Disclaimer: they belong, as you know, to Disney and I'm making no profit (sniff).

Author's note: well, I don't know where this came from and I'm not entirely sure where it's going, but for better or worse - a new piratical fic. Hurrah. Please enjoy. Following chapters will be longer!



When news came to Tortuga that Jack Sparrow had been captured by the Royal Navy, the whores exchanged rueful glances and went back to pleasuring their latest clients. In the taverns, men raised glasses to "daft Jack" and mused that it was bound to happen one day. The more savvy amongst them observed he had been captured before, and escaped; but the fact remained this time it seemed a hopeless case. Several of Sparrow's crew were dead, and the majestic Black Pearl was resting on the ocean floor, a burnt-out shell.

It took several days for the news to travel up the hill behind the town. The man who took it to the owner of the small plantation found himself walking slower and slower as he approached, and he tried to justify his speed by the weight of the basket of fish wrapped in banana leaves he carried.

She was working outside when he got there, weeding a vegetable plot with her orphaned nephew kneeling beside her. A bright scarf bound her hair, and she looked almost cheerful when she looked up.

"Brought the fish?" she asked, dusting off her skirt and crossing to him.


She dug out a few coins and handed them over. "Thanks."

The man shifted, and she sent him a shrewd look.

"What is it?"

"There was news, from Port Royal," he said. "They've … well, 'tis like this, Mistress Anamaria; they've got Cap'n Jack."

Her mouth tightened. "Who have?"

"Royal Navy."

"Bastards." A pause. "What about the Pearl?"


"Merde." The woman named Anamaria folded her arms. "When do they hang him?"

He shrugged. "Nobody's sure. Just heard they have him, over on Jamaica."

"Thanks for telling me," said Anamaria. "And for the fish."

It was a clear dismissal. The messenger turned and hurried off back down the track to Tortuga.

Left in front of her small, neat cabin, Anamaria turned her eyes to the sky and took a deep breath, before crossing back to her nephew.

"Zac. You're going to have to stay with Tante Belle for a while."

The boy, a smudge of dust across his face, looked rebellious. Anamaria shook her head.

"This time, no complaints, hein?" She gave him an affectionate push. "Allez, go and pack some things."

"Today?" The boy stood up. "Tante Ana!"

"No arguments," she said firmly, picking up her basket of weeds to empty and bustling him in front of her into the hut.

An hour later a very different woman left the cabin. In place of the scarf covering her head, a band of material had been folded and bound around her brow. Long, straight hair hung loose down her shoulders, over the billowy shirt tucked into breeches. A pair of tall boots had replaced the simple sandals, and a long dagger was hanging from her hip. By her side, a small and slightly awed boy walked with a bundle of clothes under his arm.

A short way away from the cabin, Anamaria gave her nephew a gentle push. "Off you go," she said.

He nodded, and stood on tiptoe to give her a quick kiss on the cheek before hurrying away.

Left alone, she shouldered her own pack, and set off at a quick, determined pace towards Tortuga.