or –”

“As of ten minutes ago, you are a gardener.”

Will’s brow furrowed.

“Employed by the governor himself,” Jack added helpfully. “You start tomorrow morning. Ah, congratulations?” he offered with a wan smile, seeing consternation arise in Will’s eyes.

“What?” the boy hissed.

“I found you a job,” Jack explained, backing carefully up against the wall so they weren’t quite as noticeable as they were standing in the middle of the room.

Will closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Jack knew that look. Will had adopted it right around the time his voice had dropped and he’d decided that Jack was the one of the two of them that needed looking after. “Jack. I don’t know a thing about gardening. I haven’t lived on land in over eight years, and before that my home did not have anything even resembling a garden.”

Jack shrugged. “How hard can it be? You water the man’s pretty flowers, pull out weeds, trim the hedges.”

“Pretty fl–” Will thundered. Jack shushed him urgently and he continued in a harsh whisper. “His pretty flowers are probably all imported, cost a fortune, and will suffer an unfortunate death at my hands before the week is out!”

“There’s no need to be so dramatic, William,” Jack sniffed, flicked the lace on the cuff of his sleeve. “You’re a bright boy, I’m sure you can come up with something.”

“And what will you be doing, Captain?” Will demanded. Ungrateful brat; he only used Jack’s rightful title as an obscenity uttered in anger.

“I am a businessman,” said Jack demurely.

Will stared at him, a vein in his temple throbbing. “Sometimes...sometimes even I can’t believe you, Jack.”

“Look, it’ll get you inside the house and anywhere on the grounds, all right? I didn’t do this to torture you, lad. It’s strategy.”

Still looking unhappy, Will said, “All right. But I’ve had as much as I can take of this place for tonight; I’m going back to the inn.”

Jack opened his mouth to protest, but the implacable look on Will’s halted him. “Go on, then. Rest up for your big day tomorrow.”

Will shot him a glare as he left.

“Mr. Smith, was that your nephew?”

Jack turned to face the governor, plastering a smile back on his face. “I must apologize for him, sir, he wasn’t feeling terribly well. I believe it was your fine wine that affected him – the boy almost never imbibes.” Weatherby looked pleased at that. Yes, Jack thought eagerly, let Will play the innocent puppy; let this friendly fool never suspect a thing.

The other man plucked a sleeve out of the small group in front of them. It belonged to a tall man in a blue Navy-issue coat, his back erect with the dignity of rank. This must be the famed infant commodore. Jack was almost inclined to believe the governor fancied the man, the way he talked about him.

As if he’d read Jack’s thoughts, Weatherby beamed as he drew the man closer. “Ah, here is Commodore Norrington, the man of the hour.”

The commodore turned and Jack saw nothing but green.

Green eyes piercing him, slicing through him, stealing his breath, green water swallowing him up and bearing him all the way down...

“I know you,” he breathed.

The man blinked, shuttering those beautiful eyes – oh, so sad, bring them back to me again – but even as Jack mourned the loss, it broke his spell.

“I beg your pardon?” said Norrington politely. “I don’t believe we have met.”

“Not met?” the governor exclaimed, clearly upset that he had two such guests in his own household and he had not introduced them.

“No, the commodore and I have not yet had the pleasure of introduction, I am afraid,” said Jack, hearing a bit of swish creep into his words, especially the way he’d dropped a note or two on ‘pleasure.’ Norrington noticed; something in his gaze changed, shocked for an instant before it hardened. Jack immediately stuck out his hand, making sure to adopt his more carefully modulated Smith tones. “John Smith, of Portsmouth, at your service, sir.”

When their fingers touched, he took in a sharp breath. He had a sudden fear that his brand and distinctive sparrow tattoo, just inches away on his right forearm, were in danger of being discovered. But he had covered them with a thin leather guard, he remembered, and they were further protected by his sleeve.

Their palms pressed together in a firm handshake and Jack caught a flicker of disorientation in Norrington’s eyes. Was it possible – no, no reason to believe he’d felt anything.

But he would. By Neptune and all his mermaids, he would.

~~~~~~~~

“James Norrington.”

He’d seen the man in the dark wig and the stiff new clothing several times during the night. The attention of many men and women had been upon him, and as James tended to avoid attention whenever possible, he had never gotten close to the stranger. If he’d known that he was going to react like this, he would have remained with that agenda.

The man’s eyes – burned. When he looked at James, the room went slightly curved like a horizon, all points of focus drawn back to those bright dark eyes. And the rest of him, his fine-boned face, his trim body, that was enough to draw him, too –

James caught hold of the reins of his thoughts and hauled back on them. He was no schoolboy with his every emotion beheld in his eyes. No matter that he had dreamed of such fire, burning without light, licking over his skin until he could see nothing beyond it. He’d thought it was hellfire and he had been suddenly aware that it would stop burning if he stopped struggling, but he’d awoken before he could test this theory. This Smith fellow, upon second glance, was just a man like any other, not a devil come to tempt him. True, his skin was uncommonly dark and he moved with an almost feline grace, but he was only a man.

Though dear God, his eyes –

The idea that to think of sinning was the same as indulging in it had to be true, because there was no way James should have felt so guilty when he’d done nothing with this man.

Yet, a tiny voice whispered. But you want him and it has been so long, so long...\

He shook himself mentally, clamping down on everything that had been rushing through his head in the few seconds since he’d given his own name. Smith was smiling at him and it was a warm, cordial expression. James could not trust that.

Still sizing each other up, the two of them nodded briefly when Swann excused himself to go speak with other guests. James was somewhat relieved to find himself slightly taller than the other man – a scant few inches, but an advantage to cling to when Smith’s face unnerved him so.

“I hear I ought to offer you congratulations,” said Smith. His voice was light and even, falling pleasantly on James’s ears.

“Thank you,” said James, not for the first time that day and probably not for the last, though the evening was winding down. “The governor says that you are a merchant.” Smith nodded. “What, may I ask, might you be shipping in Port Royal?”

It might have been his imagination, but he thought Smith’s smile slipped a bit; of course, it might only have been due to James’s tone, which was sharper than was strictly polite. “I must admit that I have no business here,” he said, no sign of unease in his voice. “I have a shipment of sugar cane to pick up in Savanna la Mer in a fortnight, but as I’ve spent a good deal of time in that port already, I was interested in discovering the hidden wonders of Port Royal.”

James gave a short laugh. “I’m afraid someone has misinformed you, Mr. Smith. Port Royal is just getting onto its feet, and our ‘wonders’ are somewhat less than impressive.”

“If I may disagree with you, Commodore,” said Smith with a deferential bob of his chin, “I find the scenery much improved since my last visit here.”

Barely suppressing a wince, James replied, “The town was not terribly hospitable, I’ll give you that.”

“And we all must thank mother England for renewing an interest in it and sending her best and brightest to help sweep its streets clean of pirates and brigands,” said Smith. And James was definitely not imagining the way his lashes swept down over his eyes.

But that did not necessarily mean what he thought it meant, he told himself hurriedly. It would be so much easier for them both if it didn’t.

Easier, yes, but if it did...?

He cleared his throat rapidly. “We have done our best.”

A slight inclination of Smith’s head. “Clearly.” The clock struck and he glanced up. James took this opportunity for what it was: a chance to escape.

“Well, it has been quite enjoyable talking with you, Mr. Smith, but I’m afraid I must take my leave.”

Smith held out his hand again and James fought down panic, but he was only reaching for another glass of wine from a passing servant. “I trust that we will meet again, Commodore Norrington.” For an instant his grin became something darker. “Port Royal is a small town, after all.”

James nodded and backed away, having to take in a deep breath before he could tear his eyes from Smith’s.

He made his way to the front foyer and leaned against the wall, pulse pounding in his ears as though he’d fled from the party with some speed.

Smith was only a man, he reminded himself, even if he happened to be a strangely compelling one.

Then why can’t I breathe, even now when he no longer looks upon me?

Heaven help me and let me sleep peacefully tonight. And let Smith’s fortnight run out early.