AU Pirates Of The Caribbean. Non movie-compliant. A little series/Sherlock canon-compliant.

Just like to say one thing, if you're thinking that I'm simply going to rewrite the Curse of The Black Pearl, no, not exactly that. The first three chapters is that, but the plot is very different. Very. Very Different.

For example... there's no betraying first mate, and there's no cursed pirates, ... but there is a curse nonetheless.

"...drink up me hearties, yo, ho...

Yo, ho, yo, ho, a pirate's life for me

Yo, ho, yo, ho, it's a pirate's life

for me..."

A gray, impenetrable wall of fog slowly shifts away to reveal a ship, massive and sombre, the Winged Victory maidenhead looming. It's a British dreadnought, the H.M.S. Dauntless. Formidable, frightening, twenty-five gun ports on a side, and rail guns to boot. From somewhere comes the faint sound of a little girl's voice, singing, slow tempo, almost under her breath. She stands at the bow railing, gazing dreamily, her voice carrying itself over the treacherous calm waters.

"...drink up me hearties, yo, ho...

We kidnap and ravage and don't give a hoot

drink up me hearties, yo, ho

yo ho

A pirate's life for me..."

Her eyes are misty green, with blonde hair elegantly swept up. She's wearing a golden delicate antique renaissance lace trimmed gown. Her eyes hold a grim fascination with unpredictability of the obscuring mist in front of her beyond her as she sings, her head cocked to one side, staring wide-eyed, like she's possessed.

"...We extort, we pilfer, we filch, we sack..."

Listening to such words roll from her innocent young tongue is almost unnerving. She's startled by a large hand clutching her shoulder.

"Quiet, missy!" The speaker is a lanky youth, his voice almost frightful, "Pirates sail these waters. You don't want to call 'em down on us, do you?" She refuses to be intimidated, instead, she watches him with the same possessed stare.

"Mister Wiggins, that will do." A voice rings out clearly from behind the two of them. It belongs to Captain James Sholto, a dashing young man, Royal Navy to the core, glares sternly at Wiggins. Standing beside him is Governor Arthur Morstan, a man of obvious high station, brass buttons on his thick blue jacket. He is the little girl Mary's father.

"She was singing about pirates!" He points an accusatory finger at the twelve year old girl, "Bad luck to sing about pirates, with us mired in this unnatural fog—mark my words."

Sholto's face and posture is unnaturally stiff. Not a muscle jumping, "Consider then marked." He looks away, "On your way."

Wiggins is obedient as ever, "Aye, Cap'n. Bad luck to have a woman on board, too. Even a mini'ture one." He returns to his deck-swabbing duties, surreptitiously takes a quick swig from flask.

"I think it would be rather exciting to meet a pirate." Mary isn't afraid to speak her mind, even when she knows that her opinion won't be valued.

"Think again, Miss Morstan. Vile and dissolute creatures, the lot of them. I intend to see to it that any man who sails under a pirate flag, or wears a pirate's brand, gets what he deserves: a short drop and a sudden stop."

Mary doesn't know what Sholto means by 'a short drop and a sudden stop'. Wiggins helpfully mimes a man being hung. She gasps, almost horrified.

"Captain Sholto... I appreciate your fervour," Governor Morstan tries to be as diplomatic as possible, "but I am concerned about the effect this subject will have upon my daughter."

He swallows, "My apologies, Governor."

"Actually I find it all very fascinating!" Mary pipes in.

"And that's what concerns me. Mary, dear... we will be landing in Port Royal very soon, and beginning our new lives. Wouldn't it be wonderful if we comport ourselves as befits our class and station?"

Chastised, she turns away, to look out over the bow rail. I still think it would be exciting to meet a pirate, she muses. The fog still hems in the ship; very little of the sea is visible—

—But suddenly, a figure comes into view. A young boy, floating on his back in the otherwise empty water. There is nothing to show where he came from, or how he came to be there. She points at the waters, shouting her words to the rest of the crew urgently.

"Look! A boy! There's a boy in the water!"

Captain Sholto and Governor Morstan turn around to see the little figure floating, his hands clutching a wooden plank.

"Man overboard!" Sholto shouts out loud.

"Boy overboard!" Mary joins in as well, very happy to give instructions like the captain, "Man the ropes! Fetch a hook! Haul him out of there!"

Quick movement and activity on the deck. Sailors use a boathook to snag the boy. He isn't breathing. Sholto and Morstan haul him aboard, and lay him on the deck, pressing his chest and resuscitating him. The boy still doesn't breathe. Mary sidles in for a closer look, her face falling as she takes pity on his small body. One final compress and the boy coughs.

"He's breathing now." They all heave a sigh of relief.

"Mary, Mother of God!"

Everyone turns at Wiggins' exclamation. Attention is turned away from the boy. The sea is no longer empty. Wreckage from a ship litters the water... along with the bodies of its crew. What is left of the ship's hull is ablaze, a ragged British flag hanging limply from the stern.

"What happened here?"

"An explosion in the powder magazine, most likely," says Sholto, "Merchant vessels run heavily armed."

"Lot of good it did them..."Everyone's thinking it! I'm saying it! Pirates!"

Governor Morstan shakes his head, laughing humourless, "There is no proof of that! It could have been an accident. Captain, these men were protection. If there is even the slightest chance one of those poor devils is still alive, we cannot abandon them!"

"Of course not, Governor," he turns away, "Come about and strike the sails! Unleash the boats! Gunnery crew... jackets off the cannons!" Then turning to him, he says reassuringly, "Hope for the best...prepare for the worst."

The Governor nods, his hand instinctively reaching for that of Mary.

"Move the boy aft. We'll need the deck clear."

They lift the boy. The governor pulls Mary away from the rail, away from the hideous scene in the water.

"Mary, I want you to accompany the boy," he tries to put on a smile for his daughter's sake, "He's in your charge now. You'll watch over him?"

Mary nods gravely. The governor's face falls and he hurries away to help unstow the longboat. The sailors lay the boy gently on the poop deck, behind the wheel, then hurry off. Mary kneels down besides the boy. He is roughly her age. His good looks are not lost on her. She reaches out, gently brushes the blond hair from his eyes—

Suddenly, he grabs her wrist, awake now. Mary is startled, but their eyes lock. She takes his hand in hers.

"It's okay," she gives him a little smile, "My name is Mary Morstan."

The boy is still scared, but is placated a bit upon seeing her, "John Watson."

"I'm watching over you, John. Sleep."

He clutches her hands, then slips back into unconsciousness. His movement has opened the collar of his shirt. Mary sees he wears a chain around his neck. She tugs it free, revealing—

A gold medallion. One side is blank. She turns it over to see a skull gazing up at her. Vaguely Aztec in design, but to her eyes, it means one thing only.

"You're a pirate!"

She glances back at the crew. Sees Sholto, giving orders, moving toward her. She looks back at John, instant fascination arising in her—and comes to a quick decision. She takes the medallion from around his neck and hides it behind her as Sholto approaches her.

"Did he speak?"

"His name is John Watson. That's all I've found out."

Sholto nods and hurries off. Mary steals away to the stern of the ship, examining her prize—the gold medallion. A wisp of wind, and she looks up—

Out over the sea, moving through the fog, silent as a ghost, is a large sailing ship, a schooner—with black sails. Mary stares, too frightened to move, or cry out. The ship is obscured by the fog it as it passes—but not the mizzen-top... and there hangs the frightening skull and crossbones of the Jolly Roger.

Mary looks from it to the medallion—the skull on the flag is the same as the one on the medallion. She imagines fog surrounding and closing in on the black ship - except for the black flag. As Mary watches, the skull appears to turn and grin at her—

Mary shuts her eyes tight...

...Eight years later

In the Governor's mansion in Port Royal, Mary's eyes snap open, soft golden morning sunshine falling on her face from the half-open windows, still looking like a princess even in her slumber. She is twenty one years old, still abed at nine in the morning, her hand clasping her pillows from the nightmare. She is shaken, startled but not fearful of the vision she had been seeing in her sleep. Mary slowly looks as far out the corner of her eyes as possible without moving. Might there be someone in the room with her, looming over her, ready to kill her if she moved?

Her fingers steal themselves towards the dagger she keeps under her bed, without the knowledge of her father or her maids. She turns, ready for anything, ready to defend herself, ready to kill her attacker. She is alone, to her utmost relief, and sighs to herself.

Mary sits up, turns up the flame on an oil lamp besides the canopied bed. She carries the lamp across the room to a dressing table, sits down. She pulls one of the small drawers all the way out, carefully reaches into a concealed space, a secret compartment beneath it and removes...

The medallion. She has kept it all this time, for all the eight years. It has a fine film of dust coated over it, but it has not lost its lustre, or its sense of menace. She gazes at it, twirling the chain around her finger and brushing the dust away from its surface. She goes to the mirror and puts it on, looking at her reflection in the mirror. She still looks like royalty even in her sleeping clothes. She imagines herself in pirate's clothes, towering over the ocean, invincible and free. Mary looks at the lens on the oil lamp, and watches how distorted the flames look in the refraction. Although she has only been taught the most basic and the most rudimentary of skills required for primary education, while the majority of her time has been spent grooming her into a fine lady, she still possesses the inquisitiveness of a child, the same twelve year old she used to be once upon a time, and needless to say, her lifelong fascination with pirates.

Suddenly, there's a booming knock on the door of her bedroom. Mary almost jumps, startled, and rushes to her bed to retrieve her dressing down, knocking over a chair as the Governor calls out.

"Mary! Is everything all right?... Are you decent?"

"Yes, yes!" She cries,

Her father enters, carrying a large box, smiling fondly at his daughter as Mary's uniformed maids enter behind him, curtseying decently to her. The medallion is hidden in the bodice of her slip as she wraps the dressing gown around herself.

"Still abed at this hour? It's a beautiful day!"

One of her maids go and throw the window open. It is indeed. Beneath a blue sky lies the bucolic town of Port Royal, built on a natural harbour. On a bluff at the mouth of the harbour stands Fort Charles, its stone parapets lined with cannon.

"I have a gift for you," says he, opening the gift box, and displaying for her a gorgeous velvet dress. She lets out an admiring gasp.

"It's... beautiful," and then she turns suspiciously to her father, "May I enquire as to the occasion?"

The Governor gives her a smirk, "Does a father require an occasion to dote upon his daughter?"

Mary happily takes it, disappears behind a screened—off dressing area. Her maids follow, carrying the box. The Governor begins again, this time a little tentative.

"Although...I did think you could wear it to the ceremony today."

"The ceremony?"

"Captain Sholto's promotion ceremony."

Mary peeks around the screen, as if to confirm her father's words. Her eyes twinkle with appreciation, "I knew it!"

"Or, rather, Commodore Sholto," he responds proudly as Mary returns to the fitting and the corset. Governor Morstan takes another step towards the window, not wanting to take anything approaching to a liberty with his daughter, "...a fine gentleman, don't you think?"

There's no answer. It maybe because of the tight bindings of the corset, or maybe because of her father's words. Either way, her eyes go wide and she gasps in surprise.

"He fancies you, you know."

Mary holds her hair and the medallion (still around her neck) out of the way as the maid cinches her into a corset over her slip. The maid has her foot in Mary's back as she pulls the laces tight. She gasps at the pain, or at the sudden lack of oxygen or again... maybe upon learning that Captain Sholto fancies her.

"Mary?" Governor Morstan's voice comes out concerned, "How's it coming?"

"It's... difficult to tell."

Her father thinks for a moment at what she meant, or whether she answered his question or not. After a beat, he decides that she didn't answer his real question and instead responds with, "I'm told that dress is the very latest fashion in London."

Mary speaks with difficulty, holding her breath, "Well, women in London must have learned how to survive without breathing."

The maids are finished. Mary takes a breath and winces. A butler appears in the doorway of the room.

"Governor? Dr. Watson is waiting for you downstairs."

"Ah, yes," Governor Morstan accompanies him out of the room as he checks the time in his pocket watch, "Must go now."

Dr. John Watson, handsome, with a watchful demeanour that gives him weight beyond his years, and dressed in his middle class clothes, stands in the foyer, looking very out of place in the posh surroundings, and knowing it. He holds a small case, presumably containing his doctor's equipment. He polishes the toes of his boots on the back of his calves, but it doesn't help.

"Good day to you, sir," he greets the Governor coming down the stairs.

"Ah, Dr. Watson, good day to you too. Thank you very much for coming. Pray sit down... I am very concerned about—"

He rolls his sleeve back to reveal a developing soreness in his skin, red and disgusting. John takes a look at it, as if used to such skin disorders, "Nothing to worry about, Governor. You have a weed growing in your garden perhaps. These rashes are caused from poison oak and similar things," he started writing down on a paper his prescription as Governor Morstan started making conversation with him, "And Doctor Watson, I heard that you were called to Cummingham's residence the previous week. How's their little son now?"

John smiles amiably, while writing down the treatment, "I'm afraid I'm not at liberty to say, sir, him being my patient."

Governor Morstan gives a short laugh, "Of course, yes, doctor. Forgive me for my impertinence, but I did hear that they had a witch haunting the house... you know, folks like us, we can't really... I mean, whenever that happens... whenever a witch trips upon a household, people die."

John hands him the prescription, "Well then, death follows when a doctor arrives in your house, isn't it?"

The Governor pats him affectionately on his shoulder like an old comrade, "Of course, yes. Always the witty young man. But I doubt that such a poisonous weed should be growing in my garden."

John smiles at him politely, "Otherwise you wouldn't have got the rashes on your forearm, which is always clearly hidden under your sleeve at all times when you're outside your estate... Anyway, avoid all attempts at scratching the affected area and... do make this preparation and dissolve it in lukewarm water for fifteen minutes, and then dip clean linen in it and apply it gently on the skin—"

He stops speaking abruptly, staring past the Governor who is clearly impressed by John's reasoning—

Mary stands on the stairs. Granted, the dress may be painful to wear, but holy smokes, she looks absolutely gorgeous. John tries to speak, but can't, finding himself completely besotted by the fine woman in front of him. He gives up, smiles to himself, and simply nods emphatically. Governor Morstan forsakes his treatment and rolls his sleeve back down, "Mary, you look stunning!"

Completely disregarding her father upon seeing the young handsome doctor beside him, Mary rushes down the stairs to greet him enthusiastically, her hand going to the chain around her throat on its own accord, where the medallion is hidden in the bodice of her dress.

"John! It's so good to see you again... I had a dream about you last night!"

John's eyes narrow, and he reacts with undisguised surprise. It's clear that he considers himself below her station, "Really?!"

Meanwhile, her father chastises, "Mary, this is hardly appropriate—"

But she simply ignores her father again, "About the day we met. Do you remember?"

John looks like he is honoured to be even reminded by her of that day where she had saved him, "How could I forget it, Miss Morstan?"

"John, how many times must I ask you to call me Mary?"

"At least once more, Miss Morstan. As always."

Mary's smile drops. She looks openly disappointed and hurt by his response.

"Well said, doctor! There's a someone who understands propriety. Now, we must be going. I'll do as you advice, doctor. Thank you very much."

John notes Mary's expression, and his face falls too, the colour draining from his cheeks. He feels very sorry for what he has said, but her father had been there in front of her. There wasn't anything else he could've said without upsetting the Governor. She fixes him with a hard look, "Good day, Dr. Watson."

With that, she sweeps out of there regally, leaving an apologetic John behind, who bows low as she straightens her back, gathers her skirts and strides past him and out of the door which her father holds open for her.

The Governor follows her out of the door as John calls out, "Good day."

As the doors of the mansion close behind him, he watches Mary being helped into the carriage, and he almost whispers so that no one can hear him, "Mary."

In the carriage, the Governor glowers at her daughter, "Dear, I do hope you demonstrate a bit more decorum in front of Commodore Sholto. After all, it is only through his efforts that Port Royal has become at all civilized, in the least."

Mary doesn't allow herself to look at John's figure as he stands at the doors of her mansion, "Yes, father."

At the mouth of the Port Royal harbour, the skeletal remains of four pirates, still clad in buccaneer rags, hang from gallows erected on a rocky promontory. There is a fifth, unoccupied gallows, bearing a sign:

PIRATES—YE BE WARNED

The top of a billowing sail passes regally in front of them. On the landward face of the sail, apparently high in the rigging, is a man for whom the term 'swashbuckling rogue' was coined: Captain Altamont, tall, imposing, and dashing even in his unkempt clothes and wild untamed long curly hair flowing across his face, as a consequence of plundering relentlessly through the seas for years. His eyes twinkle with conquest and the promise of challenge at the new land out in front of him. His long fingers wrap themselves around the rigging, looking almost like a king against the sunrise, like a saviour instead of a pirate or a vandal.

He gazes keen-eyed at the display as they pass. He raises a tankard in salute. Suddenly, something below catches his attention. He grabs the ropes and jumps from the rigging . Contrary to what he was imagining, his is ship is not an imposing three-master, but just a small fishing dory with a single sail, ploughing through the water—the Jolly Mon.

And it leaks. Which is why he has the tankard: to bail.

Altamont steps back to the tiller, and using a single sheet to control the sail, and the Jolly Mon comes around the promontory, the whole of Port Royal laid out before him.

The huge British dreadnought, H.M.S. Dauntless dominates the bay. But Altamont's attention is on a different ship: the H.M.S. Interceptor, a small sleek vessel with rail guns and a mortar in the middle of the main deck. It is tied up at the Navy landing, at the base of the cliffs below Fort Charles.

At the docks, seamen are loading their ships with goods and livestock, when they see Altamont's little boat slowly sinking into the water as he smoothly and with no wasted movement hauls down the sail, stows it, guides the dory alongside a dock. What looks like awe plastered on their faces is only amazement at the ruffian's example of the famous saying: the Captain goes down with the ship.

The Harbourmaster, a long ledger tucked under his arm, is there to catch a line and help Altamont tie up. He watches him with incredulity.

"If you're out rolling scuppers in this tub, you're either incredibly brave or incredibly stupid."

But Altamont only gives him a toothy smile, revealing white teeth in spite of the condition of his clothes, "Mind you, my dear fellow. Bravery and stupidity are synonyms, you don't need to repeat 'em."

He promptly starts up the dock, strapping on his sword belt; besides the scabbard, it also carries a compass, pistol and small powder horn. The Harbourmaster cuts him off.

"It's a shilling for the dock space, and you're going to have to give me your name."

Altamont takes his hat off and rubs at his untidy moustache, seeing the man's fingers rolling a coin between them. He smirks to himself, realising that the man must be money minded.

"What do you say to three shillings, and we forget the name?"

He tosses three shillings onto the ledger. The Harbourmaster considers, then takes the coins in his hands and deposits them back into Altamont's pocket and pats it, "I'll be sure to call for the colonel, my dear sir."

Altamont bites the inside of his cheeks in annoyance. Of course, he realises, there's a child behind him. What man would take bribe in front of a child? He always misses something. Something to do with sentiment. He throws his scanning gaze up and down the man, and smiles at his good luck, "And I'll be sure to tell him that the window in your bedroom is to the right, and always faces the sunrise, and that you're sleeping with his wife in the same bedroom."

The Harbourmaster looks startled for a moment, and then welcomes him with a strained smile as he grudgingly accepts a shilling from Altamont, "Welcome to Port Royal, Mr. Smith."

Altamont gives him a half-salute as he goes past, scowling distastefully at the most common surname in the world as if it does not befit his Highness, and picking up the small pouch full of coins on his way. He looks across the water toward the Interceptor, and smiles. Above the Interceptor, among the parapets of Fort Charles, a ceremony is underway.

With choreographed precision, Governor Morstan, smiling proudly, removes a sleek sword and scabbard from a navy blue presentation case, held by a uniformed Navy man. He slides the sword into the scabbard, holds it out vertically to the now Commodore Sholto, in full dress uniform.

Sholto grasps the scabbard above Governor Morstan's hand, and Governor Morstan lets go. Sholto draws the sword, flourishes the sword, and snaps the blade up in front of his face. Governor Morstan steps forward, pins a medal to Sholto's jacket, steps back.

Sholto nods, turns smartly and nods to his fellow officers, turns again and nods to the audience, the dignitaries, merchants, plantation owners, their families. Another flourish, and he returns the sword to its scabbard.

The silence is broken by loud applause. In the audience, Mary doesn't look so good, out beneath the hot sun. She applauds briefly, then winces, discreetly trying to adjust the corset through the material of the dress, then resumes clapping, trying to hide her discomfort.

In the Port Royal Navy Docks, Two sailors on sentry duty take advantage of what little shade there is on the dock. But when Altamont saunters up, they are immediately on alert.

"This dock is off-limits to civilians."

Altamont feigns ignorance, "Oh, I'm terribly sorry. I'll let you know if I notice."

With a charming smile, he saunters past them confidently towards the Interceptor, but his path his blocked by the two sailors, "Hold it there, you!" One of them orders him. Music drifts down from Fort Charles. Altamont looks up and shields his eyes.

"Some sort of to-do up at the fort, eh?" he asks conversationally, "How come two...erm," he studies them with distaste, "upstanding gentlemen such as yourselves did not merit an invitation?"

One of them stammers as they try to reason it out, "No... someone has to make sure this dock stays off-limits to civilians."

He surveys them curiously, and then the Interceptor, gazing at it like a child gazes at a dinosaur skeleton in the museum, "This must be some important boat."

"Ship."

"Aye," he smiles, trying his best not to be bored with the dull conversation, "Ship."

"Captain Sholto's made it his flagship," says the other proudly, "He'll use it to hunt down the last dregs of piracy on the Spanish Lake."

"Commodore," the first one interrupts, while Altamont listens to their conversation intently. The best way to catch gossip is from bored sentries on duty, according to him.

"Right. Commodore Sholto."

Altamont claps in a drunken, lousy imitation of appreciative applause, "That's a fine goal, I'm sure... But it seems to me a ship like that," says he, indicating to the Dauntless, "makes this one here just a wee superfluous."

"Oh, the Dauntless is the power in these waters, true enough," one of the sailors lets out a short laugh, "but there's no ship that can match the Interceptor for speed."

Now it seems as if Altamont wants to come across to them as a drunk, as he slurs very slightly at his words, "That so? I've heard of one, supposed to be fast, nigh uncatchable..." he pauses before saying the name, "The Black Pearl?"

One of them scoffs at the name, "There's no real ship as can match the Interceptor."

The other one turns to look at him weirdly, "The Black Pearl is a real ship."

"No, it's not."

"Yes it is. I've seen it."

"You've seen it?"

"Yes."

Altamont sees them entering into an argument, and murmurs, "Best leave you to it, my good officers," and sneaks out of there. The officers, meanwhile continue to argue just to pass their time.

"You've seen THE Black Pearl?"

"Yes."

"You haven't seen it."

" Yes, I have."

"You've seen a ship with black sails that's crewed by the damned and captained by a man so evil that hell itself spat him back out?"

The other sailor looks confused for a moment, "...no..."

"No."

"But I've seen a ship with black sails," he replies, still confused.

"Oh, and no ship that's not crewed by the damned and captained by a man so evil hell itself spat him back out could possibly have black sails and therefore couldn't possibly be any ship other than the Black Pearl. Is that what you're saying?"

His eyes narrow, "...No."

They both turn back to where Altamont was there, "Like I said, there's no real ship that—"

They look around in confusion and spot Altamont standing at the wheel of the Interceptor, casually examining the mechanism.

"You! Get away from there! You don't have permission to be aboard there!"

Altamont looks over in exaggeratedly innocent surprise, like a baby ready to burst into tears. The sailors hurry toward the gangplank and point their rifles at him. He hold his hands up and spreads his palm apologetically.

"I'm sorry. It's just such a pretty boat... Ship," says he, stroking the rudder as if it were an animal waiting to be tamed. The sailors study him suspiciously.

"What's your name?"

"Smith... or Smithy if you don't like it."

One of the sailors rolls his eyes, "What's your business in Port Royal, 'Mr. Smith'?"

"And no lies!"

Altamont makes his best kicked puppy face, "None at all?"

"NO!"

He rolls his eyes and drawls, coming up closer to them and smiling maniacally. The sailors back away even with their rifles, even if Altamont is almost unarmed, "Very well. You've rumbled me. I confess: I intend to commandeer one of these ships, pick up a crew in Tortuga, and go out on the account, do a little honest pirating. Happy?"

The sailors look grossed, "No lies!"

"I think he's telling the truth."

Altamont stares at them incredulously, wondering how they aren't buying it, after being so very predictably stupid.

"He's not telling the truth."

"He may be."

"If he were telling the truth he wouldn't have told us."

Altamont decides to help the poor wretched souls with a very obvious hint, "Unless, of course, he knew you wouldn't believe the truth if he told it to you."

Mary, pale and perspiring, fans herself weakly, oblivious to the music and chatter. Sholto approaches her, "May I have a moment?"

He extends his arm. She takes it. He walks her away from the party, toward the parapet. A rather too long of a silence as Sholto works up his courage, "You look lovely, Mary."

Mary frowns, unable to focus, her vision blacking out as a result of the lack of oxygen. Sholto mistakes her expression as disapproval, "I apologize if I seem forward but I must speak my mind."

She pays no attention to his words as she clutches her stomach and tries to breath against the bindings of the corset.

"This promotion confirms that I have accomplished the goals I set for myself in my career," he speaks slowly, working his courage up as he goes, "But it also casts into sharp relief that which I have not achieved. The thing all men most require: a marriage to a fine woman."

He turns to her, who is trying her best to look at him while fanning herself most urgently, "You have become a fine woman, Mary."

"I can't breathe!"

Sholto smiles to himself, blushing a little and turning away to hide it, "Yes, I'm a bit nervous myself—"

Mary loses her balance, stumbles away from Sholto. She reaches a hand out to the parapet to steady herself, but it slides off, and then she vanishes over the wall. Gone. He turns back to hear a mighty splash of water, "Mary?!" And then he realises what has happened.

"Mary!"

He instantly sheds his Navy jacket, preparing to dive after her to save her, but two of his officers come up from behind him and restrain him, having heard the splashing, "Sir! The rocks! It's a miracle she missed them!"

Sholto shakes off his arm, looks down—and realizes that the Lieutenant is right. He jumps down and runs, a man of action, pushes everyone away and towards the docks to save her.

In the Interceptor, where Altamont is showing off by telling the two sailors on sentry duty, reacts to the sight of Mary plummeting into the sea.

"Aren't you going to save her?" He asks, in a feeble attempt to regain the boat... ship.

They shake their heads, "I can't swim!"

Altamont grits his teeth and rolls his eyes, "Pride of the King's Navy, you are! Bloody sailors!"

Above where Mary struggles in the water. Sholto and several other men pick their way down the cliffs. They are too far away to get to her in time.

"You're the one who's talking about being brave!" they reply indignantly. They do have a point, no matter how made up and untrue Altamont's stories were. Altamont has no choice, and it pisses him off.

"Fine," he growls, "Don't lose these."

He hands them his hat, his belt, his sword, his compass, and his jacket, and dives into the water, swimming towards Mary, and stops momentarily when he feels a current pass through him. He frowns, and spots the medallion around her neck, trying to swim free.

"Oh Lord!" he exclaims as he sees it glinting menacingly even through hazy vision.

A silence falls over Port Royal. At Fort Charles, The Union Jack flies, blown from an offshore breeze. Suddenly the wind dies, and the flag goes limp. On the docks, wood and metal fittings on lines bang against masts. The wind dies, and there is silence. A Caribe woman feeds clucking chickens, and she frowns when they all suddenly go quiet. A weather vane moves slightly in the wind. The wind stops, and all is still. And then it turns, and holds steady, the wind has picked up again, but now blows from the sea toward the land.

An old man pulls a rope line, pauses. He turns and gazes to the sky, frowning. The mangy hound at his side starts barking incessantly. The lines bang against the other sides of the masts, the wind far stronger now.

Altamont grins at the changes. The Black Pearl was coming. Time to be a hero now.

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