Fic: Three Meetings (PotC/Aubreyad) Title: Three Meetings Author's Name: Hyel Disclaimer: Pirates of the Caribbean (c) Disney, the Aubrey/Maturin series (c) Patrick O'Brian. Warnings: Character death. Ratings: PG Word Count: 864 Summary: More oldfic. I kinda emulated Patrick O'Brian's writing style here. Also wrote this in a very short time, and I must warn you that it is somewhat pointless. Nonetheless.
Dr Maturin's usual subjects for dissection were either of a zoological nature, or dead foundlings off the streets. He had not always been sufficiently within means to buy the much sought-after bodies of condemned criminals, but he had recently come into money, having inherited a much-regretted godfather, and one of the uses to which he put his new means was the chance to study the cadaver of a healthy young adult.
The body laid out on his table was indeed the very picture of wholesome living, if it were not for the scraggy beard and lice-ridden hair, the ugly red bruises around his neck, and the singularly unflattering facial expression of a hanging-victim. It was hard to imagine the man a pirate - a notoriously hard-drinking, bad-livered lot, with more scars than teeth.
'That'll be all for now, Padeen,' he said in Irish to his mute servant, who'd helped lug the body downstairs into Maturin's cellar rooms.
He worked on the body all afternoon, becoming more puzzled as he advanced. The last meal had consisted of a great deal of alcohol, more than such a healthy system would usually be able to withstand. There was no wear on any of the organs, even of the sort usually acquired by persons of a gentle upbringing.
'I have been musing on the births of Dionysus and Athene, of late,' said Maturin later to his good friend Joseph Blaine. They were having drinks at their club, having made short work of a rather delicious turkey. 'Laying aside the suggestion of genderless procreation, they suggest the birth of fully-functional thinking people who never pass through the rigours of childhood. I had a curious case on my table earlier today, that might as well have been young Dionysus.'
'Oh?' said Sir Joseph, distracted by watching a beetle crawl across the outside of a windowpane. Sir Joseph was a great naturalist and had a special fondness for beetles.
'A hanging victim, convicted of piracy, but without so much as a mark on him.'
'My dear Maturin, that is impossible. Pirates are branded before they're hanged.'
'In this case, the gaolers have failed to do so. In addition to which, it was curious to find there were no signs of scurvy or liver failure. He was convicted of five years of piracy, but the man looked more like he had just stepped out of Zeus' thigh.'
'Surely you don't suspect them of hanging the wrong man?'
'His description in the papers seems to fit the condemned's, so I'm afraid the fault might lie higher up,' said Maturin, whose dislike of judges was both deep and old. He produced the papers by way of illustration. 'Jack Sparrow, first arrest April 1810... My dear Sir Joseph, how you startle. Abdominal pain? '
'I feel quite fine, Maturin, thank you for asking. It's just that the name is familiar - there was another pirate of the same name making mischief along the Caribbean before the turn of the century. But clearly it cannot be the same man - he would be much older now, into his seventies if I don't mistake.'
'A son or a grandson, perhaps?'
'Perhaps - unless the old trickster found a fountain of youth, haha!'
They digressed into the classics once more, but by the time they said good-bye Sir Joseph had promised to look into the case. It was most obliging of him, considering his very busy schedule, and Stephen felt grateful for the young man's sake, whoever he may be; and glad as ever to know a judge, who by virtue of presiding over the law tended necessarily to act as if he was above it, would himself be investigated.
---
'It's not like being on sea at all,' said Will Turner, rolling his dice in a cup. 'Most of the time the seas are smooth as glass, with nothing but the ripple of the Dutchman's wake to disturb it - and the boats, of course. I'll be damned if I know what's moving them, though the men have their theories.'
'Current,' said Jack Sparrow, chewing his gums. It seemed his spirit body had no notion of the fountain waters' effects - in here, he looked as old as he felt. He could kill for a bottle of rum. Of course, that wasn't saying much.
'A very strange current, then,' said Will, who didn't like his mysteries shattered. He rattled his dice and let them fly on the table. 'Listen, Jack, it's a boring life. A lot of the men here eventually get on a boat. If you...'
'Just play,' said Jack, and laid his life on the table. An eternity with Will Turner didn't seem nearly so bad as his memories of death, especially considering the chance of one day catching a boat going backwards. In a hundred years' time, anything could happen, and Jack still hadn't lived long enough.
Besides, he mused, Lizzy's children needed some guidance, or soon all the pirates of Shipwreck Cove would forget that greatest of pirate traditions. 'You know, your wench never did learn to back down or stop trying. You're both the same.'