Pirates of the Caribbean: Isla de Almas Perdidas

Indigo Blue

Author’s Note: Firstly, big hugs to the fabulous shotgunxwedding and twadrummer for the reviews (:happy dances:). Thanks also to Din’sBlaze for adding me to favourites, even though you didn’t review. You have all made a little girl very happy, haha.

To make things clear for this chapter and the rest of the fic; Jack doesn’t yet have the MAGIQUE compass or his hat. I hope this makes sense cause I’ve been writing little bits separately over the past month (my writing habits are kind of erratic) and had to piece them together later. If you think I should explain something more or if it doesn’t make sense, just tell me in a review and I’ll try to edit it.

Chapter Two: Not All Treasure Is Silver And Gold

It had never occurred to Anamaria that the wind could be anything other than invisible, unless you could see it billowing against rough, white sails. And yet, the wind this morning had been silver; silver and violet and emerald, and while –she reasoned- it had most probably been the sunlight reflecting off specks of dust, it had seemed almost magical. It was the kind of wind that had blown Jack Sparrow back to Tortuga, be it on a little merchant boat that had picked him up far out to see. And now, the man himself was sat across the table from her in the Faithful Bride, with an unrecognisable expression which she could only guess was… defeat?

She hardened her own expression, ignoring any more half-formed, foolish thoughts, and then softened it again. It was hard to know how to deal with Jack.

Jack who was now drumming his fingers on his filthy bottle of rum.

Repeatedly.

Anamaria gritted her teeth and tried to remember what she had been about to say. ‘Look,’ she settled for, ‘at least you’re alive. When I heard the Pearl had gone down I thought you must’ve…’ she paused, reached over, and yanked the bottle from his hand. The amber liquid splashed against the glass as she set it down roughly, ‘…died, or something. Everyone said- oh Jack, stop making that face, you can have it back if you stop tapping.’

Jack, who was now looking decidedly sulky, pulled the rum back across the table and tilted it to his lips. ‘My dear Anamaria,’ he said impressively, and despite herself she couldn’t help feeling immensely relieved that he was back, for whatever reason, ‘there are greater things on my mind than rum- or the absence of it.’ He shot her a dirty look before leaning forward dramatically. ‘I,’ he raised his voice, ‘am Captain Jack Sparrow-’

‘You can’t be a captain if you don’t have a ship,’ Anamaria said, before she could stop herself.

Jack looked even more put out. ‘I will have a ship,’ he informed her, ‘I haven’t finished yet.’ He adopted his dramatic tone again. ‘As I said, I’m Captain Jack Sparrow-’

‘But not really.’

He narrowed his eyes. ‘I’m Captain Jack-’

She coughed.

‘-Sparrow, and I have no intention of continuing while my ship is on the bottom of the ocean.’

Anamaria sighed. ‘What are you going to do, swim down and get it?’

Jack grinned wickedly, and Anamaria wondered how she could ever have thought he looked defeated- not with that dark glint in his eyes. ‘Close, luv.’ He reached across with a curious elegance and placed his hand on the table. It was closed into a tight fist, and she wondered briefly if that was supposed to present some sort of clue- but before she could consider it, he turned his hand over and opened it.

For a moment, Anamaria stared at it. It was obvious that Jack was a sailor- the hand was rough, and so brown it blended into the much stained table, and it was wrapped in some filthy rag, god knew why. And yet it was what was in the centre of his palm that Jack was nodding cheerfully at, flashing several gold teeth.

Anamaria raised her eyebrows. ‘It’s a stone.’

‘Wrong!’ Jack said triumphantly, holding it up. ‘This is,’ he lowered his voice,’ a pearl.’

There was a long pause while she wondered if she’d missed something. ‘Pearls are white.’

‘No no no,’ he waved it about. ‘This pearl is black. Savvy?’

Anamaria couldn’t help it; her face began to slide into a slow imitation of Jack’s own lazy grin. ‘A black pearl. You got this off your ship, before it sank?’ He nodded, encouraging her on, and she tried to guess what her next question should be. ‘And it’s going to get your ship back?’

‘Ah,’ he turned his hand back over, the pearl pinned to the table. ‘Your guess is as good as mine, darlin’. But watch.’

The two stared at the pearl as Jack slowly lifted his hand, silent but for the steady backdrop of drunken laughter and song weaving round the rest of the tavern. For a minute, the pearl stayed motionless on the table top, gleaming innocently in the golden candle-light, and then, as if it were making a dash for freedom, it rolled quickly across the grooved and dirty wood to the edge-

Jack slammed his hand back over it. ‘Hold it,’ he told her, dropping it into her outstretched palm.

She closed her fingers slowly over it- it was strangely warm, as if it had been left lying in the sun all day- and immediately understood. There was a strange… something… straining against her grip; an invisible force tugging the pearl across, away…

‘Are you going to follow it?’

‘Aye,’ he grinned.

‘And it leads to…?’

‘Haven’t a clue, luv. Hopefully something valuable.’ He gestured extravagantly with both hands, and she reluctantly passed the pearl back to him and watched him drop it into the pocket of his coat.

Anamaria thought for a moment while Jack swigged carelessly from his bottle of rum, watching the soft half-light throw his high cheekbones and dark-rimmed eyes into shadow. ‘How are you going to leave Tortuga without a boat?’ she asked thoughtfully, digging her nails into the ridges of the battered table.

‘I’ll get a boat.’ He waved a dismissive hand.

She narrowed her eyes. ‘If you’re even thinking of taking The Mon...’ The Jolly Mon was Anamaria’s pride and joy, and she knew Jack well enough to know he wouldn’t think twice of sailing off in it.

‘The Mon’s too small,’ he mumbled unconcernedly. ‘I want a crew.’

This wasn’t exactly what Anamaria considered a promising reply, but the golden light on Jack’s face made him look almost angelic, and she decided to trust him anyway. ‘If you need a crew, you’re in the right place. Give it a couple of hours; sailors jump ship here all the time.’

Jack nodded and opened his mouth to reply, but was interrupted as the table jerked under his elbows. The next minute he blinked as a woman who had been twenty-one for many years lounged across it, her chest at his direct eyelevel. He eyed it appreciatively.

‘Ello darling,’ she crooned, raised painted-on eyebrows. ‘What can I do you for?’

Jack paused, perhaps while he tried to remember her name. ‘Sorry luv,’ he said eventually, ‘business as usual. Don’t want anyone over-hearing.’ He attempted a roguish smile, so as not to offend her.

The woman pouted an unnaturally scarlet mouth. ‘Ol Jack don’t have time for us no more, girls!’ “Girls” was pushing it a bit far, thought Anamaria privately- she herself was easily the youngest in the tavern. The woman dropped her voice before continuing. ‘If you don’t want no one overhearing, you’re not gettin very far here; them buggers there’ve been listening to ev’ry word you two said for the past half hour.’ She jerked her head to the left.

Anamaria looked up just in time to see three or four men vanish into the noise and mess of Tortuga, before glancing back at Jack, who seemed supremely unconcerned.

‘Looks like the crew from the Sea’s Deceit to me,’ he said lazily, waving a hand rather unnecessarily. ‘Didn’t know they were in Tortuga at the moment… No worries, mate. Although,’ he nodded to Anamaria as the other woman melted into the crowd, ‘it seems to me that this intrusion indicates we have a prevailing need to adapt our current interaction to one of a less secretive –or lucrative- nature; what say you?’

He said all this very fast. Anamaria blinked at him.

‘Let’s stop talking quests and pearls and find me a crew, eh?’ he translated. ‘You know just about everyone in this sorry excuse of a place; lead the way.’

.X

Against an electric turquoise sea, the hull of a small ship sliced through the diamond-laced foam. The ship was entirely unremarkable except for its age; the wood was stained and pitted, yet the sails were clumsily patched and some one –in a rare moment of aesthetic pride- had attempted to shine up the rusted nameplate. Now, the dazzling sunshine glanced off the brass, highlighting the words ‘The Sea’s Deceit’.

The crew, on deck, seemed to have unusually little to do; it was an ideal day for sailing, or (hypothetically, of course) trying to get as far away from Tortuga as possible before the real crew of the ship in question realised it was you who’d sailed away in their livelihood and came after you to stick their swords in uncomfortable places. Should anyone have a reason to do that.

Jack Sparrow, who was a man with reason to do that, ran a casual hand over the ship’s wheel, half-closing his eyes against the sun with a rather cat-like expression of satisfaction on his face.

‘Land ahoy!’

As if one cue, the eyes flicked open again and darted sideways. Without answering, Jack pulled the pearl from his pocket and held it flat on his palm, snapping his hand closed around it before wheeling round to face the crew. He conjured a glittering smile onto his face.

‘Gentlemen,’ he announced dramatically, ‘I believe we’ve found what we were looking for.’

The effect of this was somewhat lessened as Jack found himself at chest-level of a nameless man- a member of his crew, certainly, but with a hostile expression engraved onto worn-leather skin. Jack tilted his head in a way that could constitute a defiant gesture but was more likely an attempt to match the other man’s height, and took a surreptious step backwards. ‘Aye?’

‘This land,’ the sailor growled immediately, disregarding any unnecessary preliminaries such as “hello Captain” or “sorry for sneaking up behind you like that”.

‘Yes,’ Jack agreed politely, attempting to duck round him. ‘Land. Excellent.’

The man didn’t move. ‘Aye, but Jack- ’

‘Captain,’ Jack corrected him.

‘But ye’re not really a-’ he was met with a glare. ‘As ye wish. Captain. But this land- it isn’t on the map. There be no records of any island here.’

Jack paused, hands frozen in midair like a lonely puppeteer. ‘You must be looking at the wrong map, mate.’ He gestured sideways, one hand dancing towards the inky stain on the horizon. ‘I can see the bloody land with me own eyes, and that’s good enough for me.’

The man looked mutinous, and brandished the map as threateningly as it was possible to wave a piece of paper. Jack caught barely a glimpse of spidery ink trails and inconsequential letters before it was replaced by the yellowed creases of his challenger’s face. ‘By the power then, would it be good enough for ye to let me use that fine compass a’ yours?’

Jack opened his mouth to add ‘Captain’ on the end, but reconsidered and closed it again. ‘Yes,’ he offered meekly, holding it out with a cheerful smile and flipping it open with his thumb.’

The man stared at the instrument without even taking it. ‘Afeared as I be ter be the one to tell you,’ “Captain,” Jack added mentally. And was that sarcasm? ‘…but that compass… ain’t pointing North.’

‘What?’ Jack held it up to his face and studied it critically, closing one eye at a time. ‘Must be. S’your bloody navigating that’s the problem here, Barbara.’

‘Barbossa.’

‘Bless you. Check the direction with Twigg- there is nothing wrong with my compass. And there is especially nothing wrong with that island. Now if you’ll just…’ he attached the compass back to his belt and swept a somewhat patronizing hand down the deck. Glowering, the older man turned abruptly on his heel and stormed towards the rest of the crew, electric sunlight sparking angrily off the back of his hair and beard.

Jack watched him go distractedly, before turning back to the sunbleached sea, towards the island that wasn’t there, eyes unfocussed. He would have to keep an eye on that man, he reflected. Was it really so hard to remember who the Captain was?

He lifted a thoughtful hand to his head and touched a dark, matted dreadlock.

Perhaps he should get a hat.