Authors Note: The characters aren't mine and I'm just playing with them. This story takes place about a year after the events in the film.
Chapter 1 - On the Beach
The boat beached with a gentle crunch on the white sand and Jack and his crew leapt out into the warm shallows to drag it out of the reach of the sea. That accomplished, he looked around for a comfortable spot to while away the afternoon - no sense trying to work in the heat of the day and perhaps Anamaria was still feeling friendly. A couple of palm trees a few yards away were creating a tempting pool of shade over a small hollow in the sand, and that would do him, or hopefully them, nicely.
The rest of the crew scattered up and down the beach, hunting out similar spots to snooze away the long, hot afternoon. It had been a profitable voyage, with plenty of easy pickings; they had made a landing to stock up on water and such fresh food as the island could supply before returning to Tortuga, about ten days voyage away if the weather favoured them.
The Black Pearl rode at anchor in the little natural harbour, nicely concealed from any passing ships by the high ridges of rock that jutted out from the island. Just in case, he'd checked carefully for any other vessels in the area and this island was well off the standard routes. The island had a spring to refill their water supply and plenty of fish in its lagoon ready to be caught for supper. Life was good. As he reached the hollow and settled down to sleep Anamaria walked over and then nestled down against him, resting her head comfortably on his shoulder, with her arm draped over his chest. Yes, life was definitely good.
He awoke a few hours later, as the air started to cool. Anamaria was still asleep so he just lay there, enjoying the sensation of her warm weight against him and squinting out at the Pearl, bobbing on the lagoon, beautiful in the early evening light. He'd captained other ships, plenty of them, before and after Barbosa had stuck him on that bloody island. But none of them were as good as the Pearl. A fiddler had once told him that every single fiddle had its own unique voice, most bad, some good and one or two with a tone so exquisite that any fool could make men weep to hear them. The Pearl was like that; so swift, so responsive to the helm that sometimes he felt he hardly needed a crew, that it could be just him and the Pearl out there on the wide ocean, with nothing but freedom ahead of them.
Anamaria shifted slightly, her hand moving higher up his chest until it rested at the base of his throat. He glanced down at her fondly. Her face was relaxed in sleep, lacking the fierce expression that she habitually wore when she faced the world. A strange one she was: ruthless but loyal, managing the difficult balance between being a member of the crew and the Captain's lover with seeming ease. Even Gibbs had come to accept her as a full member of the crew, though after seeing her fight no sane man would want her on any side but his own. He'd been almost scared that day he'd seen her on the dock, lined up with the madmen and drunks that Gibbs had scraped out of Tortuga docks to crew the Interceptor. Anamaria was not by nature a forgiving woman, and in stealing her small boat he had dealt a severe blow to her hard-won independence. Bringing her round had taken time, patience, and more sweet talk than any five other women had ever got out of him before. Worth it though, he thought, smiling a little.
A horrible squawk right beside his ear almost made him jump out of his skin. He shot upright, dumping Anamaria in a heap on the sand, hand flying to the pistol in his belt. Then he saw what had startled him. That bloody parrot! The bird, which seemed to have excellent instincts, fluttered out of reach before he could wring its scrawny neck. He opened his mouth to yell for its owner when he spotted Cotton, labouring toward them, a worried look on his creased and weatherbeaten face. Cotton stopped a couple of feet away and began gesturing urgently, pointing at the high sand ridge which separated their beach from the next little cove on the island.
"You've found something?" Jack asked, irritably. Cotton nodded vigorously.
"Are you sure I need to see it?" Another nod.
"Are you sure that I won't kick you round the island for disturbing me for nothing once I've seen it?" Cotton's eyes flicked over to Anamaria, who hadn't bothered to get up, but was sitting sulkily on the sand trying to pull the tangles out of her hair. He grinned for a moment, which with his rotten teeth and tongueless mouth was a disturbing sight, then nodded again.
"All right, but it had better be good."
Cotton led him up the dune, to a small grass-free dip, sheltered from the sea. There were six graves, their shapes still easily discernible in the sand, which meant they were very recently dug. A couple of weeks old perhaps, but no more. A clumsy driftwood cross marked the head of each one. Judging by the faint putrid odour lingering in the air, they were a bit on the shallow side.
Cotton was looking at him expectantly.
"Look, if you think someone should go poking around in there to find out about the owners, you can do it yourself, savvy? Go and find Gibbs and tell him to get himself up here."