The Waiting Room
~ Chapter Seventy
Wilmot and Sparrow
Jack
found a corner of the room to sit, sliding to the floor, alone and
depressed he uncorked the bottle and swallowed the liquor long and
hard. On his lap lay the remains of the letter.
He needed his
ladies, all of them. He missed each and everyone of them. Jack’s
eyes followed The Room as he remembered them with fondness and
wondered if they remembered him. He sucked another swallow from the
bottle.
Three of them, he knew did. Carrie…Jessi…and…he
looked down at the letter..her.
He thought of Shelley and the
troublesome monkey. He recalled how Crissy had given him his hat. He
remembered the talent of Kait and her exquisite cages. Where were
they? What were they doing?
Who knew? he thought, bringing
the bottle back to his lips.
The pirate adjusted himself. He
was soaked to through and through and was finding himself a bit
uncomfortable in the wet clothing. The foam was beginning to dry on
his skin giving him a more-than-dirty-pirate kind of feeling. He
longed for one of Lady Pamela’s hot baths.
He gave an
inebriated laugh as his memory served him long enough to recall her
expert hands.
His thoughts drifted as the drink began to take
its affect. Images flashed before him as his eyes grew weary and
his thoughts fuzzy. He barely was able to lift the bottle for one
last draw before everything went black.
Something
was pounding his foot, urging him to wake but Jack did not want to
leave the comfort of the total abyss that had swallowed him the night
before. He drew his foot away from the offending intrusion.
The
pounding moved upward and Jack felt a sharp poke on his thigh. One
poke, two pokes. On the third poke, Jack’s hand lashed out and
caught whatever was causing the infringement of his privacy.
He
opened one eye and found he had come in possession of the end of a
cane. Jack’s eye tracked the length of the cane until it focused on
the face of its owner. He found himself staring at Lord Rochester.
Jack’s other eye opened as the Earl tried to regain his cane from
the pirate’s grip.
“I say, my dear man, it is unacceptable
to try to pinch another man’s walking stick.” Wilmot complained
as he tugged against the pirate’s grip.
“And what, me
lordship? It is proper to poke a man awake as if he were a sleeping
cur? Bad luck they say…to wake a sleeping man.”
“Perhaps
you are correct. I do not follow such superstitious folly. But how am
I to return your letter if I do not wake you? I certainly was not
going to merely leave it on your heaving chest after the Frenchman
and I so painstakingly translated it for you.”
Jack let go
of the cane and bolted upright. The letter! Wilmot had translated
Carrie’s letter!
He looked to find in the Earl’s free
hand a sheaf of paper. With much fanfare, Jack pushed himself from
off the floor, a feat onto itself as his head pounded from too much
rum.
“I can see you were deep in your cups last night
Captain Sparrow. I do hope that you will be able to understand what I
am…”
The Earl was cut short as Jack snatched the letter
from his hand.
“Stop standing on ceremony, man! I just want
to read me letter!” Jack looked down at the words, every letter
trying to come into focus, blurred, doubled, weaving side to side
until finally the words became clear and he could see.
“What
the…?” he grumbled then shot a hot look to Rochester. “These be
the same bloody French words I gave ye yesterday! Where be the real
words? Where’s the translated letter?” Jack fumbled for his
pistol but found it missing.
“Where’s me pistol?” Jack
asked frantically as he looked down at the floor were he had just
moments ago been laying. He realized his sword was missing too.
“Me
sword! A thief among us! Which one of ye flea-bitten rats have taken
me effects?” He pushed himself past the Earl and into the center of
The Room, turning slowly taking in each one of the men, waiting for
an answer to his question.
When he completed the circle and
his attention returned to Rochester he forgot briefly the lost sword
and pistol.
“Me letter? Where be the translated letter?”
he held out his hand waiting.
“Up here I do fear, Captain,”
Wilmot indicated, tapping his own temple. “I have more or less
memorized your penned correspondence. Something I am blessed with as
it turns out to be your good fortune. For you see, the Frenchman and
I had no paper onto which to transcribe your letter.”
“Paper?
If ye needed paper why not be asking the damned writers?” Sparrow
rolled a bit as he turned to look in Mort Rainey’s direction. Even
the pirate knew that with his new-fangled thing called a printer
Rainey required paper. He had seen the writer use it on occasion,
only to crumple and discard what came out.
He then swiveled
to bring the Duke into his eye line. At the table sat the gonzo
journalist’s typewriter, a sheaf of paper sticking out like a white
tongue.
“I do fear, dear Captain, that Mr. Rainey denied us
access to his paper. He gave no reason. Only told us to do something
to ourselves that sounded like a delectable idea at the time. As for
Mr. Duke. Something about being accused of being responsible for the
loss of one of your letters. So we were required to translate your
letter mentally. But if this be your behavior then perhaps our
memories will no longer serve us.”
And with that, the Earl
turned on his heel and walked away.
“No! Wait!” Sparrow’s
plea stopped the Earl. He turned to face the pirate who closed the
space between them. Jack brushed away an imaginary piece of lint from
the Earl’s coat, his demeanor more mellow.
“Me apologies,
yer lordship. Let me just say that I be quite impressed with his
lordship’s ability to memorize the letter, in English, I do hope?”
The Earl narrowed his eyes at Sparrow, then gave an
acknowledging nod.
“Ah, good, then please, let us indulge
in more pleasantries over at the bar where we can share a fine glass
of …er, sherry,” Jack tried not to wince at the idea of consuming
anything other than rum, “and ye can enlightened me on the contents
of me lovely Carrie’s letter.”
Wilmot paused but a
second, then bowed towards the pirate and led the way to the bar
where young Jack was already filling the sherry glasses.