Title: It's A Small World After All…
Author: Drey'auc475
PIRATES OF THE CARIBBEAN 2: DEAD MAN'S CHEST
Rating: T
Spoilers: COTBP and DMC
Genre: Action/Adventure/Romance
Setting: After Dead Man's Chest
Summary: Jack is in the service of Davy Jones, and once again surrounded by the Undead. He has to get Jones' Heart back, or loose everything he has… and had found once again.
A/N: this is a new story that I have started. I hope you like it.
-----Prologue-----
This story starts with fog. We last saw Captain Jack disappear in an un-winnable battle with the Kraken aboard his ship the Black Pearl. His ship has since been devoured, in a sense, by the sea monster. This story takes part after the ship was sunk.
-----Welcome to the Family, Sparrow-----
The Flying Dutchman sailed slowly through the blinding fog that surrounded her. She glided smoothly through the waters at a tenth of her best speed. Aboard her, on the decks, her crew scurried about, pulling ropes, manning sails.
Up on the quarter deck, two figures stood by the helm, watching and waiting. A man with the eyes of a bird would be able to see through the fog and make out the shape of the Dutchman's captain, the legendary man whose name brought chills to every sailor's bones. Davy Jones. His tentacles quivered in anxiousness, as he waited. The figure, standing two feet behind him, laid a gentle hand on his arm. He glanced back at them and flexed his claw.
This other person was tall and slender, and the sharp-eyed man who observed would see that the figure was that of a woman. The Observer would ask himself what a woman was doing aboard the Flying Dutchman, the most dreaded pirate ship on the seas. Her name was Olivia.
Her dark hair fluttered on the wind, and the skirt of the pale blue gown she wore whipped about. She too, seemed quite anxious. She twisted about a worn linen handkerchief in her barnacle-free hands. This was perhaps the most remarkable thing about this woman. Her skin, pale in the dim, ghostly light of the fading day, was free of barnacles, shells or lichen that seemed to grow on every inch of the ship, even the crew.
A disturbance in the water caught her and the captain's attention. They moved to the port-side of the ship. The water was littered with hundreds of pieces of timber, rope and sail. Olivia watched as the top half of the mast floated past, with the Pearl's Jolly Roger still clinging to it. The disturbance happened again. It was hard to pick it, because anyone would have thought it to be a barrel rolling about on the swell. Only one who has seen it many times before knows how to notice it.
A battered, brown tentacle broke the surface of the water and weaved up through the foam and debris that it had caused. It snaked over to Jones and he ran a barnacled hand over it, caressing it. He smiled proudly at the tentacle and it gave a smug wiggle. Jones leaned over the balustrade and looked down into the water. The woman stayed a foot or two away from the railing. She had seen it many times.
A shape broke the water near the hull of the ship, and from it came the monstrous, gaping maw of the Kraken. It spurted water from its jaws and the pungent stench of its breath spread like a poisonous gas cloud. A mere mortal would be reduced to a choking, terrified mass, their eyes tearing and their legs trebling. But the crew were greatly unaffected by the odor.
The ship lurched a little as the massive creature pushed its mouth out of the water a little further. Jones watched intently as another damaged tentacle reached into its own mouth and fastened around something. Slowly the tentacle began to rise again, slower than it normally would, due to several raw wounds that had been inflicted in its attack of the Pearl.
Olivia stepped closer to the railing as the tentacle reached their height. The tentacle extended over the deck and dropped its burden onto the ship.
She dashed forwards, gathering her skirts and knelt over the figure, her face etched with concern.
It was a man, a man she had known long ago. His battered brown coat was covered in the slaver from the Beast. The slaver would have eventually eaten away the flesh on his bones, had he still been among the living. It coated his face, his arms, and his clothing. In fact, it was the only thing that had kept his hat on his head. The infamous Captain Jack Sparrow lay unconscious on the quarter deck of the Flying Dutchman, while Davy Jones glared down at him.
"Welcome to the family, Jack Sparrow," he said, maliciously. The few crew members around them snickered. All those, but one. A lone pirate, with a brand new barnacle growing on his left cheek, stood staring at the man on the deck with no emotion. This was Bootstrap Bill. An age old friend of Sparrow's, and he was saddened indeed, to see him lying there under the gaze of Davy Jones.
The captain turned to Olivia. "Get him cleaned up, and bring him to my cabin when he wakes up," he barked.
She ducked her head at him. "Yes, Captain."
He knelt down closer to Sparrow and gripped the man's face in his hand. "I will make you pay, Sparrow, and you will not get a moment's rest!" once again the crew sniggered. Olivia tensed slightly.
Jones' eyes darted up to her. She ducked her head down again. Fire burned in the old pirate's eyes and he stood and stormed off the quarter deck. She exhaled with relief. No matter how long she had been on this ship, she was still afraid of Davy Jones. His moods could change like no one else's.
Olivia stood and took a half step away from Sparrow. "You two," she called to two of the crew who were mopping the deck. "Take him to my cabin, now." They dropped their mops instantly and lifted Sparrow by his arms and dragged him down the stairs and below deck. Bootstrap stood nearby, and she turned to him.
"Take care of him, Bill," she whispered to him, her face etched with concern.
"Yes, Mistress," Bootstrap replied as he followed them down the stairs. Olivia turned away from the railing and ascended the stairs onto the Poop deck. She twisted the handkerchief in her hands again and gazed out over the ocean. Three crewmembers in a long boat, were now rowing around the wreckage with a net, so as to drag the pieces of the Pearl together so that they could be salvaged. Softly, she began to sing.
Every member of the crew paused in their jobs to listen to her sad and morose song. There were some legends amongst pirates, sailors and the like, that every time a sailor perished, or drowned, those nearby would hear a sad, ghostly song, sang by a woman aboard a ship, filled with the ghosts of sailors that had died at sea.
As she sang above deck, below, in the captain's cabin, Davy Jones swayed to the song as it drifted in through his open window port. It didn't cheer him – far from it in fact. But it comforted him to know that someone else on the ship felt as he did, for the woman that broke his heart.
Finally the notes of the song came to their end and Olivia headed below deck. The crew returned to their duties and the Flying Dutchman vanished into the fog.
-----XXX-----
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