*Oi! Have you read Book One? Have you read Book Two? If not go and do so right now! Go on! Go and read 'Pirates: Welcome to Tortuga', and 'Pirates: The Golden Masque.' Elsewise this wont make much sense.*

Pirates:

The Garden of Immortality

(A Pirates of the Caribbean Short Story)

By: Lady Sparrow

At night, out in the middle of the Caribbean, the sky and the sea meld together. When standing on a spit of land, it could be said that there wasn't a horizon at all. The island seems to be the only source of life in a never ending dark void. That is, of course, until the clouds break and the splattering of stars could be seen. Their light would be enough to guide any wanderer as though they traveled through the day. On such an island, which sat in the midst of a blackened ocean, on such an evening when the stars could be seen, was a large house. It's occupants, on such a fine and calm night, were all sound asleep or else otherwise engaged in late-hour activities. All, save one.

Emera Flint hurriedly picked her way down the sandy little hill that lead away from her father's house. Her goal was the shabby dock not fifty paces down the beach from where she was. There, tethered safely in place, was the small sailing dinghy, The Scurvy Servant, that she planned to commandeer. The young sailor supposed that 'commandeer' wasn't exactly the right word considering that, technically, the boat belonged to her in the first place. But it added a sense of excitement to her clandestine departure. The sack she lugged over her shoulder was weighed down with supplies she had nicked from the pantry, and tucked into her belt were the sea charts she had taken from her father's study. At this point, she had stolen enough from her family to be considered a thief. So why call taking the small ship anything other than 'commandeering.' She was, after all, a Pirate. And she was on a quest.

Three days ago, Emera had received a disturbing message. It had been scrawled across the surface of her bedroom mirror with a stick of her own kohl. The note read:

You took something of mine, and so I've taken something of yours. If you want him back... then come and get him. And bring the Mask.

- Caroline.

The words were burned into Emera's mind the moment she read them, for they could only have one possible meaning. Caroline had somehow taken Emera's friend, Jack Sparrow. The first time Emera met this woman was less than a week ago. The young sailor had once again been caught up in one of Jack's adventures, this time in the form of a Masquerade robbery rather than their previously casual commandeering of She-Pirate's ship. As is the nature of such outings, it had gone to pot incredibly quickly. Their intention had been to steal a Golden Peacock Mask and Caroline had shared that goal. In the heat of a fist fight, Emera was able to snatch the Mask, but later turned it over to Jack, who (hilariously) turned it right back over to her after reliving it of its central feather. A key. And that was something Caroline didn't know. The woman must have believed that Emera still had it. And she wanted it in exchange for Jack. How she had gotten into the young sailor's bedroom to leave the message in the first place was a mystery that sent chills down her back. Somehow Caroline had figured out where Emera lived. Somehow she had tracked down Flint's Island, a place that wasn't marked on any sea chart or map.

Emera jogged the last few paces to the docks. Although she was now well out of sight from the house, she couldn't shake the feeling that she might be spotted. Escaping the building had been an adventure in of itself. The old house was weather worn and well traveled by its occupants, thus making the floorboards loose and creaky. Even on bare feet with her boots under one arm, she had made far too much noise. It was a blessing that she hadn't woken anyone. Now, as she packed her supplies into the dinghy and made ready to sail, it felt far too quiet. The young sailor scratched absentmindedly at the scar across her left palm. A souvenir from her first adventure with Jack. Itching at the rough mark had become an unfortunate habit of hers. She often found herself at it when uncomfortable or when thinking of Jack which, incidentally, made her uncomfortable.

She tried to keep her mind off of him when she shoved off from the dock. But lately Jack had been finding a way to creep into her thoughts no matter how much Emera focused on other things. In fact, he had been freely waltzing around her mind since the first moment they met. It had just taken her a painfully long while to realize it. The hold that man had on her was something she had only ever read about in books and seen from time to time in her travels. She had never, not once in her life, thought it could happen to her. When she was a child, she had mused at the idea of one day falling in love. But as she grew, so did her knowledge and understanding of the type of men she lived around. As a young woman, she had conviction in her resolution that seafaring men where harsh, callus, boorish folk. Of course there was no denying that occasionally a man of finer character could be found. Her own father was an example of that. However Emera had decided that, on a whole, Pirates were not the sort of men anyone should fall in love with.

But then she met Jack Sparrow.

And all at once everything changed. He was unlike anyone she had ever met. Yes, he was still a gicky, craggy, loutish rouge who's knowledge of personal hygiene could be used as a yardstick to measure his understanding of personal space. Yes, he was a black-hearted Pirate who valued material goods over his own safety, not to mention the safety of others. And yes, often times he seemed to be lacking the few key components that made up a sane mind. But he was also an enchanting, charismatic, eloquent individual who understood that a ship was not just a means of travel but was instead the very essence of freedom. He had a certain, almost fearless, disregard for the rules which set him miles apart from common folk. And although he seemed unstable in his thoughts, he had been blessed with the ability to orchestrate chaos while simultaneously working towards a larger final-goal. He was a Pirate and an explorer and a storyteller and a good man. But more than anything else, he was himself. And he was the only person that was cut out for the job of being Jack Sparrow.

That was the reason why he had a hold on Emera's heart. It was also the reason why she was blindly charging to his rescue in the middle of the night. Settled in beside the tiller, the young sailor navigated away from Flint's Island. Thankfully the sea was calm and a steady wind had already caught her sails. She checked her shabby little compass, then glanced down at the charts she had taken. With a shove of the tiller Emera corrected her coarse, causing the boom to swing across to the other side of the mast as she came-about. Now with the nose of her ship pointing East she was headed the right direction. She wasn't sure how long it would take to reach her destination. She only knew that her venture would take her straight into the heart of the Bermuda Triangle.