Secrets and a Letter

The silent streets of Port Royal were covered with moonlight and peace. Each and every individual resident of each and every household was fast asleep…Not to be woken by the soft footsteps on the rooftop.

This runaway didn't have a sack of presents slung over its shoulder, or a mask to cover its face. Rather, it was a girl.

A young woman, not much older than 21, was running barefoot atop the roofs of Port Royal, a yellowing scrap of paper clutched in her left hand. Her long hair streamed behind her in a loose ponytail, and her faded blue pants and worn white shirt showed she didn't have much wealth.

Running after her, about 50 feet behind on the ground, a group of 10 Royal Navy guards jogged to catch up. But this young lady was too quick for them—in less than a minute, she was out of the guards' sight, and they started to slow down to a stop.

They all stood there for a minute, when finally the tension was broken when one said, "…She got away."

"Of course she got away, you moron!" Another snapped angrily. "We don't have that bloody strip of parchment that Lord Beckett wants, now, do we!"

"Calm down, Benjamin," A third replied. "The lass got what she wanted, and she'll leave us alone now. We'll just tell the Lord that she tore it to shreds and threw it to the Harbor to claim." The man sighed. "And he knows that none of us knows how to swim."

The others mumbled in agreement.

"But what he doesn't know that she wanted it for herself, just that she wanted to keep it away from us. Am I right?" The third guard straitened his uniform. "Right. We'd best be getting home, then, gents. We'll need some sleep for whatever's going to happen when the Lord finds out what 'happened'." He turned around, and the other followed.

The inhabitants of Port Royal slept on, while the streets became quieter and quieter until there was nothing more to hear.

Half a mile away, the young girl was still running. She ran until the houses under her feet became dirtier, and much less expensive. Rats and alley cats could be seen everywhere, some sleeping, others consuming.

This was where this girl lived.

She jumped own to the ground from here—there were only one-story houses in this area, and the one story wasn't very high—seven feet at most.

She signed and turned around, stepping though the collapsing doorway. The door had burned down when she was but a year old—her father told her it was when the legendary Black Pearl arrived to raid Port Royal, and kidnapped the Governor's daughter, Elizabeth Swann. And he would go off about how her lover, William Turner, a blacksmith, teamed up with the famous Jack Sparrow ("Captain Jack Sparrow," he continually reminded her) to go save her.

Too bad this young lady didn't believe in such fairy tales. It must be nice to have someone who loves you that much come risk his life to save you like that, she often thought.

But no matter. She didn't believe in it, anyway. She hated that story…because she hated her father.

Because her father had left. And the story had stayed.

Whatever, she whipped that thought from her head for the millionth time. I got what I want. Let's have a look.

She unwrinkled the parchment and, by the dimming moonlight shining outside, read the words encased on it.

Lucas—

Sorry if you don't get this soon enough. 'S not my fault.

Heard Beckett's giving you some trouble. I can be there in a jiffy, if you want. Or, if you'd like something easier and less annoying, look for a man who goes by the name of "Bootstrap." He was the only man to challenge "His Lord" and survive. Well, if you call what he's doing surviving. He's currently living on the Flying Dutchman, so far as I know, courtesy of Barbossa and his—well, my—crew.

That's all I'm confiding in a letter. This thing could get intercepted, and this information already could end up with you, or anyone else who read it, in major trouble, if not hanged. I suggest burning it, eating it, or hiding it with the rum. Or leaving as soon as possible and taking it with you.

Wishing the Best,

Captain Jack Sparrow

PS-Heard you named the lass Katara. Interesting name. Good luck to both of you.

Katara folded the letter and stuffed it in her pocket she had made in her pants. The letter had dated about 21 years ago, right around when she was born.

Her father had kept this dumb thing and waited seven years to leave. What a fool.

Katara straightened her chin. Her mind was set.

She was going to go after this "Captain Jack Sparrow" and stick to him like glue until he brought her to her father. Because the Black Pearl was the only known ship that could match up to the Flying Dutchman.

But her father wasn't having—didn't have—any trouble with Beckett. No.

This Jack is a clever man, she pondered. Or maybe he's had one too many drinks. Either way, it's a clever way to disguise the truth.

Because Jack knew. And her father, Lucas, knew. And now she knew.

Her father had left her to go pirating with one of the worst men in the sea. On the worst ship he could find.

But he couldn't find it alone, of course. That's when Jack came in. and now she hated Jack, too.