PotC fic -- Lost at Sea
Next in the Outlaws and Inlaws series, though you don't need to have read anything else first -- Will Turner, Captain of the Flying Dutchman, picks up an unexpected passenger.
The other stories in the series are here: Swan in Flight, Outlaws and Inlaws, Four Days of Advent, Cradle Tales, Dream Tides, The Ferryman's Bride, Gods and Heroes and Force of Nature.
Night moved against night. The Flying Dutchman was trolling midnight waters, strange and unfamiliar even for her, deeper even than whales should dive, but hardly of this world. She was hunting souls.
For nearly a hundred years Davy Jones had neglected his duty. It would take more than a few turns of seasons for William Turner to set it to rights.
Will could not have said what place this was, if indeed it was a place. Perhaps it was a time instead. These souls had been lost so long ago that most of them swept along in the Dutchman's wake insensible, pale fragments of the people they had been, nameless, heedless of night and day, of the great ship and her master. Only the hardiest, the most certain still remembered who they were or how they had fallen, or even what they had left behind. Will hoped that on that green shore he sometimes glimpsed through the mist at the end of the journey they might be restored, but how or when was beyond his knowing. He was just the Ferryman.
He was surprised, then, when one called out to him, waving an arm like a swimmer in the water, like a sailor in hope of rescue. He was surprised enough to leave the wheel to Bill and come to the side of the ship himself to bring that one aboard.
For a moment, one ghastly moment, he thought he knew her. He didn't. Any resemblance to Anamaria was superficial, but it was surprising enough that she had kept the shape of a woman, clad in breeches and long boots, a pistol at her side, her long black hair tied up at the nape of her neck. She sprung up the side nimbly, only taking his hand for the last step. Her clear black eyes raked the deck. "So this is the Flying Dutchman. You'll be Jones?"
"I will be Turner," Will said with a smile. "Davy Jones is no longer captain of the Dutchman, and the Dutchman is back to her proper job again, ferrying souls. For which you may have Calypso to thank."
"Yemaya of the Deep," she said. "Enough times I've called to her, and she's never answered."
"Until now," Will said, taking in the way she stood with the sway of the ship. "And she was bound in her bones until recently. I doubt she could help you."
The woman's eyes fastened on his face. There was nothing of the dreamer about her, nothing of the lost. She was all predator, sharp as a blade. A little smile touched her lips. "I suppose you haven't seen too many female buccaneers."
"A few," Will said dryly. "I'm familiar with the idea, Mistress…."
"Isabelle Teague," she said, meeting his gaze bold as brass.
"Oh good Lord," Will said. "You're Jack's mother."
A sea change passed over her face. "Jackie? My Jackie?" Her voice shook suddenly. "Did you pick him up? Is he here? He's nine years old, about so tall, with long brown hair. Did you see him? I didn't think…. I thought maybe he lived…."
Will put one hand on her arm, solid and real beneath her white shirt. "That was thirty years ago and more," he said gently. "The Jack I know is a grown man, long since."
"Thirty years?" she blinked at him. "I've been in the water thirty years?'
"It's been nearly a hundred since Davy Jones did his duty," Will said. Her bones felt light and deceptively fragile under his hand. "Jack is grown up. He didn't die the day you did. He lived."
Tears started in her chocolate eyes, and she blinked furiously, looking away. "You know him? You're his friend?"
"In a manner of speaking," Will said. If that manner included that Jack was probably bedding his wife even as they talked, an irony that wasn't lost on him.
Isabelle put her hand over his. "And Gervais Teague? I don't suppose you know him. If it's been so long."
"I am happy to tell you that last time I saw Captain Teague he was the picture of health. That was several months ago, but I have no reason to think differently." Will found it rather disconcerting to look down at her. Isabelle barely reached his shoulder. "His ship Orpheus is docked at Shipwreck Cove, and I saw him there."
"He was well?" Her eyes searched his face.
"Very well," Will nodded. "Of course he isn't young."
"He wouldn't be, anymore." Isabelle's smile was rueful, and just for a moment entirely like Jack's. He could see where Jack had gotten that fatal charm. "And Jackie? Tell me about him."
"He's a pirate," Will said, searching for some anecdote suitable for Jack's mother. "He's a good shot. And it's because of him that I'm captain of the Dutchman, rather than just dead."
"That must be a long story," she said, looking up at him through her eyelashes in a way that would have been extremely disconcerting if she had been Jack, and it occurred to him that the apple never fell far from the tree. He'd heard that men wanted women like their mothers. No one could be more unlike his resigned Methodist mother than Elizabeth, but Isabelle could give Elizabeth a run for her money.
"It is," Will said. "But we've got a long voyage ahead of us."
"Before we get where?"
"There," Will said.
"Oh." She put her head to the side. "Is it bad?"
"Not for you, I think," Will said.
"I'm not afraid," she said.
"No." Will released her arm. "You have no reason to be. I bear no man to the Locker. And I do not think that shore holds any horrors for you."
"And I'll wait there for Gervais?"
"If you want." He had seen them standing on the shore silently when the Dutchman came, indistinct in the mist, watching. But he should never set foot on that shore either, journeying always. "Will you bear me company in my watch? I'll tell you all about Jack," he heard himself ask.
She nodded, and a quicksilver grin crossed her face. "If you've got rum."
"I imagine I can find some," Will said.
The other stories in the series are here: Swan in Flight, Outlaws and Inlaws, Four Days of Advent, Cradle Tales, Dream Tides, The Ferryman's Bride, Gods and Heroes and Force of Nature.
Night moved against night. The Flying Dutchman was trolling midnight waters, strange and unfamiliar even for her, deeper even than whales should dive, but hardly of this world. She was hunting souls.
For nearly a hundred years Davy Jones had neglected his duty. It would take more than a few turns of seasons for William Turner to set it to rights.
Will could not have said what place this was, if indeed it was a place. Perhaps it was a time instead. These souls had been lost so long ago that most of them swept along in the Dutchman's wake insensible, pale fragments of the people they had been, nameless, heedless of night and day, of the great ship and her master. Only the hardiest, the most certain still remembered who they were or how they had fallen, or even what they had left behind. Will hoped that on that green shore he sometimes glimpsed through the mist at the end of the journey they might be restored, but how or when was beyond his knowing. He was just the Ferryman.
He was surprised, then, when one called out to him, waving an arm like a swimmer in the water, like a sailor in hope of rescue. He was surprised enough to leave the wheel to Bill and come to the side of the ship himself to bring that one aboard.
For a moment, one ghastly moment, he thought he knew her. He didn't. Any resemblance to Anamaria was superficial, but it was surprising enough that she had kept the shape of a woman, clad in breeches and long boots, a pistol at her side, her long black hair tied up at the nape of her neck. She sprung up the side nimbly, only taking his hand for the last step. Her clear black eyes raked the deck. "So this is the Flying Dutchman. You'll be Jones?"
"I will be Turner," Will said with a smile. "Davy Jones is no longer captain of the Dutchman, and the Dutchman is back to her proper job again, ferrying souls. For which you may have Calypso to thank."
"Yemaya of the Deep," she said. "Enough times I've called to her, and she's never answered."
"Until now," Will said, taking in the way she stood with the sway of the ship. "And she was bound in her bones until recently. I doubt she could help you."
The woman's eyes fastened on his face. There was nothing of the dreamer about her, nothing of the lost. She was all predator, sharp as a blade. A little smile touched her lips. "I suppose you haven't seen too many female buccaneers."
"A few," Will said dryly. "I'm familiar with the idea, Mistress…."
"Isabelle Teague," she said, meeting his gaze bold as brass.
"Oh good Lord," Will said. "You're Jack's mother."
A sea change passed over her face. "Jackie? My Jackie?" Her voice shook suddenly. "Did you pick him up? Is he here? He's nine years old, about so tall, with long brown hair. Did you see him? I didn't think…. I thought maybe he lived…."
Will put one hand on her arm, solid and real beneath her white shirt. "That was thirty years ago and more," he said gently. "The Jack I know is a grown man, long since."
"Thirty years?" she blinked at him. "I've been in the water thirty years?'
"It's been nearly a hundred since Davy Jones did his duty," Will said. Her bones felt light and deceptively fragile under his hand. "Jack is grown up. He didn't die the day you did. He lived."
Tears started in her chocolate eyes, and she blinked furiously, looking away. "You know him? You're his friend?"
"In a manner of speaking," Will said. If that manner included that Jack was probably bedding his wife even as they talked, an irony that wasn't lost on him.
Isabelle put her hand over his. "And Gervais Teague? I don't suppose you know him. If it's been so long."
"I am happy to tell you that last time I saw Captain Teague he was the picture of health. That was several months ago, but I have no reason to think differently." Will found it rather disconcerting to look down at her. Isabelle barely reached his shoulder. "His ship Orpheus is docked at Shipwreck Cove, and I saw him there."
"He was well?" Her eyes searched his face.
"Very well," Will nodded. "Of course he isn't young."
"He wouldn't be, anymore." Isabelle's smile was rueful, and just for a moment entirely like Jack's. He could see where Jack had gotten that fatal charm. "And Jackie? Tell me about him."
"He's a pirate," Will said, searching for some anecdote suitable for Jack's mother. "He's a good shot. And it's because of him that I'm captain of the Dutchman, rather than just dead."
"That must be a long story," she said, looking up at him through her eyelashes in a way that would have been extremely disconcerting if she had been Jack, and it occurred to him that the apple never fell far from the tree. He'd heard that men wanted women like their mothers. No one could be more unlike his resigned Methodist mother than Elizabeth, but Isabelle could give Elizabeth a run for her money.
"It is," Will said. "But we've got a long voyage ahead of us."
"Before we get where?"
"There," Will said.
"Oh." She put her head to the side. "Is it bad?"
"Not for you, I think," Will said.
"I'm not afraid," she said.
"No." Will released her arm. "You have no reason to be. I bear no man to the Locker. And I do not think that shore holds any horrors for you."
"And I'll wait there for Gervais?"
"If you want." He had seen them standing on the shore silently when the Dutchman came, indistinct in the mist, watching. But he should never set foot on that shore either, journeying always. "Will you bear me company in my watch? I'll tell you all about Jack," he heard himself ask.
She nodded, and a quicksilver grin crossed her face. "If you've got rum."
"I imagine I can find some," Will said.