Title: Pirates of the Caribbean: Quest for the Sands of Time
Summary: A Frenchwoman tracks her treasure-hunting husband with the help of Commodore Norrington. An ex-slave forms a reluctant alliance with Jack Sparrow and seeks the same treasure to prevent her sister's death.
Disclaimer: Don't own POTC or any other Disney franchise.
Author Notes: This is a rough draft. Constructive criticism and props needed. PRETTY PLEASE.
Chapter One: Storm Clouds Brewing
La Rochelle, France
Olette sat at her kitchen table, shocked into silence. A letter of the most surprising nature had just come by post. The elderly man who had delivered it bowed out of the room, giving her his sincerest apologies (she was clearly distraught by the news he had brought).
Olette hardly noticed any of this. She was far too consumed by the paper in her hands. Her husband, Louis Pinon, claimed to have abandoned her to hunt treasure.
Olette was unsure whether she should take such a letter seriously. Though her husband often enjoyed having a laugh or two at her expense, he would never have set up such a cruel joke and not have remained near, to rush to her side in comfort and cheer.
Olette looked about the room, and there was no Louis, no sign to suggest that the letter was untrue. If anything, it confirmed it. She now noticed that certain objects of his were missing, probably packed away for the trip he claimed to have taken.
Olette knew she shouldn't be surprised. She of all people knew how rash Louis could be. The countless gambling debts and his impulsive buying habits had said it all. And yet, even with such precedents, she was still surprised. She had believed him and the sweet promises he had whispered in her ear.
He had seemed so sincere when he said he loved her and wanted nothing more than to live out life with her in La Rochelle. There had never even been a whisper of his discontent, a desire to return to a life of seas and ships, nor a regret at leaving the spice trade.
If there had ever been such a longing, he had not shared it with her. But why hadn't he told her. He was not one to hide his feelings or his thoughts. Perhaps he had wished to spare her the pain? Or perhaps he had not known his own feelings until recently—and his only crime was that of self-deceit?
Olette shook her head at the idea. She would not let him off so easily. It was one thing to fulfill a deep longing and return to a life of adventure, but it was quite another to do it so unexpectedly. Olette did not expect her husband to consult her on such matters (Louis would always do what he wanted), but she did expect to be told in person, not by some afterthought letter. She would even go so far as to say that she deserved some proper warning. But no, this was all that she received after two years of marriage:
My Dearest Olette,
You must forgive me. I am a fool and a scoundrel to leave my love so abruptly, but the seas called me home, and the winds were such that I could not delay.
I do not want you to think that I do not love you. For I do not think any other woman could have kept me at bay for so long. My nature is such that leaving was inevitable.
A map, you may remember, had fallen into my possession, and believing it to be of genuine origin, I resolved to find its great treasure. With the help of your translations, I hope to find the Las Arenas del Tiempo and return a very rich man. I do not know how long my journey shall take, nor if I shall ever return (it is likely to be as dangerous as it is long). I have no wish for you to waste any time or tears, while I pursue adventure, glory, and other such follies, and I pray that you do not think too ill of me, my beautiful wife.
Louis
Olette was infuriated by his attempts to placate and flatter her.
Olette held back tears as the sting of rage and sadness swelled beneath her chest. For a moment, she had trouble breathing, but she regained her calm composure, folded the letter and placed it carefully within her apron pocket. Olette decided that she would see Louis again. She would not allow things to end like this.
She grabbed a piece of paper, an inkwell, and a quill and began sketching out the map she had seen in the few days prior. Louis had, as stated in the letter, acquired a mysterious treasure map.
In the moments before sleeping, as husband and wife lay in bed, Louis had stared at the map, transfixed by its contents, seduced by the promise of treasure. He would not, could not be stirred from it. Eventually, his fixed concentration drew Olette's curiosity, and she began to stare at the pictorials as well.
She now mapped out all that she could remember and scribbled down the Spanish phrases he had asked her to translate from the map. She folded the replica map and tucked it beside the letter from Louis, then packed a bag of clothes, and pulled out the money she had hidden in the pantry (Louis could not spend what he did not know about) before setting off for Tortuga. There, she hoped to secure a ship to New Spain, or more specifically Vera Cruz, which was the closest port to the treasure's hiding place.
Caribbean Waters
Captain Jack Sparrow tapped and shook his compass once more, then thrust open the lid hoping it might work this time.
"Captain?" Gibbs asked while waiting for Jack to tell him the direction of travel, but the look on the captain's face suggested he had no idea.
"We should definitely do sort of East-Westish," Sparrow drawled after a moment. "Or maybe South-Northerly."
Upon seeing Gibbs' frustrated expression Jack violently shook the magical compass once more.
"If I could go back in time I'd keep myself from bartering for this bloody compass," Jack muttered, forcefully slamming it down on a nearby banister.
At Jack's words the compass pointed almost due west with the needle staying completely still. Jack kissed the compass for showing a clear answer for the first time since he began looking for Davy Jones' chest.
"That, sir, is the way that we shall go," the Captain's voice had a haughty certainty that was missing seconds before. "The way towards Davy's chest."
"And the treasure, Jack?" Gibbs was suspicious. Jack seemed to forget that the crew needed to be paid or else he'll have to deal with a second mutiny.
"Oh yes, of course, the treasure. Mountains of gold are hidden beneath the chest and buxom natives will welcome us with arms and legs wide open." Sparrow knew he could not deliver such riches but he had little choice. He had to have that chest.
"Truly?" Gibbs smiled, gleefully imagining such a sight.
"Yes, yes, truly." Jack replied before removing himself and headed to the bow, where he wouldn't have to lie so much.
An hour latter Gibbs found Jack again.
"There seems to be a problem, Captain. The Pearl can't seem to catch any winds that bring her away from Hispaniola. What would you have us do?"
Jack knew how important it was to get Davy's chest before it was too late, yet he couldn't help but wish for another meeting with Marie Rose, Tia Dalma's feisty friend. And since Tia seemed too busy entertaining her own mysterious guest, Jack figured it didn't matter if he paid a visit to the Rose.
"I have just recollected that those Voodoo girls might know of a way to get the weather to be more favorable. I'd better go implore them for their help."
Gibbs raised an eyebrow, unable to understand why Sparrow preferred those creepy heathens to decent English women. "You'd better go then. A mighty storm is coming in what will make the trek up the river a dangerous one. I'll see to the crew."
The storm did come in, and when it did it pushed the river so fast that Jack had to drag his boat up shore and walk towards the glimmering torches on foot.
Tortuga
Norrington slammed his empty mug down on the worn counter, getting the bartender's attention. The bartender responded with a flick of his wrist and the pouring of a bottle. He knew the drill, the ex-commodore patronized his bar often enough. As long as he kept the liquor flowing, Norrington was a peaceable drunk. He kept to himself, brooding at the end of the bar, muttering quiet slurs at unseen pirates, lamenting his once proper life and his almost wife.
James Norrington was a dirty drunken shell of his former self, but that's what results when proud men are publicly disgraced and privately demoted. He swished about the contents of his cup and remembered that he had once believed alcohol to be a great evil that dulled the senses and created wantonness in his subordinates. Now it was his lifeline. He could not pass the days living in disgrace without the apathy it created in him.
A woman entered the bar and drew his apathetic gaze from the cup to the doorway. She was a pretty sort of girl, but there was nothing remarkable about her features. Her white dress appeared to be of Parisian style, but half of the women in Tortuga were French so such details stood out little in Norrington's mind as he observed her from afar.
It was her reserved and awkward manner that set her apart from the many whores and drew his attention. Her discomfort and unfamiliarity with the tavern environment was palpable. The lady in white fearfully, cautiously, sidestepped the brawling drunks and dancing wenches and eventually made it to the bar several seats down from him.
"You meeting someone here, miss?" the bartender asked her gruffly.
The woman shook her head quickly and laid out her troubles before him with perfect French-accented English, "I just got here today. I'm rather tired and bit thirsty, and this was the only tavern with available rooms."
"Are you some kind of fancy whore or something?" the bartender asked superciliously.
The lady was shocked and confused. "No, not at all. I'm actually just stopping in on my way to New Spain. This was as far as Le Guardien would take me—I can't believe how anxious they were to get me off of their ship."
Norrington sighed aloud. This girl obviously didn't have the same sharp wit Elizabeth possessed. He decided it would only be matter of time before Tortuga would destroy this fragile, foolish creature.
"You don't say?" The barkeep laughed heartily as he cleaned a glass for her. "Well, I can't say that I'm surprised. Anything to do with women is bad luck, and seamen are all manner of superstitious." He dropped the cleaned, or slightly cleaner, glass in front of the lady in white and began pouring wine into it. "Vino, right?" She nodded and smiled. "Yep, never did meet a frog that didn't like the vino."
"And I very much doubt you ever will," she laughed sweetly and took a long sip from her glass.
"Will that be it? Or are you hungry? Should I have the missus fix something together for you?" The barkeep's kindness surprised Norrington. He had never seen anything other gruffness, but he supposed that young lady's naiveté and vulnerability could command empathy from even the most unfeeling of men.
"No. Thank you, though," she shook her head gently, and he began leaving her to fill up another patrons empty mug. "But Monsieur, please, I was hoping you might be able to answer some questions, or at least point me in the right direction."
"Ask away." He seemed eager to help.
"I'm looking for my husband, Louis Pinon. He might have recently come to Tortuga by way of the La Rosa Negra."
"I wouldn't know where to begin with such a search. Most innkeepers don't bother with names. Pirates are likely to lie anyways."
"That's alright. I hardly expected..." Her disappointed voice trailed off as Norrington left to take a piss outside.
When he returned the young Frenchwoman was surrounded by a large group of pirates talking excitedly over a map of New Spain. Norrington returned to his stool and could not help but hear their conversation.
From what he could deduce, the map supposedly lead to the Las Arenas del Tiempo, an ancient relic which had the power to turn back time. The lady seemed to be trying to insight interest in the pirates and merchants, hoping that one of them might take her there. One man, in particular, was trying to get a closer look. He claimed that he did not believe it was genuine, and he was trying to grab it from her. The French lady was about the release it, when Norrington interrupted the happy party.
"You can't seriously be that stupid."
They all turned to look at him. The Frenchwoman seemed both confused and offended.
"The man's a pirate. If he even half-believes you, he is going to try and steal it for himself," Norrington clarified.
"Shut up. The lady wasn't askin' for your opinion," Mr. Grabby-hands growled.
"Well, she may or may not want to hear what I have to say, but I highly doubt she wants to be taken in by a half-wit like you." Norrington stepped off his stool and advanced on the man as he spoke.
"That's enough from you," Grabby-hands angrily swung his fists, and there was an ensuing scuffle that left the man unconscious on the floor and Norrington swaying with a bleeding lip. The pirates and merchants surrounding the lady had dispersed during the course of the fight, figuring that the map was probably fake and not worth the trouble.
"Was that really necessary?" the lady said as she crouched down beside the unconscious pirate.
"Well, I wouldn't have done it if I hadn't thought so." Norrington gingerly touched his cut lip and winced, "I was trying to be a gentleman. You should thank me, you know."
"Thank you? You just scared away all my possible means of travel." Olette was confounded by the rude drunkard, who sat on the stool next to her and ordered himself another drink.
"You wouldn't have wanted to travel with any of them anyway. No respectable captain is going to trust a map that appears to be scribbled by a child, and if any of them had believed your map to be a genuine replica of a genuine treasure map, then you would be in great danger."
Norrington saw that the imbecile didn't understand and tried to explain further, "They have no reason to keep you around once they have the map. And if they did allow you on board, it would, I imagine, only be for some perverse pleasure. They are a greedy and unscrupulous lot, the pirates and the merchant traders."
Olette's husband was a merchant trader, and she wanted to raise that point in offense against the drunkard's statement, but she feared Louis (and his abandoning her) would only prove an example. Instead, she asked, "You think I'm going about this all wrong? Then what do you suggest I do?"
"I'd say cut your losses and go home, but you've made it this far and you're probably too foolish to listen to such sense. I don't understand why you bothered coming after him at all. Do you really expect to find him?" Norrington was already making his way to the end of his mug, and ordered another drink, before continuing. "And if you do find him, what do you plan to do? If he's in danger, how do you expect to avoid the same fate and help him? You are a very silly girl indeed if you expect to be of any use to him."
"I couldn't just wait at home wondering if he's alive...wondering if I'm allowed to move on." Olette began sipping sadly out of the mug he had passed over to her.
"I don't see why it should matter whether he's still alive, the man's a scoundrel and he left you. You're a young girl. I'm sure you'll find yourself in love again, and hopefully you'll choose your husband more wisely the second time around."
"But... I think you forget, Monsieur, that I am French, and we are not as prone to vow-breaking as the English." Olette snipped back. She found Anglican marriage customs extremely distasteful, and she resented him for thinking it was that easy.
"You're in an English pub, madam, and I think you would do well to remember that," Norrington's English pride was stirred by her comments, as well as some concern. "Such comments might be dangerous in a place where men were easily offended and prone to violent outbursts."
"Well, I doubt any of the present company, pirates and thieves as you refer to them, would be offended by an accusation of lying and or vow-breaking."
"Touché," he laughed. Perhaps she was not so terribly stupid after all. Just inexperienced with the dark side of the world.
There was a lull in the conversation, an awkward pause, as he wondered what her name was and she wondered what terrible tragedy had turned him into an unpleasant drunk. When the silence, did break it was with both of them speaking at once. Olette apologized and begged him to continue.
"I realized just now, that I hadn't properly given you a suggestion," she listened now with rapt attention as he spoke, for though he was incredibly rude he seemed to know what he was talking about. "I think it would be best if you did not mention the treasure or the map at all, rather it would be better if you bought passage to Vera Cruz—that's assuming you have the money—and found people there to help you. The last place you want to be is on a ship with a greedy crew lusting after your map." Norrington turned back to his drink, and she concluded that he was finished.
"That sounds reasonable," Olette paused not knowing how to proceed. She looked around not knowing who to talk to without creating another scene. "You seem to know the people here, perhaps you could help secure me passage on one of the ships."
"Perhaps I could," Norrington said and looked around the tavern for the ever-informative Mr. Leonard Crawley, who kept the books for Tortuga's port. Norrington found him by the fire and left Olette at the bar to talk with him.
Olette observed Norrington whispering with the creepy looking fellow, and some money changing hands. Then, Norrington returned as quickly as he had left.
"Mr. Blackwell, I believe, is our man. He plans to leave Tortuga for Vera Cruz in two days time," he said as he pointed out a severe looking man, who reminded Olette of her librarian father.
Before she could respond, he grabbed her hand and pulled her off the stool and towards the Captain. "I'll do all the talking...Excuse me, sir. This young lady would like to secure passage on your ship."
Blackwell eyed Olette with disdain. "I'm sorry, madam. I don't believe in taking lady-folk 'board my ship. Not worth the trouble. And it has nothing to do with superstitions. They just cause..." he paused as if remembering a bad experience, "...unwanted tensions among the crew."
"Would it matter that she is married?" Norrington asked, undeterred by the man's reply. He had expected such resistance.
"Not unless her husband was to accompany her. I don't expect that any of the crew would be deterred by an idea so intangible as 'marriage' or 'husband.' To them, it's out of sight, out of mind. It takes a strong figure and a sharp sword to keep seamen away from a beautiful woman," Blackwell stated looking pointedly at Olette, who was lost in sad, self-pitying thoughts. All this talk of marriage and husbands, helped to remind Olette of Louis' absence.
Norrington thought for a brief moment before saying, "And if I were to accompany her?" Olette snapped out of her meditations and looked up at the scraggily drunk in shock.
"Are you her husband?" The captain eyed Norrington carefully.
"Would it matter? A strong figure is as good as any, and my sword is not completely dulled. So long as I am willing to be accountable for her and she makes the payment worth your while, I don't see why it should matter to you." After Norrington spoke, he took Olette's money purse from her side without asking and showed its contents to the captain. "This is just her share. I should rather work my payment off."
"You an experienced seamen?" The captain noted the former commodore's nearly unrecognizable naval attire, which was caked in mud.
"I've served all my life in His Majesty's Royal Navy, working my way up to the rank of Commodore, which I served for the last two years." Norrington said with pride and authority. Olette was surprised by the drunk's disclosure, and more than ever, Olette was curious about his fall from grace.
The Captain seemed pleased with what he saw and heard, and he gave a curt nod of affirmation. "You've convinced me. Welcome aboard, Mr.—"
"James Norrington," he supplied his name. It was the first time Olette had heard it.
"And Mrs.—"
"Olette Pinon, Monsieur." Olette said sheepishly. It was the first time Norrington had heard her name.
Captain Blackwell told them where his ship, The Highwind, was berthed, what time they were weighing anchor, and how much he expected to see before they stepped foot on his boat. Then, he bid them good night and rejoined his party.
"So you're to come with me then?" Olette asked Norrington, surprised and thankful, as they walked back to their respective stools.
"Well, you are clearly too ignorant to left to your own devices," Norrington explained, "and it's not like I am preoccupied with any task at the moment." Aside from wasting away on this bar stool, he thought.
Norrington was surprised by his own offer to accompany a married lady whom he hardly knew. He didn't really know what had overcome him. He wondered if his actions were motivated by the possibility that the treasure was real and that his regrettable past was changeable. Or maybe he had fallen under the same spell as the barkeep.
Olette thanked him graciously for making the journey possible, and Norrington told her that he would come in two days to take her to the ship. They bid each other goodnight and parted ways, Olette leaving to her warm room upstairs and Norrington to the alleyway he called home.
Hispaniola (now known as Haiti)
Marie Rose Natine woke from her dreaming, her sheets sticking to her dark skin. She sat up, glancing around her hut in an effort to find her bearings. She caught her reflection in her cracked looking glass and gasped, momentarily startled at seeing something moving. She looked something of a mess with her curly hair sticking in all directions and large beads of sweat collecting at her brow.
The same nightmare plagued her almost every night. Every night she was once again bound in chains and made to work in the fields among the sugar canes and every morning she woke and was free again. The pain of slavery was great yet second to her chief source of grief: that her sister died to ensure her freedom.
She remembered too clearly how their pursuers were close at their heels. Marie Rose and Annabelle were bone tired and half-starved from the constant fleeing, but Marie Rose was not about to give up. Annabelle, however, was younger and had been given a severe beating just a few nights before. She abruptly stopped running, and flung herself at their pursuers.
"Run Marie! I will not have died for not'ing if you escape!"
Tears stung Marie Rose's eyes as she took off again, unable to block out the horrific sounds of her sister's screams.
Even after six years Marie Rose had been unable to forgive herself for letting her sister die in her stead. She had nothing to remember her by, just the bittersweet memory of her smile. Marie Rose would do anything to see that smile one more time.
A knock at the door brought her out of her thoughts. With a bit of annoyance Marie Rose slipped out of bed and flung open the wooden door, revealing a familiar figure standing in the rainstorm outside. Her large gray tabby cat, Dom Petro, looked up lazily from his perch on top of one of the voodoo priestess' cluttered shelves.
"Wrong hut Sparrow. Tia is tree doors dow'," Marie Rose grumbled.
She never liked the looks of this freeloading captain who pilfered Tia's amulets right from under her nose. Therefore she didn't feel bad about putting a curse on him a few days ago. She felt extra satisfaction as she slammed her door in his face.
"No, no, you've got it all wrong, love," Sparrow's pleaded on the other side of the door. "It seems I will be on your little island for the duration so I believe it to be in your best interest for me to bring your attention to an important matter what I left my crew on the Pearl to tell you of."
Marie Rose opened the door a crack. "I'm listening."
Jack grasped the door and forced it open far enough to squeeze his way inside. "Lovely. Put a kettle on stove, would you dear?"
Marie Rose stared at the captain in disbelief. He was soaked from head to toe and did not seem to notice the pool of mud forming at his feet. If she didn't know him better it would be shocking that he intended to win her favor with charm alone.
"What makes you tink you can come in here an' tell me what I do?" Marie Rose huffed, throwing raggedy knitted shawl over her shoulders. Her little night-slip was hardly appropriate for Jack's eyes.
"Because I have a little gift for you," Jack grinned, producing Tia Dalma's black pearl necklace. "I traveled all the way to Singapore to barter this special for you."
"No you did not!" Marie Rose shouted, shaking the necklace in her fist. "You'sa liar an' t'ief. Dis Tia's prop'rty. I seen you take dis necklace an' dat is why you are curse wit' wind dat only point to dis islan'."
Jack indignantly snatched the necklace back, angry that his host not only spurned his gift but apparently was the reason he couldn't get away from the island. "Fine. I bravely risk the wrath of the most powerful voodoo witch—" he paused at Marie Rose's growing disdain, "—I mean the second most powerful voodoo witch on the island, and this is how you show your gratitude?"
Marie Rose stormed back to the door, flinging it open. "You can go now."
"Where does this hostility come from, love?" Sparrow reached up to scratch Dom Petro between the ears only to have the cat curl up its lips into a low growl. Jack removed his hand quickly, turning back to the irate woman. "I've shown you all the kindness in the world and you've only been cross."
Marie Rose planted one hand on her hip, the other gesturing wildly as she spoke. "Dat is because you steal from my friends. I did not ask for your favor an' do not have any want of it."
A flash of lightning lit up the entire room, startling Jack. "But a storm's come in and those raindrops are enough to take an eye out."
Marie Rose merely pointed at the open doorway.
"What can I do to mend this terrible rift between us, love?" Sparrow pleaded, hands together in imitation of prayer.
Marie Rose's righteous anger faded a little, seeing that the pirate was so eager to appease her. Still, she wasn't about to let him off so easily.
"You have to give de necklace back to Tia."
"Good, good. I'll go do that straightway," Jack said, springing toward the door.
"Dere is one more ting." Sparrow stopped in his tracks, listening. "I take off curse, but you must swear to take me to La Villa Rica de la Vera Cruz."
"Is that all?" Jack asked, pivoting on his feet.
"Yes."
Sparrow thought for a moment, playing with the tips of his mustache. He supposed that Vera Cruz probably wasn't too out of his way given the chest's westerly bearing. He smiled, shut her door, and approached her, saying, "Then I have a little favor to ask of you."
Marie Rose hesitated, nervous. "…Go on."
"We shall take you to your destination, but until this storm fades, I stay here." Sparrow smiled wide enough so that Marie Rose could see his gold teeth.