Author's Note: Random plot bunny strikes again!
Its pretty AU… could come before the movies… or just have nothing to do with them. Interpret at will.
This is kind of based on Captain Corelli's Mandolin, which I am reading and loving at the moment.
If you read it, let me know what you think, and I'll try to get another chapter up soon.
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Summary: When the East India Company occupies Tortuga to deal with the piracy, Captain Jack Sparrow of the Royal Navy finds himself trying to find his place on island that hates him. Billeted in a doctor's house, he finds himself falling in love with the doctor's daughter Esther. But Esther is determined to be his enemy, and he must grow to understand her passion for freedom before he can truly understand her. Decisions must be made and alliances must be decided upon. What will Jack do?
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It was funny, in a way. Funny how the entire population of an island could stand together, staring at the same man, and be absolutely silent. Although the silence was not funny. It was absolutely still and almost terrifying; it seemed there was not a sound on the entire island of Tortuga.
It was a cool day; the sky and sea both appeared grey, and gathering clouds promised a storm. A light wind tousled the hair of the whores, and caused the mothers to pull their children closer.
As the first drops of rain began to hit the faces of the crowd, Lord Cutler Beckett smirked at them from the top of his horse. The faces that looked back at him held expressions of fear, anger, hatred and confusion. Small children, with filthy faces and ragged clothing, clung to their mothers. Wives held onto their husbands. Whores huddled together.
"Tortuga." Beckett almost purred the word, letting it roll from his tongue slowly, savouring it. He spoke quietly, but everyone heard him clearly. "I am Lord Beckett."
Nobody spoke, just as Beckett had predicted. His smirk widened a little. He clicked his fingers briskly and Mercer handed him the thick, embellished sheet of paper. Beckett unrolled it leisurely with his black-gloved hands.
"Thank you, Mr Mercer," he smiled. He cleared his throat before starting to read. "Under the order of the King, the island of Tortuga is to be occupied by members of the British Navy and the East India Trading Company, due to the island's involvement in acts against the Crown." A sheet of lightning illuminated the sky momentarily. Captain Jack Sparrow thought that this was simply too effective. Bloody Beckett; the man was always so lucky. Beckett paused dramatically as thunder rumbled. "The island is under the charge of Lord Cutler Beckett- that is to say, me."
Still nobody in the crowd spoke. Captain Sparrow had been expecting some trouble. An old woman was weeping into her son's shoulder. Sparrow watched her for a moment, and then something to the left of her caught his eye.
Beckett was talking again. "… I shall leave the island under the care of Admiral Powell…"
Sparrow was transfixed; his pulse had started to race. It wasn't the small young women who caught his eye- rather, it was the little shape concealed in her apron. She was clinging to it with an elfin hand.
"Occupation?" Finally one of the occupants of the island had spoken. It was an old man with a bald head and a lavish black beard. "Yer can't do this to us!"
Sparrow wasn't one of Beckett's best men for no reason. He could spot trouble easily. The trouble was how to deal with the trouble now he had found it. He thought quickly.
"I think you'll find I can," Beckett said silkily, sliding calmly down from the horse. Around him, the fifty members of the Navy gripped their weapons more tightly, Captain Sparrow one of them. Beckett walked slowly over to the crowd.
If Sparrow spoke up about the girl, she would be in serious trouble. At best, detained here on Tortuga, although it was possible Beckett would take her back to Port Royal, where his main base was, to jail her or hang her there. At worst, she would be shot where she stood. The first death of this occupation. Sparrow considered. She was too old to be considered a child, but too young, in his opinion, to be a wife.
There was a muscular man a small way away from her, with a dark, strong face. Sparrow glanced between the woman and the man.
He made up his mind. "Officers! That man has a pistol!" he shouted suddenly, pointing at the man.
Beckett hurried back towards his horse as the officers rushed towards the startled man. As they surrounded him, all attention was on him. Sparrow moved forwards swiftly. The young woman had her hand around the barrel of her pistol; she was about to pull it out. Sparrow grabbed her wrist firmly from behind her and she froze.
"Give me the gun," he hissed into her ear.
She started to struggle, but when he grabbed her other arm tightly, she stopped moving and demanded quietly, "What are you doin'? You knew I had the pistol."
Sparrow looked up. The man he had accused was being searched. There was little time left before it was discovered that he didn't actually have a weapon. "I'm saving your life," he informed her. "Now give me the pistol."
She looked up at him and he found himself almost troubled by her pallor; her hair was practically flaming orange in colour, like the sun blazing high above the open sea. But her skin was ashen, almost with no colour at all.
She considered him, staring hard at his face, which he tried to keep inexpressive. Then she shoved the cold gun into his hand almost forcefully and stepped back from him, watching the weapon disappear into his neat uniform. "Why did you do that?" she asked quietly.
"He has a pistol!" Admiral Powell declared loudly.
Sparrow jerked his head away from the woman he had saved. The dark man was staring without emotion. Admiral Powell was holding a pistol, similar to the one he had just taken from the woman. Sparrow cursed silently.
"Put him on the return ship," Beckett ordered.
As they placed the man in irons, the woman before Captain Sparrow whimpered. "Anatole," she whispered. A French name. Sparrow was sensing trouble again.
The man named Anatole was being dragged towards the ships. Now his clear grey eyes were starting to show a hint of panic. The crowd was starting to become uneasy, murmuring and whispering in horror.
"Anatole!" The young woman shouted it this time, taking a step forward. The man looked at her but said nothing. The woman started to move forward.
"Captain Sparrow, hold her still, will you?" Admiral Powell barked over his shoulder, gesturing towards the woman who was starting to weep.
Sparrow caught hold of her arm again but she struggled. "Anatole!"
"I love you!" Anatole called back, now disappearing from sight. The crowd was starting to shout. "God, I love you, Esther!" Were they lovers? Sparrow felt a pang of guilt, then realised the woman called Esther had all but pulled herself free from his grasp. He placed his other hand on her shoulder.
She looked up at him and he noticed that the eyes shining with tears were also clear grey; Anatole was her brother. "Get off me!" she screeched, suddenly swinging her hand. She slapped him hard around the face, and he was so startled he let go of her.
She turned to look at her brother, but he had vanished into a ship. All the fight went out of her then. She crumpled to the ground and sobbed. Sparrow stared down at the top of her head, at the strangely bright hair that had pretty much come free from the bun she wore it in. Then he looked up at the accusing faces of the crowd, all looking at him in anger, and the blank faces of his comrades.
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When Esther Chambers arrived home, her eyes burned from crying. Her shoulders still trembled, and her breathing was sharp.
The storm was raging. Esther had been soaked through climbing the steep, rocky hill to her home. Her hair was stuck to her neck, her blue dress was almost translucent with the water. Even the boots she wore, originally the property of her father, had let some water in.
"Father?" she called in a small voice she didn't recognise as she entered the house, stepping into the kitchen.
Doctor Chambers had been unable to go down to the ships; he was attending to a patient in the house. Instead he had sent his children, Anatole and Esther, to find out what was happening.
Her father appeared in the doorway that led to the hall. He opened his mouth then closed it, taking in her soaked dress and, more importantly, the red rims around her eyes. "Anatole," he said quietly, shaking his head. "Esther, where is Anatole?"
She could not stand to look at his heartbroken face. A painful lump was rising in her throat. She stared at her feet. "They took him."
"Why did they take him?"
"I… Father, I know you said not to, but we took pistols. Well, I did not know that Anatole had." Esther was close to tears again.
Doctor Chambers did not know what to say to his daughter. Esther found herself in her father's arms, her face pressed to his chest. Somehow the tears broke free of her eyes, and she was certain that her father spilled a few onto the top of her head.