Chapter one: A plot and a plan
Torches lined the stone walls, casting an eerie glow as a somewhat tall rakish man made his way through the passage way, to guards flanking him easily. He walked with a swagger, though a trace of a limp was detected. His left hand rested lightly on the hilt of his sword, and his right was on the handle of his pistol. He was a guest, true, but he was still wary. Betrayal was something one could not forget, so one does not place ones' self heartily and unprotected in the face of danger, even if it might not be there.
The third man following had yet to see the face of the visitor due to the heavy traveling cloak he wore, in rich and heavy velvet pulled low over his brow. All he knew was that he was an honored guest, and was to be sent to fetch something. That was all.
"Enter," a voice called out as one of the guards knocked on the large wooden door at the end of the hallway. The door opened and the party entered; the guards placing themselves by the doors, the visitor standing in the middle of the room, in front of the desk, and the third man behind the desk and the host.
"Well Mr. Fox, have you thought why you are here?" the host asked. He was elderly, though still a tough component on the battle field. A lord of some right, and vaguely related to the slightly dead Howard line. His long beard was pure white, as was his curly hair under his circlet. He wore heavy robes of ermine and silk which suggested wealth in other ways then his title. His dark eyes twinkled with some unknown merriment and his face held a smirk.
"I have; many in fact. But I wish to hear the real reason," the guest, Mr. Fox, said curtly.
"And?"
"Lord Hanover, I am completely unaware at this point as to why I am here. Your son has kept quiet as well," Mr. Fox gestured to the third man, standing behind Lord Hanover. Francis Hanover nodded slightly. He was an imitation of his father, though with jet black hair–minus the beard. He was striking, but he looked as if his skin was stretched too tight about his frame.
"Very well then. I would like you to go to your home; the Caribbean. Jamaica, of course. And fetch me a maid, by the name of Anya Jacqueline and brig her back here."
"And I am doing this because...?" Mr. Fox asked, frowning slightly. Francis narrowed his eyes, still trying to catch a glimpse of the man. The shadows cast by his hood obstructing his view.
"Because, Mr. Fox, I am going to pay you. And..." he raised a finger, smiling at the amount of power he held "a ship. I know little of how you lost your last, but I will give you a decent sized vessel. And my son, Francis Hanover, the last of the Hanover line, will acompany you to Jamaica and to fetch this maid."
Mr. Fox blinked. If his hood was pulled back, people would have seen that his mouth was open in shock, and his eyebrows raised in surprise. All they could see; however, was the sparkling of his eyes, that were black in satisfaction and anticipation, and something else that no one in the room could name.
"Why do you want a simple maid?"
"Because she is not a simple maid." Lord Hanover shrugged. "In fact, if what I think is true, she may be heir to the Russias. She would be a powerful weapon to weild if she is."
"The royal family of Hanover is seeking the throne?" Mr. Fox asked lightly.
"Indeed. Take my son. You will be able to name the ship, because it–"
"She,"
"Will be yours."
"I promise no protection of your son, Hanover. I am a pirate, and therefore I might encounter things on the way to Jamaica. It is a long journey to and fro."
"I realize that, Fox. Now go." Lord Hanover pushed a rather large satchel across his desk, and it fell to Mr. Fox's feet, clinking with gold.
The men left.
888
"Come on you lazy slut," Anya jumped from her perch and quickly ran across the lawn and to the kitchen entrance. Hellene, the head maid was glowering in the doorway, large ham sized arms folded across a never ending bosom. Her jowls were quivering with anger at the young maids daydreams and dawdles.
"Sorry, Hellene." Anya bobbed a curtsy and went past the older woman and into the bustling kitchen.
"You aren't to work here," Hellene snapped as Anya began to chop some carrots for the nights sup. She quickly set down her knife, knowing where she was to go, and slightly dreading it.
Anya Jacqueline climbed the servant's steps two at a time, and smoothed back the thick hair creeping from her bonnet. After knocking twice she entered the room of her mistress.
"Anya, come here child...I feel the weather today," Isabel Fox said from the settee under a large bay window. She was still in her night rail, her light blonde hair falling about her shoulders and back. The large roundness of her belly considerably lower then the day before. Her petite features were pinched in a look of weariness and pain.
"It will rain this afternoon, ma'am," Anya ventured, scurrying to her mistress's side and after a curtsy, kneeled besides her.
"My husband will be here tonight," Isabel said, glancing out of the window, and biting her lip. Everyone knew that Isabel Fox was bearing another man's child. Mr. Fox knew as well. He had already stated that he would take care of it, but became cold towards his wife from that moment on. He was only returning to their home briefly, as the letter stated; he would then go to the southern side of Jamaica, on business.
Anya had only been employed for two weeks at the Fox household. Fleeing from the Governor of Port Royal's service she came here, to Maria and was taken in by the kindly woman as a companion, cook, and if the occasion called for it–midwife. Though Anya knew little about the whole scheme of things when it came to babies, she knew enough if she needed to.
"The house is already prepairing for it," Anya said, trying to sound cheery. Indeed the whole of the place was in an upheaval, making ready for the master's return.
Anya actually loved the make of the house. Set on a small cove, outside of Maria itself, it defined currently building fashion, and instead looked to be more out of the time of King Arthur and Camelot. When they had married; Mr. Fox told Isabel that she would be the queen of her own castle, and built it for her. Three storied tall with turrets on every corner, and leaded windows with stained glass, and a courtyard in the middle. It was indeed the Castle by the Sea.
"Anya," Isabel suddenly said in a harsh whisper, taking the young maid's hand in her own. "I fear that I shant live long enough to see my baby grow. This will kill me. My husband no longer loves me. They say that he has turned pirate..." a sob shook Isabel, and Anya was at a loss of what to do, struck by the way her mistress had shown her feelings; baring her soul.
"They say that he lost his ship," Isabel continued. "And once I am dead, there will be nothing to keep him home. Please...make sure my baby does not grow into piracy."
"Ma'am...I am not fit to take care of a Lady's baby."
"Yes you are!" Isabel cried, clutching tighter to the now scared maid's hand. "I know that somewhere in you is a Lady. You will acomplish great things, Anya Jacqueline. You will become a great Lady...you will do great things,"
Isabel then rested her head on the wall behind her, exhausted.
888
"Master...it was a boy." Hellene said, wiping her hands on her apron, head bowed in sorrow.
"And Isabel?" Mr. Fox asked, jumping up from his bench he had been occupying.
"She is unwell. She wishes to see you."
Mr. Fox quickly rushed into the master suit, and kneeled besides his fastly perishing wife.
"Derack," Isabel sighed, holding tightly to his hand. "Derack," she whispered again.
"Isabel..don't,"
"No, listen. I know what they call you now. Jack Sparrow. Had to stick with the animal last name? The child..." Isabel cast sorrow-filled eyes to a small bundle wrapped in a white sheet, whimpering. "The child will have no mother. It's a boy too. Derack...Jack...I loved you. I always did. But you were never there. Never there."
"Isabel!" The man now called Jack cried, taking his wife in his arms. She gave one last smile, and closed her eyes. "No!" Jack whispered, laying her back down.
"Sir...?" a tentitive voice came from the shadows of a corner.
"Well? What are you doing, hiding around and spying on people? Can't you see that my wife is dead?" Jack shouted, standing and glaring at the small figure, who was now visably cowering behind the large ornate cradle.
"Sir...the mistress said for me to take care of the baby if she died,"
"And your name being?"
Something told Anya not to say her real name. "Jackie, sir,"
"Well...Jackie...I am heading to Port Royal. Take the babe and come with me. I shall set you up there with my sister-in-law. I will pay for the baby's care as well." With weary eyes, Jack dismissed the maid, and kneeled back down by his wife.
He didn't love her, yet he felt her death was his fault.
Another weight was added onto the shoulders of Jack Sparrow. Captain Jack Sparrow.