Pirate AU
When he came to, Chris found he was no longer in the field he had crossed during the night, but in a spacious room, lying on a comfortable, soft bed. He was feeling infinitely better and realized someone had tended to his wounds. Sitting up slowly, he looked around, but did not see anyone. He strained his ears, but could not hear anything; it was eerily quiet outside.He turned his attention to the bedroom and began to examine its contents in detail; it was a vast room, elegantly decorated and lit by two large windows through which could be seen immense trees. He spotted a piano at one end of the room, on which were scattered some pages of music; a mahogany table took up the middle of the room.
"Where the hell am I?" He wondered softly. "And who tended to my wound?"
Suddenly the handle of the door rattled and turned and a man entered, walking slowly, carrying several pieces of white cloth and a small basin. He was younger than Chris, shorter, but sturdily built. He had chestnut hair and pale green eyes that lit up as they settled on him.
"You are awake!" The man exclaimed. "I'm happy; I was afraid we might lose you to the fever. You have been senseless for three days."
"Three days!" Chris echoed surprised, his mind conjuring images of the green-eyed man bathing his face and crooning softly to him as he writhed feverishly. "How did I get here?"
"I was riding through the plantation when I found you unconscious against a tree. I brought you here and nursed you back to health. Your injuries could have been fatal," the man replied. "How are you feeling now?"
"Better. Not in much pain."
"I'm glad to hear it. May I be so bold as to query, what happened to you, sir?"
"I don't know," Chris lied smoothly. "Several men attacked me on the road. I have no idea who they were, but they took all my money and possessions and shot me."
The man nodded. "Probably bandits. We have been having many problems with such miscreants. No matter. All you should care about at the present is getting better. You will have to remain here for at least a fortnight, you have lost a lot of blood."
"Where am I? And who are you?"
"You are in the governor's plantation. I'm his nephew, Ezra Standish."
"The governor?" Chris muttered, his expression darkening. He quickly recovered himself, "I'm --"
"Don't." Ezra interjected softly, his fingers brushing against Chris' mouth to prevent him from speaking.
"Why?" Chris asked, curious as to the reason the other man refused to hear his name.
Ezra smiled gently. "I saw your expression at the mention of the governor. It will be better if I know nothing of you. He is staying in Port Royal for the next two weeks, due to business affairs. By the time he returns you should be long gone."
"I don't understand. I'm a stranger, for all you know, I could be one of those bandits you mentioned."
Ezra chuckled, shaking his head. "I'm a good judge of character, sir, I do not believe that. And..." He hesitated, then ventured on. "He may be my uncle, but that doesn't mean I agree with his laws or the way he rules over this exquisite island. Now, let me check your injury and change the bandages."
"You were the one here with me all this time, weren't you? I remember someone bathing me, cleaning the wound."
"Yes, it was me." Ezra replied, unwrapping the bandage gently and using a moist cloth to clean the wound. Once he was done, he used a new bandage. "There. You are overly warm," he remarked. "Let's see if we can make you a little more comfortable. Can you move forward just a little bit so I can take your shirt off?"
"I can try."
Chris let the other man pull him forward carefully and work his arms out of the shirt, discarding it to the side. Ezra then helped him lie back on the bedding. "All right, just relax and try to breathe easy."
He couldn't hold back a low moan as Ezra bathed his face and chest tenderly. He took a number of slow, deep breaths, enjoying the way the cloth moved down his throat, over the curve of one shoulder, then the other, brushing softly over his chest and nipples until they were hard.
"Feel better?" Ezra asked, chuckling as his only answer was a low, throaty grunt. "Good."
"You have a foreign accent," Chris found himself saying abruptly, feeling a strange pull to the man sitting beside him on the bed.
"I have been most fortunate. I have spent most of my childhood and puberty traveling throughout Europe." Ezra replied, a sadness invading his eyes before it was quickly replaced by a carefully neutral expression.
"Why do you live with your uncle if you don't agree with him?"
"It's a long story, sir. One best left alone," Ezra replied grimly, making to rise.
Chris reached for him, his hand closing firmly but gently on his wrist. "Please?"
Ezra exhaled softly, sitting back on the bed. "This plantation belonged to my father originally. He and my mother were the product of an arranged marriage. I don't remember much of my younger years or my father, only his foul temper and the beatings should I happen to cross him. When I was six, mother and I escaped his tyranny and traveled to Europe."
"Why did you return?"
"Last year we got word my father had died in a riding accident. Mother decided we should return so I could claim the inheritance. But when we arrived, Uncle Rupert was here and had taken over. He threatened to kill us both if I didn't sign the plantation over to him." He sighed unhappily. "I did, obviously. He's a powerful man; there was nothing we could do. He did let us remain here, which answering your question, is the reason why I live with him. I have no money of my own, no place to leave to; I have to stay. Besides, should something befall Uncle Rupert, I will be the sole heir."
"And your mother?"
"She left a few months back, I assume to return to Europe; I haven't heard from her. Now, you're still weak and in need of nourishment. I will see that some soup is brought up to you. In the meantime, rest."
Giving Chris a parting smile, Ezra left quietly, leaving the other man to wonder about his host and his predicament.
He had been living in Jamaica for two years with his wife Sarah, and son Adam, when Governor Rupert Standish had taken over. It hadn't taken Chris very long to realize the man was a corrupt politician with only his own best interests at heart.
Chris had begun a campaign against the man, speaking against him and his ways any chance he got, even gathering a few followers among the populace. Then one day, without so much as a warning, his home had been suspiciously burned to the ground, killing his wife and son.
In a fit of blind rage, Chris had gone to Port Royal to kill the man who he knew was responsible, but the governor was too heavily guarded. He had only managed to kill a few of his watchdogs before his friends had helped him escape to safety.
Turned outlaw, Chris had joined forces with his three friends, Vin Tanner, Buck Wilmington and Josiah Sanchez, buying a magnificent ship, 'The Flying Horse', and recruiting a small, but fierce and loyal crew who fought the governor's troops. And the legend of 'The Phantom' had been born, thus known for his surprise attacks on any ship unfortunate enough to cross his path, most of its loot going to the poor or those who Governor Standish saw fit to persecute.
And so it was beyond ironic for him to be recovering from his injury in the house of his greatest enemy, especially without his nemesis' awareness of the fact.
=-=-=-=VA=-=-=-=
Vin Tanner returned to the ship with a heavy heart.
"Well?" Buck asked grimly as soon as he jumped aboard.
"Nothing. I found the dinghy on the beach, but no sign of Chris. I went all the way to the main road and found traces of blood and footsteps matching the governor's troops' boots. Some tree branches in the area were broken, and I found a few bullets on the ground."
"Damnit! But he hasn't been caught yet," Buck said. "Governor Standish has been trying to capture us for months now. If he had Chris, he would've been shouting it out loud from the highest tower. Not to mention he would've been announcing the hanging by now."
"So where the hell is Chris?" Josiah whispered, exchanging worried glances with the other men.
=-=-=-=VA=-=-=-=
The days flew by quickly and by the afternoon of the tenth day Chris found he was strong enough to at least get up from bed. He was tired of spending so much time lying down and locked up inside the same four walls. For someone used to the immensity of the ocean it was an unbearable feeling.
He donned the clothes left for him by Ezra and exited the room. He soon realized the rest of the house resembled his bedroom; wide, spacious, richly decorated with all sorts of fancy paintings and china, expensive furniture and golden touches everywhere. He went to the window that looked out onto the immense garden.
There, sitting in the shade of a palm tree, was Ezra. He was alone, deep in thought, a book resting on his knees. Chris remained there, motionless, eyes fixed on the younger man, holding his breath, as if afraid of bothering him.
He felt close to the other man, which was surprising considering the little time he had actually known Ezra. He had thought it to be gratitude at first; after all, Ezra had nursed him back to health, and had been spending nearly every waking hour by his side. Chris would be dead if not for him.
But deep down he knew it was not so. The more time they spent talking, getting to know each other, the closer he felt to the other man. Someone who hid a gentle heart behind a bland mask, who hid his true nature in order to survive a harsh world which was not his own. Sometimes he felt as if he had known Ezra all of his life instead of merely a week. He couldn't really count the first three days; he remembered only scant images, all of Ezra by his bedside, watching over him.
Finally coming out of his daze, he walked out of the front door, taking slow, careful steps until he was standing behind the other man.
As if realizing he was no longer alone, Ezra looked back, grinning when he saw him. "Well, seems you are feeling better, sir!" He exclaimed, rising from the ground.
"I needed to get some fresh air."
"I can understand that. Maybe a guided tour of the plantation would help?" Ezra suggested with a smile.
"Who's going to be the guide?" Chris asked with a grin.
Ezra chuckled. "Since we have no other guides available at the moment, I'm afraid you are stuck with me."
"In that case, let's go."
They took their time walking through the enormous plantation, going through the main house, gardens and finally the fields. They were watching the slaves work, when suddenly the sound of a whip hitting flesh and a small cry caught their attention.
"What the...?" Ezra growled, running towards the scene unfolding before them. On the ground was a small black child, curled up into a ball, while a huge white man whipped him fiercely. "Thompson! What the hell do you think you are doing?"
"He disobeyed my orders, Mr. Standish. I told him no water until lunch break."
"And for that you saw fit to whip him, Mr. Thompson? May I remind you, you are but the foreman here, not the master? You cannot make such decisions."
"The master's not here." Thompson drawled.
"But I am. Now, get back to work."
"But --"
"Get. Back. To. Work." Ezra gritted out angrily. Once the man walked away, Ezra knelt beside the little slave. "What's your name, child?" He asked softly.
"Timothy, young Master." The child sniffed, uncurling slowly, his small face a mask of pain.
"Well, Timothy, let's take you to the healer." Ezra said gently, picking him up effortlessly.
"Healer?" Chris echoed, following Ezra to the slave quarters behind the main house.
"One of the other slaves, Nathan Jackson. My uncle bought him six months ago. He makes the most obnoxious concoctions you can imagine, but I trust him with my life. He knows more than any of those quacks calling themselves doctors these days."
"Don't get me wrong, but I'm surprised at your reaction to what happened. Most plantation owners don't care what happens to their slaves just as long as they keep working."
Ezra sighed sadly, looking from the child in his arms to Chris. "I wasn't always like this. I grew up believing slaves were nothing more than farm animals, with not a thought between them. And as advanced as Europe is, I saw nothing there to make me believe otherwise."
"But?" Chris prompted.
"But living here has been an eye opener. My uncle is a ruthless master. He mistreats the slaves, enjoys torturing them. He advocates regular beatings and administers most of them himself. When you see their suffering, their fight to survive..." They reached the slave quarters and walked inside. "Nathan, where are you?"
"In the back room." A voice replied, and the two men walked over to the back of the building.
They entered a small room and Chris watched Ezra sit the child on a small table. "Nathan, Timothy here needs your care."
"What happened?" Nathan asked, nodding to Chris as a way of greeting.
He was tall and strong, probably in his thirties and by the way he was examining the little slave, Chris realized he had a gentle manner and knew what he was doing.
"Thompson again. That man truly loves his profession."
"And you stopped him from whipping Timmy? I'm surprised he let you."
"Well, I'm sure he will complain to my uncle as soon as he returns from his business meetings in town. I'm sure I will be lectured again on the ways a master should handle his slaves."
"Just be careful, Ezra. Your uncle is a dangerous man, and he don't take kindly to being defied."
Ezra smiled. "I know. I will be careful, I promise. Take care of the little one for me?"
"I will. It's not too bad; a couple of deep lashes only. Could've been a lot worse. Now, you better go. It's not proper for the young master to be seen in the slaves' quarters."
Chris followed Ezra out of the building, the two men proceeding on their walk in comfortable silence. "You are an enigma, Ezra Standish." He finally stated.
The other man laughed. "I hope you mean that in a good way, sir."
"Oh, I do. I do." Chris whispered, feeling his heart swell as he watched the other man's beautiful smile.
His journey to dry land had certainly earned him more than just a bullet. Each passing day he felt more drawn to Ezra. The man was a mystery and Chris had never been able to resist mysteries. He was already dreading the day he would have to leave.
CHAPTER II - Punishments
They were having lunch in the living room when they heard someone crying out, "Young Master, young Master! Come quickly!" Both men rushed to the yard, seeing little Timothy trying to prevent Thompson from chaining Nathan to the post."Mr. Thompson, what's the meaning of this?" Ezra snapped angrily.
"This slave nearly killed one of my men. He must be made an example, he must pay for what he did."
"And what did your man do to cause such a reaction? Well?" Ezra challenged when the foreman hesitated.
"He went to fetch Timothy back to work, he was needed in the kitchen." Chris saw Ezra's eyes darken with rage. "I took Timothy to Nathan to be treated for the lashes you inflicted on him. He was not supposed to go to work again today."
"That still doesn't give the slave the right to turn on my man. He must be whipped. The punishment in these cases is fifty lashes."
"Very well," Ezra complied suddenly, much to Chris' surprise. "Chain him to the post."
They watched Thompson raise Nathan's arms over his head and lock the shackles in place around the healer's wrists. However, when the foreman reached for the whip, Ezra stopped him.
"That's enough. No one but the master can see to his punishment. Since my uncle is not here, it's my responsibility. For the next ten days this man will see no food and shall receive a cup of water only every twelve hours."
"What?" Thompson shouted. "That's not punishment! I will --"
"You will do nothing, Mr. Thompson. You work for my uncle, thus you work for me. Are we clear? You either obey me or you will be fired." He bluffed. "Now, get out of here."
Once Thompson was out of hearing range, Ezra looked down at Timothy. "Thank you for calling me, little one. I will need your help for the next few days. Can I count on you?"
"Yes, young Master."
He ruffled the child's hair. "Good boy. I want you to pay close attention to the foreman's whereabouts. Especially near meal times. Understand?" When the boy nodded, Ezra proceeded. "Good. Now, when you know for sure he is away, I want you to bring Nathan some food and water. But don't let anyone see you. If by any chance you get caught, I want you to shout out as loud as you can and I will come running. Deal?" He asked, holding out his hand for the child, who shook it with a grin.
"Deal, young Master. I'll make you proud, you'll see."
"I already am," Ezra whispered, watching the boy run back to the slave quarters. He turned his attention to the chained man. "Nathan."
"You should've let him whip me." Nathan told him softly, his head resting tiredly against the post.
"Fifty times? He would have killed you, Nathan."
"Why not just let him go?" Chris asked. "You are the master."
"I can't." Ezra replied sadly. "If Nathan's not punished, my uncle will kill him when he hears what happened. This way, he will be furious with me for being too lenient, but he will let it be." He patted the slave's back gently. "Courage, my friend. I will come to see you in a few hours. Come, sir, let us go back inside."
"That's the real reason why you don't leave, isn't it?" Chris asked as they made their way back to the house. "The slaves."
Ezra smiled dismally. "During the course of the last year I rediscovered my love for this land and its natives, yes. I'm the one thing standing between them and both Thompson and my uncle. If I left... I believe many of them would die. And I can't let that happen."
They sat back at the table, but their need for nourishment was gone. Chris suddenly found himself wishing he could stay, wishing he could somehow help the other man, make things better for him. He had no doubt Rupert Standish was going to be furious when he realized he'd had an uninvited guest and that his nephew had been challenging his foreman every step of the way.
=-=-=-=VA=-=-=-=
"I know where Chris is!" Buck shouted, rushing into the Captain's cabin where the others were talking.
"Where?" Josiah asked, rising to his feet.
"I went into town to get supplies and stopped by the local tavern. There were two men there talking and I overheard everything."
"And?" Vin snarled.
"One of the men said he had just returned from Governor Standish's plantation and that while the governor was away his nephew had taken a guest in. He said no one knew who the guest was, but rumor had it he had been shot on the road to Port Royal. He also described the man as having blond hair, green eyes, and being tall and slim. It has got to be Chris."
"In Governor Standish's plantation?" Vin raised an eyebrow in puzzlement. "He's insane! If the governor returns suddenly, he'll get caught." "The governor won't get a chance. We're going for Chris tonight." Josiah vowed. "We've been without our captain for much too long."
=-=-=-=VA=-=-=-=
When in the middle of the night there was a knock on his door, Chris had yet to go to sleep. He jumped out of the chair in a flash and opened the door. Ezra appeared at the entrance to the room, two natives, both armed to the teeth, accompanying him.
"Ezra, what's wrong?" Chris asked, frowning at the armed men.
"We just got word about intruders on the plantation. You better come with me, we need all the help we can get. You two, go find Mr. Thompson. I want to know what we are dealing with."
"Yes, young Master."
After the two men left, Ezra turned to Chris. "Come with me. I want to unlock the slave quarters, I want them to be able to escape should something happen."
"Unlock?" Chris echoed as they rushed through the corridors.
"Thompson locks the doors to the slave quarters every night so they can't run away."
"Ah."
They had just reached the hall when the front door was suddenly kicked open. Chris grinned as he recognized the three men storming in.
"Took you long enough." He remarked sarcastically.
"Contrary to some people who have been doing nothing but vacationing on someone else's plantation, some of us had to work hard to find our lost lamb." Josiah replied with a smile.
"I take it you know these gentlemen?" Ezra asked him.
Chris chuckled. "Yeah, they're my friends."
"Chris, are you all right?" Buck asked.
"Chris?" Ezra echoed.
"I'm fine. And yes, Chris. Chris Larabee," he replied.
Ezra hissed. "Lord, my uncle will perish with rage when he hears about this." He glanced at the three intruders' miserly weapons. "Those are all the weapons you carry with you?"
"Yes." Vin replied with a frown. "Why?"
"Come with me."
When the others hesitated, Chris nodded. "We can trust him."
They left the hall and passed into the drawing room. Its walls were covered with a wide variety of modern weapons. Ezra rummaged inside one of the desk drawers, grabbing a set of keys.
"How did you arrive?" He asked.
"By horse. And before you ask, yes, we brought one extra for Chris." Buck replied with an amused smile.
"Good. Take any weapons you want. In case of an attack we have a guard prepared to go for help. There's a military garrison ten minutes away, they should be here soon." He moved closer to Chris. "Take Nathan with you?" He asked softly, handing him the keys to the shackles.
Chris reached for the keys, holding Ezra's hand captive and making no effort to release him. "Come with us. Your uncle will turn on you when he finds out what happened."
Ezra smiled sadly. "Perhaps. But I can handle him. You know why I can't leave. You have your weapons?" He asked the others.
"Yes." Josiah replied.
"Then you better leave. Come."
"Thank you." Vin told him softly as Ezra walked by him.
"What for?"
"For taking care of him."
Ezra smiled. "My pleasure."
They ran out of the house, Chris freeing Nathan while Buck went for the horses. The others mounted, Nathan behind Vin, while Chris spoke with Ezra one last time.
"You sure I can't change your mind? About coming with us?"
"I would love to. But I can't."
Chris nodded, then acting on impulse hugged the other man tightly to him. "You're one hell of an amazing man, Ezra Standish." He whispered.
"So are you, Captain Larabee." Ezra replied, his own arms going around the other man. "You better go." The sound of horses approaching pulled them apart. "The soldiers from the garrison!" Ezra breathed. "Go! Get out of here, Chris!"
"Ezra, I..."
"Go!"
Without another word Chris jumped on his horse and together with the others disappeared at a gallop behind a cloud of dust. Ezra stayed frozen for a long moment, watching the cloud diminish until it vanished completely.
"Farewell, Chris Larabee." He whispered softly. "I hope our paths will cross again."
=-=-=-=VA=-=-=-=
It was nearly dawn when Ezra retired to his bedroom. Instead of lying down he began to pace around the room in a state of agitation.
It had been easy to convince Thompson and the soldiers from the garrison that he had been overpowered and forced to surrender the weapons to the intruders. They might be good at carrying out orders, but thinking was definitely a thing both the foreman and the military lacked. Making his uncle believe the lie, however, was another thing altogether.
That would be the worse part. Thompson had told him he had ordered a guard to go fetch his uncle in town; he should return sometime in the afternoon. And Ezra would have to play the part of his life or face the consequences.
He shook his head ruefully. Insane, he had to be insane. He had harbored a known pirate, worse, the one his uncle hated with a passion that bordered on madness. Then to make things worse, he had given him and his comrades weapons and had even helped them escape. Insanity indeed.
So why had he done it? His heart knew the answer. He had felt drawn to the man from the moment he had laid eyes on him. Maybe it had been Larabee's vulnerability that had gotten under his skin, the way he had trusted Ezra to take care of him. No one had ever needed him that way before; it had been a heady feeling. Whatever the cause, he had been lost when he had found those dark green eyes open and staring curiously at him.
And as the days flew by, he'd kept feeling closer to the other man, letting his guard down for the first time in years, allowing a perfect stranger to see the real 'Ezra', to see the man inside. He sighed sadly, wondering if Larabee had felt that same inexplicable connection between them.
He shook himself out of his reverie. It didn't matter now; it was too late to have such foolish thoughts. Had she been there, his mother would have berated him incessantly for allowing someone to break through the mask he wore. It was a dangerous thing to do; it gave power to the other person, power over him, over his emotions. He would have to remember that if he ever saw Chris Larabee again.
He threw himself on the bed fully clothed, convinced he would never be able to rest, but exhaustion took over and soon he drifted off to sleep. He awoke a little after noon, as the sun was streaming in through the windows that had remained open. He summoned a servant and asked after the governor's whereabouts, but was told that he had yet to arrive.
He washed and dressed for the new day, deciding to go down for something to eat. At the very moment he had finished his meal, his uncle entered the living room. He was frowning, his cold, brown eyes gleaming dangerously.
"Ezra," he drawled. "Thompson told me what occurred tonight. What is this about a guest?"
"Uncle. I found the gentleman unconscious over a week ago and brought him to the plantation."
"Very charitable, nephew. And who was he?"
Something in his uncle's voice made Ezra swallow hard. "I didn't want to be too intrusive. I know he was a traveler, injured by bandits on the road to Port Royal. He was a salesman."
"Really? That's interesting. You see, the soldiers managed to get very close before they let those men escape. And Sergeant Hutchison swears the blond man leading the others was Chris Larabee. And by Thompson's description, he was your poor, wounded guest."
Ezra gasped. "Oh, Lord! Uncle, I didn't know. You had mentioned that miscreant's name before, but I have never seen his face. I had no way of knowing who he was."
"True, true. And Nathan? Why didn't you punish him?"
"I believed the slave's actions were Mr. Thompson's fault, not his own. There was no call for the fifty lashes."
His uncle shook his head sadly. "I wish I could believe you, Ezra. I really do. Thompson!" He called.
"Governor?" Thompson walked in almost immediately, and Ezra knew he had been standing just outside.
"Take my nephew to the post. I will give him the fifty lashes he wouldn't allow you to give the slave."
"Uncle, no!" Ezra pleaded brokenly.
"I'm sorry, Ezra, but it's time you learned your lesson. I will not be disobeyed or defied. This was the last time. Take him!"
Ezra fought against Thompson's hold, but the other man was bigger and stronger and it was useless. He was chained to the post, his shirt torn from his back. As the leather bit cruelly into his flesh, he closed his eyes, biting his lip to stop from crying out. He allowed his mind to wander, thinking back to the beautiful green eyes of the pirate he had lost his heart to. And while pain invaded his whole being, a sense of relief filled his heart; the other man was far away and safe from his uncle's clutches. And that was worth all the suffering in the world.
CHAPTER III - A Day At The Tavern
Tortuga Island, Caribbean Sea Three months later
The five men sat inconspicuously at a table by the back of the tavern, watching the comings and goings of the other customers, and sipping leisurely from their ales."Think Jasper will come?" Buck asked Chris.
"He's the one who sent word out he wanted to see us. It's in his own interest." Chris replied.
"Wonder what that old bastard wants with us?" Vin muttered.
"Whatever it is, I'll listen. His information about the whereabouts of British cruisers and the business deals done by the governor has been extremely useful. Thanks to him, we have taken a great chunk of the governor's intended fortune and given it back to who it really belonged. I wouldn't trust him with my life, but his word is good." Chris said.
"Here he comes." Josiah warned.
Jasper O'Neill was a man in his late fifties, wrinkled by a hard life at sea. His frail build belied a fierce temperament, one that had allowed him to survive more than one dire situation. The five men watched him sit at their table, waiting until he had his own ale before getting down to the reason of their meeting.
"Well? Why did you send for us?" Chris asked impatiently.
Jasper smiled, the effect being somewhat ruined by his lack of teeth. "I have in my possession something that you might want to have, gentlemen."
"Really?" Buck retorted. "And what is that 'something'?"
"A map." Jasper replied, looking very smug.
"A map?" Nathan repeated with a frown.
"Treasure map. Belonged to Cap'ain Mckenzie."
"We heard he died last week." Vin remarked.
"He did."
"And he left you the map out of the kindness of his own heart?" Chris quipped sarcastically.
Jasper chuckled. "Not the kindness of his own heart, no. Mine. See, after he made his fortune, he was forced to hide the loot because the British troops were hunting him down somet'ing fierce. He drew the map and hid it, but before he could disappear he was caught and sent to the galleys for life."
"So, how did you come by his map?" Buck challenged.
"He managed to escape two years ago, but by then he was too old to go back for his treasure. I happened to find him wandering through the island and took him in. The day he died he told me where to find the map. A reward for having taken such good care of him."
"So, why not keep it for yourself?" Vin asked curiously.
Jasper shook his head sadly. "I'm too old meself, lad. But... there's nothing to say I can't sell the map and make a few coins to save for my old, old years." He added with a chuckle.
"Why us?" Josiah asked, staring at the man through narrowed eyes.
"I like you. You're good men and you fight the good fight. Governor Standish is the devil hisself, he is."
"So..." Chris drawled. "You told only us about the map?"
Jasper chortled, obviously understanding what Chris was getting at. "Now, I never said that, Cap'ain Larabee. A man must make plans should one of his buyers not meet his demands."
"I see. And who else did you tell?" Chris asked with a glare that had Jasper squirming in his seat.
"Just Cap'ain Death," he replied.
Chris hissed angrily. Captain Death was the worse scourge in the Caribbean Sea. While Chris and his men attacked only British ships, especially if under Rupert Standish's orders and always let the prisoners go, Death attacked any ship, no matter the nation, and left no survivors to tell the tale. The man was ruthless and with a thirst for blood like Chris had never seen before.
"I suppose you're going to say you also like him and that he fights the good fight?" Vin scowled.
"No. Like most people, I have never even seen the man, and honestly, I hope it stays that way. Speaking with his second in command was bad enough. The things you hear about them..." Jasper shuddered. "But he's the only one besides yourselves who can pay what I ask."
"Which is?" Buck prompted.
"Ten gold coins."
Nathan whistled. "You're asking a lot."
"Bah! That's nothing, laddie! Mckenzie sunk hundreds of ships in his golden years, most of them full to the brim with goods. The worth of his treasure is..." He shrugged helplessly. "I can't even imagine it meself. The map isself is worth much more than the ten coins. It's a bargain. Take it or leave it."
"We'll take it." Chris decided.
Jasper nodded. "Good. I'm happy it goes to you and not Death."
"But you'd still have sold it to him." Josiah scolded.
"Business is business, Sanchez. Now, obviously I don't have the map with me, I have no death wish. Meet me here in a week, same time. Bring the coins, I'll bring the map." He shook Chris' hand. "I'll take my leave now. May the good winds carry your sails, Cap'ain Larabee."
"Jasper?" Chris called out.
The man interrupted his slow march to the exit and turned. "Yes, Cap'ain?"
"It might be a good idea for you to disappear after our... deal is done. I can only assume the other 'buyer' won't be too happy to have lost the map."
Jasper nodded. "I thought so as well. Do not worry, good Cap'ain. I have the perfect hideout waiting for me once this is over. Goodbye, gentlemen."
"Think he'll keep his word?" Vin asked once Jasper had left the tavern.
"Yes. He's never let us down before. I just hope his hideout is secret enough. Death will be looking for him once he knows we have the map. If he finds Jasper, he'll never get a chance to enjoy the coins or his 'old, old years'." Chris replied.
=-=-=-=VA=-=-=-=
"Oh, my Lord!" Nathan whispered suddenly.
"What?" Chris asked, frowning at him.
"That man who just walked in, he's one of the slaves from the governor's plantation." Nathan replied, rising from his seat. "I'll be right back. I want to know what he's doing here."
The others watched him approach the slave, a black man that resembled Josiah in both size and weight, and whose garments were close to rags. Nathan guided him to their table, and asked for an ale. Once his friend had the drink securely in his hands, he sat down.
"Joseph, what the hell are you doing here?"
"I's a runaway slave now," the other replied sadly.
"And you're here in plain sight?" Nathan hissed. "Tortuga may still be out of the governor's control, but there are spies everywhere. You have any idea what they'll do to you if they catch you?"
"I wouldn't talk, you's also a runaway and you's here." The other remarked sullenly.
"Yes, but I'm not alone. If someone recognizes me, my friends can help me escape. And my clothes don't draw attention to myself. Now, what are you doing here?"
"I didn't have a choice. I been lookin' for ya." The slave answered softly.
"Why?" Chris asked, a feeling of dread washing over him.
"I need your help. The plantation is gone."
"What do you mean, the plantation is gone?" Buck started.
"Burned to the ground." Joseph told them with a shake of his head. "Never thought I'd see the day, Nathan. It was... hell right here on Earth. Everythin' burned; the fields, the Master's house, the slave quarters... There ain't nothin' left standing."
"What happened?" Josiah asked soothingly.
"The night ya escaped," Joseph began to Nathan. "Young Master Ezra talked foreman Thompson and the soldiers into believin' your friends had overpowered him and forced him to give 'em arms. But the next day..." He exhaled slowly, the sorrow clear in his eyes.
"What happened?" Chris whispered, echoing Josiah's earlier question, his heart lurching painfully in his chest as he remembered his green-eyed savior.
"Thompson sent for the guv'nor that night. He arrived in the afternoon. He didn't believe the young Master, ordered Thompson to inflict him with the fifty lashes he had refused to give ya."
"Lord," Nathan whispered brokenly, covering his face with his hands.
"Thompson didn't get very far, though."
"What do you mean?" Vin asked.
"When the slaves saw what was goin' on, they rebelled. We turned on the guards, forced the guv'nor to free the young Master. He always been good to us; he didn't deserve such treatment. But then one of the slaves set the fields on fire."
"And?" Buck prompted.
"When he saw all of us, the guv'nor let the young Master go. But the soldiers in the garrison must've seen the fire and soon we could hear 'em comin'. The young Master told us to run, go get away. He then struck his uncle in the face and ran away in the other direction, so we could escape. He saved us, Nathan." Joseph told them softly. "The soldiers killed some o' us, but we's natives, we knows the land. Most made it into the jungle and are safe. The British can't stand the marshes or the jungle heat and don't chase us there."
Chris swallowed hard. "Did... did Ezra die?" He whispered, looking down at the tablecloth. He didn't want to see the answer shining from the other man's eyes.
Joseph sighed, "No. But I ain't sure he's much better off."
Chris looked up sharply. "Why?"
"Thompson caught him while we was escaping. He was taken to Port Royal and imprisoned."
"Imprisoned?" Vin echoed. "What for?"
"Treason. You's enemies of the Kingdom and he helped ya and harbored one of you. His trial was last month."
"He was convicted?" Josiah guessed sadly.
Joseph nodded. "To ten years in the galleys."
Chris moaned. The whole situation was his fault. He should have made Ezra come with them, even dragging him by force if he had kept refusing. The only thing the other man had done was be kind to a stranger, to him, and he was now paying the price for his goodness. Very few people lived a year in the galleys, let alone ten years.
"You said you needed our help?" Buck remembered.
"Yes. I been tryin' to find ya for months."
"After what happened we decided to set sail for a while. We got back two weeks ago and have been staying close to Tortuga. Jamaica is just too dangerous for us at the moment." Vin explained. "What kind of help do you need?"
"The ship the young Master was taken to is a patrol cruiser. It will stay in the Caribbean Sea, lookin' out for pirates in these waters and the islands. It shouldn't take ya long to find it; it's the 'Courage', under Captain Perry's command. Ya have to rescue him, ya have to!" Joseph pleaded desperately.
"Chris?" Nathan asked, although he already knew the answer.
Chris nodded, his green eyes breathing fire. "Josiah, Nathan, go find Jasper. Tell him I'll give him twenty gold coins if he keeps the map until we return. Vin, Buck, we need supplies."
"On our way." Vin replied, following the other three out of the tavern. Chris focused his attention on the slave. "You have done well, Joseph. We will get him back, rest assured. You better get away from here now, go join your friends in the jungle where you'll be safe."
"I will. And thank you, Captain Larabee. The rumors is right; ya are a good man. May the Lord bless ya."
Finally left alone, Chris closed his eyes tiredly. Life certainly had a funny way of sneaking up on a person when least expected. Ezra had saved his life three months earlier, now it would be his turn. He just hoped his ship was strong enough to face up to the British cruiser.
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