Prologue

The Caribbean Islands: June 11th, 1732

The busy tavern in Saint Lucia was bustling with men and woman, drinking and singing and having a good time. A group of bar men stood, huddled around a small wooden table, where an older man with a white and gray beard sat and told a story of long ago. Across the bar, three women sat, hung on a rather tiny man's arms. He smiled at them graciously, before one ran her fingers across his bald head. Up rickety the stairs of the tavern, four men (one tall and lanky with a wooden eye, the other short and raggedy, another one white long brown hair and rather chubby, and the last one was tall and upright) sat around a table, playing a rather intense game of cards, their faces laced with unreadable expressions of professional gamblers.

Across the room from them, a man with black dreadlocks and a tri-corn hat, and an old, worn out devil sat making gestures to a parchment map in front of them. One took a swig of rum from a tin glass before focus was aimed at another figure. This one sat at a table alone, her long, knotted and braided hair laying down her tan back. Under her eyes, blue dots lane and decorated her small face. The African American woman ran a hand down her torn dress before chipping to the monkey on the railing over looking the bar down below. It turned its furred head and climbed onto her shoulders.

From down below, there was a sudden commotion, the front door of the eatery, drink-eyr, and sing-ery swinging open. In stepped a crew of men, dressed in brilliant brocades of gold and fine laces. The tall feather upon his hat beaconed out to the Captain's up above and called out danger. This one man raised his hand subconsciously to his thin mustache, his other resting on the sheathed hilt of his sword and then called out the bar owner. He looked over to the man and spat out a rather insulting phrase.

The man standing next to the Spaniard pulled out a pistol and shot the man right in the chest.

With in moments, the tavern was erupted into a chaotic pandemonium of swashbuckling drunks and screaming women. Swords were drawn and swung, while the Motley crew of pirates mentioned before scrambled to remove themselves from the fight. Joshamee Gibbs raced from his spot at the wooden table, ducking under men and women alike, before grasping his friend Marty from the grasp of a rather intoxicated prostitute. Racing up the stairs, Joshamee and Marty were met the other party as well. From the bottom of the stair case, the original causers of the pandemic and some others from their crew stood, posed and ready to attack. Jack Sparrow and Henry Barbossa both looked at one another, before the head Spaniard called out to them.

The voice was menacing and laced with a language that Sparrow or any member of his crew spoke. Confused glances were exchanged quickly, as the bar fight continued below and behind them. Out of the corner of his eye, Jack watched a man be thrown off the railing and falling yelping onto a keg of rum.

"Ah? Could you repeat that… in English. Mate?"

The men dressed in decadence looked extremely displeased, and just as witty Captain Jack was about to say something else, a few men from the bar fight stepped in and threw some punches at the Spanish crew. Hats were lost and swords were dropped. The crew of pirates saw this as their chance, fleeing from the tavern through the front door and out onto the busy cobblestone street where drinking and singing continued on, unalarmed by the fight pursuing inside. The crew stumbled out, running as fast as they could from the scene, while beaten and disoriented Spanish crew members hastily rushed out after them.

The chase through the Caribbean island's street ended at the docks, where crews ditched the land for sea and mounted ships as fast as they could. Anchors were reeled in, sails let free, ropes tied and untied. Soon both captains, both Spanish and pirate, were barking orders at men, pulling out of the harbor as quick as they could.

The Black Pearl got a lead over the Spanish ship Bella Muerte as the port of Saint Lucia was left in a ravish of waves and sea water splashing upon the unlabored docks. The ships sped out of the port and onto the calm sea. Night had set in, and the stars shown brightly in the unpolluted air. Wind was raking gently against the sails, while Jack smiled to himself up upon the deck of the Pearl.

He did it. He had stolen the Spanish Gold. And they knew.

But, now as Jack wallowed in his pride, he did not realize the approaching Spanish Armada ship. The wind had picked up, and now, as the enemy was closing in, jack could only wish for one thing…

The safety of the dear old Pearl and it's poor, crew…

…

Canon Fire.

…

Shouts…

…

"The Mass!"

Cracks, crashes.

More shouts. But they are louder. Panicked.

More fierce canon fire.

Louder. Louder.

LOUDER…

and then, a sickening silence as the Black Pearl slipped beneath the waves.

Present Day: Castries, Saint Lucia.

"It says the Black Pearl did tons of stuff… run from French and British authorities, steal and loot… It even says at one point, it had a run in with the Flying Dutchman…" a small Chinese woman sat in the café of the local coffee Shoppe, spilling over the information on her silver laptop. She sipped casually at an iced tea, before looking to the woman next to her.

"The Flying Dutchman?" The brunette asked, cocking a thin eyebrow, "Like Davy Jones, Flying Dutchman?"

"That's what the website says, but… I don't know…" The oriental woman shrugged. Her friend laughed, before slugging back more of her water.

"Chun, that ship wasn't even real. I bet it's all about popularity, anyway. Plaster that on a ship and you'll get people from everywhere looking for it." The brunette explained, causing Chun to sigh, "But, why are you looking into this ship so much? I though it was 'just a ship' like all the other ones?"

"I said that before I did some research on it! I thought for once I'd look into this one, Charlotte. I think if we are going to go diving to find this thing, then we ought to know what happened during its golden years."

"We're hired to find the thing, not take it out on a date," Charlotte laughed into her drink, while Chun punched her friend in the arm. Chun's stubbornness shown through and she smiled, scrolling down on the webpage more. Information came in paragraphs, explaining the timely demise of the crafty, said-to-be cursed ship.

"It says, 'The Pearl was said to be ported in Saint Lucia, when a Spanish armada ship named Bella Muerte, or Beautiful Death, attacked it just outside of the port, blindsiding the ship. The Pearl was sunk along with the gold that the Spanish were trying to reclaim. All crew was lost in the fight.'" Chun read aloud.

"Okay. So it sunk… and everyone died," Charlotte paused and placed down her water bottle, condensation sweating away onto the oak bar top, "You're dark, depressingly, shipwrecked point is?"

"Spanish gold, Charlotte! This is the stuff our team has been looking for! Legends from everywhere are saying this stuff is cursed. Maybe that's why the Pearl didn't make it out alive!"

"So… If we find the ship…" Charlotte began.

"We find the gold…" Chun continued.

"And we get paid a bonus!" Charlotte smiled. Chun's smile disappeared, and she placed her head in her hands.

"No, 'Lotte. We make history. Then we get paid."