Phew, only 2 years too late. It was a long, hard 2 years but it's paid off and I'm going to university where I will have time abundant for continuing this story (I hope !).

The information in this chapter comes from Poseidon's Peak, part of the Jack Sparrow book series, which I read all about on the wiki becasue I haven't the money to buy a copy.

Enjoy !


"Fifteen men on the Dead Man's Chest... and a bo'le of rum..."

The jaunty whistle filling in the gaps in the ditty made it sound light-hearted, an innocent shanty. A small smile graced his features for a moment; how long ago would such a song, so overtly pirate and on what was then such a sensitive subject, have reduced him to sullen spirits? Back then, well if looks could have killed and if his crew could have been killed, his years here would have been all the more lonesome.

It hadn't been easy, from a blacksmith to pirate to captain of the most infamous ship amongst sailors. Yet looking back the changes had been nearly seamless, natural. Pirating was in his blood after all.

He leaned left, giving the wheel a turn to bring them back round the way they had came. A pale skinned man, part of the duo mopping bridge deck raised his head, his dark cap emphasising his ghost-like pallor. "There a problem, Cap'n?"

"Fancied a change of scenery is all."His face remained deadpan but his voice was drenched with sarcasm. He turned his eyes to his father who was working with less fervour than before, eyes on the waters port side rather than his work. Will laughed, "But if it's too distracting I can always-"

"No..." He nodded out to sea. "Look at that, well, them..."

Will frowned. The sight that met him was nothing spectacular, a cluster of small ships, of souls. Confusion was evident on his face as he turned back. "...More souls?"

Bootstrap shook his head, still solemnly looking out at the gathering. "There's too many of 'em, I've noticed it these past days, groups, all arriving at once."

"Maybe there was a hurricane." But Bootstrap's instincts had never been far off yet, and he knew more about this way of life, both as a pirate and on the Dutchman. Yet Will reminded himself that if his travels with Jack and the Pearl had taught him anything, it was that pirates were overly suspicious folk.

Unfortunately, the thought didn't spare him from the uneasiness he experienced at his father's words. He brought his attention back to the deck where the few other crew members aboard had gathered to watch.

"Groups of them?" A middle-aged sailor known as Barracus, who looked far worse for wear than he ought to at his age, nodded his head slowly but kept his eyes fixed on the men in the distance. "Well there's only one thing for it then," he said, turning the wheel until they were on course to the dinghies.

His father looked back at him, the mild disappointed from before replaced by pride for his son. He bowed his head toward the captain; partly a mark of respect but also to hide the smile. It wouldn't do well for Jones' replacement to be seen being coddled by his father.

The Dutchman didn't take long to reach the men, or the men's souls as it were. The ship's approach was obvious, even to those souls lost deep within their own thoughts. The slight current, unknown in origin, that pulled the dingies along their passage disturbed by the waves the Dutchman created in her stead.

Jones had been infamous among sailing folk and so it didn't surprise Will to see some of the more faint hearted men recoil slightly as they passed. How long would it take before the legends of Jones was replaced by tales of his own... kindness? Or his apathy, perhaps. He joked that the absence of a physical heart was the cause, but it had been close to five years of monotony and near isolation and he was unsure if he was capable of feeling anything other than boredom anymore.

It took Will a second to discern what he was hearing as they drew close to the gaggle of dinghies. Souls usually made passage through the realm in silence, quietly accepting their fates. And although it seemed impossible to him, a few among the men appeared to be crying out, hysterical, their screams choked.

"Men," Will shouted down to them, though he received no indication he'd been heard. "Men ! What has brought you to these waters ? Pirates ? Hurricane ?"

The man occupying the dingy closest turned his head upwards. His mouth opened in response but his words were lost in a repulsive gurgle. Much as he tried he seemed unable to make a sound otherwise.

A member of his crew, who was meant to be busy at work scrubbing the bridge deck, was doing a bad job of stifling his laughter. Will turned away from the apparitions, jerking his head at the gathered men to leave, his face a mixture of confusion and apprehension.

"Don't matter now Cap'n, we know what's got to 'em." Barracus' solemn voice reached his ears despite the, Will feared, intensifying hysterics of the sailors below. He walked towards Will, leaving behind the rest of the crew who were rejoining the men at work on the lower decks. "Mermaids."

Bootstrap approached from the wheel. The twinkle of light-heartedness Will expected to see in father's eyes was absent. "Mermaids ? You mean to tell me that what's caused this... onslaught, are creatures famous for lounging around on rocks, combing their hair-"

"Hah! Forgive me, Cap'n, but them aren't real mermaids." Will felt his cheeks grow hot with embarrassment.

"What he means, William," he was affronted by the faint tinge of amusement in his own father's voice. "Is that, like all creatures a man has any business being feared of, we've all sof'ened the details for our women back home." He grinned, "an' I'm sure your mother was no more wiser than you or any other non sea-farin' folk."

"Take a look back at them there men. A mermaid' work is her art, an' she practices her art on each an' every man."

Sure enough each man displayed awful gashes at his neck, and Will realised his previous misjudgement faced with the open mouth of one of the men, silently bawling, his torn and bloodied mouth missing it's tongue. What stood out amongst each though were their legs, pulled together and bound from ankle to waist with swathes of seaweed.

He felt his father's arm across his shoulders. "First thing you must understand of a mermaid, son, is that there isn't a womanly creature on this earth more vicious than she."

"I don't understand why though."

"If yer looking for sense from a woman, Cap'n, ye'll be a long time lookin'." Bootstrap joined in Barracus' chuckling, albeit sheepishly. He clapped his hand on Will's shoulder before dropping his arm and turning away from the sight below to face their grizzled sail mate.

Barracus' propped his stocky frame against the railings looking over the deck beneath them, crossing his legs at the ankles. "A mermaid lures a man in with her song, a beautiful song the likes of which ye'd sell yer mum's best china to listen to over and over through yer days."

"Why do they want the men ?"

He shrugged, "To the depths if I know. Hasn't been a man live to tell the tale o' what goes on there."

Will cocked an eyebrow. "So how did the tales reach you? "

"From the men not taken below, o' course," growled Barracus in reply. "But you are right, Cap'n, that this ain't simply the work of mermaids. There's a driving force behin' this, that of a man."

"That of a man bearing an artefact a certain friend of ours might recognise," Bootstrap's voice was low, and had Will turned to him he was sure he'd see his own smile mimicked on his father's face.

"Jack." Will had to concede that Jack led a life far from the ordinary even by pirate standards. "So what sort of an artefact gives the owner ability to control entire populations of mermaids?"

"An artefact borne by the god of the sea himself – Poseidon's own Trident." Barracus announced with a rather dramatic flourish. "Y'see, Poseidon wasn't contented with the gift o' seemingly total control o' the oceans, for mermaids were as populous an' as vicious are they remain to this day. So he had these gems, every colour o' the rainbow, enchanted in such a way as to grant him control over the merpeople, to ensure complete control o'er his domain."

Will grimaced. The scene bore an uncanny resemblance to many a day on the Pearl listening, with doubt aplenty, to Gibb's tales. Some had proven to be founded in fact; more often than not it was a wildly exaggerated story designed to strike fear in the hearts of new crew members. Pirates were a suspicious lot, but you couldn't fault their skill in storytelling.

"And I suppose you're going to offer me a perfectly reasonable explanation as to why ports everywhere haven't fallen claim to this terror over the years."

He chuckled, "Aye, an ' that's where Sparrow appears in our little tale. As luck would have it the Trident was lost, stolen from Poseidon by the merpeople they say, before falling into the hands of a man, the last man to lay his hands on the Trident. He was a daft oul pirate by the name o' Torrents. An' pirate is a term I use lightly with this fella; worst pirate ye ever heard of, could barely keep a crew o' ten alive out there, not to mention the times wherein-"

Here Bootstrap pointedly cleared his throat, tired eyes pointed on Barracus who only grunted in return.

"No use o' tellin' a story if ye can't tell it right, Cap'n, " he gave an exaggerated sigh before continuing. "Jack thwarted Torrents, and in doing so liberated the merfolk and saved many a penny for them who sailed those waters. An' the Trident was given to the merman Tonra for safe keeping."

Barracus paused a moment. "Say," he mused, turning in Bootstrap's direction, "that'd be the only merman I ever heard tell of..."

"S'pose that's the answer to your question of the men, William," he responded, his face a mixture of vague amusement and disgust. Will tried his best to push the thought from his mind.

"But now you reckon someone else has the Trident ?"

"Aye, and unless he's the same sorry calibre o' pirate as oul Torrents, there may be a real threat brewin'."

The three men lapsed into silence, heads bowed, their own imaginations turning over what could be happening on the surface. Will chewed on his lower lip. "We'll have to go up," he announced, lifting his eyes to his companions.

"No." Will focused on Barracus, the man's expression was stern, his voice passive. "Not our problem. Not our place up there."

"Elizabeth is on the surface, it is my problem." Barracus shook his head, making his way to resume duty at the rigging below. "I'll see to it we're taken back in now," he said, bowing his head to the captain. "Back to work, eh ?"

"Work !" Will spat. He rounded on his father, "There's nothing needs doing here. The afterworld survived before Jones it can very well survive again."

"Will," his father's voice had grown hard. "Your place is here, it's your dutyto-"

"My duty is to my wife. You might not pay heed to such things but I do."

There was a awkward silence between the two men, standing there, eyes locked on one another's. Will was the first to look away. He opened his mouth, reconsidered, and closed it again.

"They won't be happy about this."

Will raised his head to meet his father's gaze, furrowing his brow at the pang he felt in the emptiness of his chest. "Thank you," he replied, his voice low and soft. "Thank you."

Bootstrap shrugged, turning with heavy steps to the stairs leading down from the bridge. "You won't get up there without the help of all of the crew, mind. No sayin' how easily they'll take to the idea."

Without saying another word Will returned to the helm and looked down at the men under his care. They had been quick in their work as always, allowing for the opportunity to slow their pace and share with one another a laugh or raunchy tale from their pasts. And so he resolved to consider his tactics overnight, tackle the idea with them soon, but not immediately.

"All right, men," yelled Will, gripping the wheel. "Back we go."

"Aye, aye, Cap'n !"