Disclaimer: I have no claim to any part of the Pirates of the Caribbean franchise. The original characters and original plots are owned by me.

Captain Jack Sparrow

Tropical sunlight flooded through the small window panes in the apothecarist's shop as I sat writing at the clerk's tall desk. It was now a year since I had been employed by Jasper Ticking, MD and Apothecarist. When the shop was open, I dispensed medicines, stitched up wounds for the town's seafaring folk, and kept books for Dr Ticking. Any idle moments were spent pining hopelessly for James.

I had secured my situation upon the very day I arrived in Port Royal by going to the Merchant Exchange and enquiring after the town's surgeons and apothecarists. It seemed to be common knowledge among the larger purveyors of medicinal supplies that Jasper Ticking of Tower Street was often in need of an assistant, and so I walked the short distance to visit his establishment.

Upon entering the shop, I had found Ticking seated at the very desk I now occupied. He was a small, thin man who did not appear to be in health, with a lack-luster eye and pale, twitching hands.

"Good day, sir, I wonder if I might trouble you for a moment?" I asked, bobbing slightly in an approximation of a curtsey.

He smiled vaguely at me, and I continued. "My name is Nina Boscawen, from London. I am lately arrived in Port Royal, and am seeking employment. I wondered if you have heard of any doctor or apothecarist in town who might be in need of an assistant?" I waited anxiously, hoping he would indicate some interest.

Although he replied with a faint smile and a nod, I was struck by the tired and monotonous tone of his voice. "As it happens," he told me, "I have been seeking someone to tend my shop. My wife is . . . ill, you see." He paused until I thought he had lost the thread of our conversation, but then he added, "Do you think you might be suited to such work? Do you have any sort of references, Miss Bos . . . ?"

"Boscawen," I answered. "I am the daughter of Dr Ranby Boscawen of London." Here I swallowed hard, out of nervousness at my lies, but contrived to pass it off as distress at my situation. "My dear father was well-known in London – he was even called to court once, to consult on . . . on a matter of some delicacy." I knew better than to make any statement, true or false, regarding the health of the Royal Family. "He always allowed me to assist him in his surgery, and I have some knowledge of mixing compounds and the proper application of many remedies. He also," I added, thinking of Rufus, "taught me to close wounds by stitching."

Dr Ticking looked horrified yet intrigued. "Did he now? Well, it seems you've received an unusual education to say the least. And what brings you to Port Royal?"

I sighed. "Debt and ill-health ruined my father's fortunes, and his death shattered our family. I wrote to an uncle I had heard was living in Port Royal, but had no reply. I decided to set out to find him, but either my information was in error, or he left town long ago."

"And what was his name?" enquired Dr Ticking, after another long, dreamy pause.

"Carteret Smith," I replied, hoping that Dr Ticking was not acquainted with anyone by that name.

Dr Ticking did not seem to be attending to my answer, and now I observed that his pupils were as small as pinpoints under his drooping eyelids, and his complexion was pallid. As I took in the details of his haggard appearance and unkempt wig, I began to realise that Dr Ticking exhibited many signs of opium addiction.

Finally, he focused his attention once more. "Your speech is genteel and pleasant, Miss. Port Royal is destined for prosperity and greatness once again, and to hold the custom of my patients, I require that my shop reflect the air of refinement which you possess."

I kept a solemn, hopeful face, although I inwardly laughed at the idea of being engaged to work here due to my speech rather than any of my skills.

Dr Ticking explained that my duties would be solely in the shop: opening up, filling orders and prescriptions, and keeping accounts. I would work for my keep and a small weekly pittance. I accepted his offer of employment on the spot, and he showed me to the shop's back room, the usual quarters for shop assistants. On the floor, under a large work table, was an old wool-filled mattress where I could sleep. The back room was small and stuffy, but if I were seeking a rabbit hole into which I might vanish, this would surely do.

My employer did not seem an unkindly man, and I thought that perhaps this situation would suit me. I felt confident that I could manage the shop, and if he were either under the spell of the drug or sleeping off its effects, I would have the solitude I craved.

The Tickings lived in rooms above the shop. At first, Dr Ticking made a show of being present in the shop around midday. After several weeks, however, he kept to the rooms upstairs, and days often passed without my seeing him. I gradually came to understand that Ticking and his wife were both opium-eaters, who passed the time lying about their parlour, unaware of their surroundings and absorbed in their fantastical visions.

As part of my duties, I learned how to prepare laudanum, which was much in demand. Dr Ticking hinted that he kept a watchful eye upon his stock of opium, of which I had no doubt, since an addict who runs short of the drug is a pitiable sight. However, poor Dr Ticking needn't have worried that I might pilfer from his supply. Opium inspired only horror in me ever since the day my uncle had slipped a large, poisonous dose into my supper so that I could not save myself from the fate he had arranged for me.

Once I settled in, fear proved a masterful jailer. I avoided making the acquaintance of anyone in Port Royal, lest any news of me might reach my uncle's ears, and I kept to the shop as rigorously as one who is detained in Newgate. As I worked, I would hide my face behind plain glass spectacles, leaning close to the ledger page or the compounds I was preparing.

At night, as I lay on the mattress, my thoughts often turned to James, wondering where he was and how he could have thrown me over so easily. I would call to mind each ball we had attended, and any phrases that I remembered from his letters. Upon this thin diet I contrived to feed my affections. Nevertheless, I always reached a moment when I recalled the day my uncle broke our engagement, and I remembered watching James stride away from Highcliffe, his hands clasped behind his back, without once turning back or looking up at my window. He lost no time in writing me a polite letter, taking the blame to himself, and then I never heard from him again.

To remedy the effect this produced on my emotions, I would think on my time aboard the Misty Lady. Closing my eyes, I would recall every detail of my quarters, and concentrate on remembering the pleasant roll of the ship lulling me to sleep each night. I found to my surprise that I seemed to have acquired a taste for the seafaring life. I missed Teague and Rufus, and I often tried to imagine what ventures they might be pursuing in the Caribbean. These thoughts also led me to muse upon the happier days of my father's adventurous life, avoiding the terrible pain of contemplating his death.

The only memory I dreaded from that voyage was my encounter with Kitto. For many months, he still appeared in my nightmares, saying "Got ye!" as I stared fearfully at his bloody throat. Gradually, however, I began to dream of him less often, and when he did appear, he was a silent, neutral presence. In some dreams I even spoke to him and he listened, although when I awoke, I could never recall any of what I said.

After suffering thus for nearly ten months, my dream changed utterly. I dreamt that Kitto and I were seated facing each other, and I thought that we had been conversing before the dream began. I felt very calm as I observed him rising from his seat. He started to walk away from me, but then he paused. Turning to look back over his shoulder, he said, "This be the last time. Ye'll see me no more." And strange to say, he never troubled my sleep from that night on.

On this particular day as I worked at my desk, a shadow from the window flickered to and fro over the ledger page. Annoyed, I looked up to find the cause of this phenomenon. To my great astonishment, a familiar figure was weaving about, just outside the shop, apparently peering down Tower Street in the direction of the harbour.

A great wave of unreasoning joy overtook me for the first time in a year, and I leapt to open the door.

"Jacky?" I cried in amazement. Alarmed, the figure quickly spun about and seized my shoulders, forcing me back inside the shop.

"Hello, darlin'!" said Jack Sparrow. "I thought that was you I spied tottin' up accounts!"

It had been more than two years since our last meeting, and it was clear to me from the weapons he carried that he was prospering in his father's trade as a gentleman of fortune. He had grown into a rather raffish, attractive man of about thirty, with a sharp, cat-like stare, handsome figure, and engaging smile that I thought must cause many a female heart to leap with excitement. He was attired in buccaneer fashion: an elegant waistcoat showed off his strong, wiry figure and lent a bit of dash to his appearance. His sleeves were trimmed with luxurious Flemish lace, and a flowing sash was wrapped about his waist. He wore French Musketeer boots, folded over below his knees, which gave his stance an air of authority. His skin was sun-darkened, and heavy rings of kohl emphasized the feline quality of his dark, intense eyes.

His hair was longer than I remembered, black dreadlocks adorned with an assortment of beads and trinkets, and surmounted by a crimson headscarf and leather tricorne. His moustache and beard were the same, except that he now wore his beard in two braids.

Jack stood staring at my spectacles, frowning and pursing his lips as he tilted his head from side to side. "Er . . . would those be for reading or distance?" he finally asked.

I snatched the spectacles off my face.

"And by the by," he added, "I'm 'Jack' now." He leaned towards me, spreading his fingers and gesturing with both hands. "Captain Jack Sparrow, if you must know," he said, strutting a bit.

"You? A captain? Why, Jack Spar—"

"Shhhh!" Jack hissed. He quickly put his finger to my lips and gave me a conspiratorial look. "Better not say that too loud, savvy?" He looked past me, surveying the empty shop for anyone who might overhear us.

"Well, what shall I call you, Ja—," I broke off as he motioned me yet again.

"Tell you what, darlin' . . ." he narrowed his eyes, ". . . let's just go with 'Mr Smith', right? Or, 'Smithy', if you like."

I laughed. "Then tell me what you're doing in Port Royal, 'Captain Smith'! It delights me beyond words to see you! I have felt so utterly marooned until now!"

"Ah . . . well," he said, lowering his voice as he placed his arm around my shoulders. "Perhaps I can be obliged to make you feel a bit less marooned, eh?" He glanced around the shelves. "Got anything to drink?" He took up a bottle of laudanum and sampled it.

"You won't need much of that," I observed. I locked the shop door and led him to the back room, where we sat at a small deal table and continued our conversation.

"Are you surprised to find me here," I asked, "or have you spoken with your father?"

Jack leaned back in his chair and made a face, curling his lip and rolling his eyes. "That question calls for another drink," he said, taking a swig from the laudanum bottle, "Although one could argue that some sort of communication did transpire."

I fetched a bottle of rum and two cups from a shelf and substituted this for the laudanum. Pulling the stopper from the rum, I pushed the bottle towards Jack and took my seat again.

Jack poured out a measure of rum for each of us, took a drink from his cup and lowered his chin. Fixing me with his steady gaze, he said, "Rufus gave me all the news." Then he reached out and took hold of my hands. "I'm sorry as I can be, love," he said very seriously. "Bad luck all round. Your dad was one of a kind, and I truly mean that. And your bloody uncle . . ." He shook his head. "Seems like the devil looks after his own, don'it?"

He patted my hand and reached for his drink, determined to offer counsel and comfort as if he truly were my elder brother. "Here's the way I see it, m' girl," he told me, between swigs. "Your consolation is that Hanibal took nothing from you that can't be replaced, one way or another."

So you've only heard a portion of the story, I thought, looking down quickly. Jack had an uncanny ability to read my thoughts, and I wanted to bury certain events forever.

He tipped my chin up with his fingertips and smiled. "By the by, Rufus says you were quite good at the medicinal trade. Not to mention savin' his miserable skin! He seems to have adopted you, to hear him talk."

I laughed at this. "I was known to the crew as his daughter Jenny," I replied. "Rufus was at some pains to explain how a ship's doctor arranges matters with a pirate ship. Perhaps he hoped I would follow in his footsteps."

"I have no doubt of it, and I hope you're properly impressed. Fathers don't always give that sort of encouragement to their sons, much less to a fictitious daughter," Jack replied, looking slightly envious.

"I'm very sorry indeed to hear that," I said, but Jack gave a flick of his wrist, dismissing whatever trouble lay between him and his father.

"No worries – it'll sort itself out. In any event, I do think Rufus was disappointed you didn't stay on the Misty Lady – although it's difficult to tell with him," he conceded. Then he looked around at the shabby little room and glanced at the woolen mattress on the floor. "Y' know, you could sign on to another ship as the ship's doctor – well, the ship's almost-doctor – and have all manner of adventures where fortune smiles on you." He waved his hand at the room. "God knows it don't look like there's much on offer here."

I drank my rum in silence for a moment, but I knew Jack would soon come to the subject of my engagement and James, of whom he never fully approved. Jack poured another drink and, as I expected, took up the matter of my romantic disappointment.

"Now, as for Norrington," he began, trying to reassure me. "First off, there are lots of fish in the sea –"

"But that was the fish I wanted," I interjected.

Jack rolled his eyes. "I admit he looks good on paper, darlin' – dashing lieutenant with a bright future, et cetera – but did you ever think that you might be destined for a different sort of life than sitting home all day, playin' hostess to a lot of pinch-faced old trout while your nearest and dearest goes gallivantin' about the world? And if he impresses the Admiralty, he gets a ship, or a fleet of ships, and you get – what? More trout in your parlour." He glanced at me out of the corner of his eye as he took a drink. "I can't see it. You should have thrown him over."

"It was he who threw me over, in obedience to my uncle's demand," I replied stiffly.

Jack narrowed his eyes and tapped his finger in the air to emphasize his point. "And that, love, should tell you all you need to know about James Norrington," was all he said.

As we worked our way through the bottle of rum, Jack's company put me at my ease and reminded me of younger days when our high spirits led us into all kinds of scrapes and mischief. The day wore on, our laughter grew more frequent, and our talk turned to his latest venture.

"I'm provisioning me ship, love," Jack informed me, handing over a torn and disreputable scrap of paper.

"Does your ship have a name?" I enquired, looking over his list.

"The Black Pearl," he said proudly, flourishing his wrist in the air. "I renamed her after overcoming a rather unique combination of perturbations, machinations, and complications that, if enumerated, might tend to strain credulity."

"Renamed her!" I was utterly shocked and alarmed. "Why did you do it? Everyone knows it brings bad luck to rename a ship!"

"Not to worry – all indications point to a staggering run of brilliant luck! It so happened that . . . well, it's actually a bit of a long story, darlin'. I suggest we save it for another day." He sat up straight and fixed me with a keen stare, waving his hands to illustrate. "My point is this: I have got the fastest, smartest ship in the Caribbean, and I'm off to pick up a crew and get meself a load of sparkly swag, savvy? Now," he rubbed his hands together and eyed the shelves. "Let's see what we've got here."

And off he went, darting here and there throughout the shop, stacking up medicines, instruments, herbs and opiates, popping up unexpectedly in corners to toss yet more items on the growing heap. I watched him thoughtfully, a bold idea taking shape in my mind.

Finally I asked, "And how are you paying for all of this?"

Momentarily startled, he spun about to face me, coattails flying, and put his fingers to his chin in an attitude of thought.

"Ah, well, I'm a bit skint at the moment," he admitted. The right side of his mouth curved into a toothy smile. 'How's me credit, darlin'?"

"Non-existent," I replied. Jack wrinkled his forehead and squinted in mock disbelief.

"What?" he exclaimed, as he swayed towards me, hands gesturing in amazement, "then you don't believe I'll be back with said coin when I've –"

"Don't try to gull me, Jack! You'll be off with the goods and I shall be gaoled and hanged for a thief!" I put down the list and made as if to return his purchases to the shelves. Jack stepped between me and the merchandise with all haste.

"Perhaps . . ." he suggested, waving me back with both hands, "perhaps, I could simply rob you, then?" Tentatively, he began to draw his pistol.

"No! There'll be no shooting up of the shop!" I protested. "You'll have the ceiling down on our heads!" Then I smiled at him. "But perhaps we can reach an accord. Tell me about your crew, Jack. Have you a First Mate yet?"

"I mean to pick one up in Tortuga," he replied with a wave of his hand. "At the moment, I have only enough crew to make passage from here to Tortuga, with perhaps one or two minor enterprises along the way."

I nodded and went on. "And a ship's carpenter?"

"Not yet," Jack answered. "I'll pick up one of them as well. It's on me list."

"Have you a ship's doctor?" I smiled brightly at him.

Jack gave me a sharp look. "Oh, no, no, no y' don't, lass! And not all ships have doctors–," he began, shaking his head, but I pressed on with my idea.

"You've just told me that I should have stayed on the Misty Lady, but if you take me along now, we both benefit! You can take what you like from the shop, and I won't go to prison for it! I'll be free of Port Royal, and you'll have a ship's doctor. If you don't need a ship's doctor, well and good! You know the other sorts of skills I have. Let me use them, for pity's sake!" He hesitated, but began to shake his head again.

I renewed my petition in a torrent of words, before he could refuse me. "Jack, I beg you to listen! Don't you remember how close we were as children, and how I looked up to you? You were like a brother to me! You can't leave me in this cage – it'll be the death of me! I'm perishing to go back to sea again – I had almost resolved to run away to Tortuga in search of you!"

I paused to take a breath, then offered what I hoped would persuade him. "A proper ship's doctor will cost you dear, but I'll take the fewest shares in your enterprise," I said, tempting him.

Although surprised at my impassioned plea, he paused to reconsider my proposal, particularly my concession regarding the shares. "Well, I'm willing to take Rufus at his word that I could do worse for a ship's doctor. And I do recall you were a decent shot at times . . . and had a certain, mmm, fluid grace, I should say, with a sword," he said, making a rippling motion with his fingers. He concentrated upon the ceiling for a few moments, then asked in a business-like tone, "You can still swim and climb rigging, can you – not to hand a sail, but as a lookout?"

"Of course I can! And these mild seas are a baby's bathwater compared to home," I replied.

He gave me a knowing grin. "Of course, if you crew with me, I shall undertake to instruct you in anything you might want to know. That's to say . . . anything at all, savvy?" he said, leaning closer with his dazzling smile.

"Does that mean you'll take me with you?" I asked, daring to hope that I had convinced him.

"I never could say 'no' to a pretty face . . . and you know, darlin', now that you're older, it might just be that Fate means for us to . . . take things to the next level," he mused, eying me from head to toe and tapping his fingers upon his chin.

I waited, holding my breath.

"Alright," he sighed at last. "I wager I'll live to regret this, but – do we have an accord?" He thrust out his hand.

"We have an accord," I replied joyously, as we shook hands.

We threw his provisions into sacks, and I fetched my meagre property from the back room. As we dragged the sacks down to the dock, I smiled up at the gulls flying on the sea air and blessed them as my freedom-loving brethren.

Next: Chapter 3 - In which Jack instructs Nina in the honourable trade of piracy.