Chapter two

Jack Sparrow was bored out of his mind. That wouldn't have been so serious, if he had just been bored. But being bored with shackles binding him to the wall, in a locked cell, in the middle of the best kept port in all the Caribbeans was definitely more annoying. Oh, and add, sentenced to death by hanging, and, as if that wasn't enough already, cursed. Ah, the unfairness of life... And no key-keeping dog to mollify, this time. No bone either, by the way. The one and only gaoler Jack had seen during his stay in this filthy jail was a monstrously big and tall man, uglier than the ugliest pirates he had ever seen. And he had seen a lot of ugly pirates.

He sighed, and stared glumly at the golden ring around his finger. Why did he have to always find cursed treasures ? And why, why ! did that always have to end up with him in a jail and convicted ? He wasn't such a bad guy, he was sure of that. Or at least, there was worse, which came down more or less to the same thing. And one curse was enough for a lifetime, thank you very much.

He didn't have much hope, he realised. Usually, he always kept a trick or two up his sleeve, and managed, most of the time, to slip through the direst odds. But now that they had eventually caught him, the naval forces were not about to let him go. His only chance was if his crew somehow found out where he was and came to rescue him. But, with hardly a few days left before the execution, his hopes grew dimmer and dimmer. And he didn't have so much as a pin to try to lockpick the shackles.

However, Jack Sparrow wasn't the kind of man to give up, even in this kind of situation. He wouldn't sit down and wait for death to embrace him, even if there wasn't much of anything else to do. He kept running through his head the most improbable schemes. That went from bribing the gaoler (with which gold was yet to be determined) to taking the ranking officer of the fortress hostage (with which gun was yet to be decided). Short of anything else, that kept Jack's mind busy.

Thus, when he heard the sound of a key grating in the keyhole, Jack welcomed the interruption as a pleasant distraction. The same gaoler as usual entered, ugly as ever too, and... eh ? They brought him a fellow-sufferer ? He had supposed, since he was left alone, that he was to "ponder his sins" in seclusion, but it seemed that they had changed their mind. There was to hope they hadn't changed their mind about the date of the execution - or if they had, that it was to be conducted later rather than sooner.

Jack peered curiously at the newcomer. A tall, lean, dark-haired man, with a short beard and mustaches, who seemed to be in his mid-thirties - as much as Jack could tell in the dim light. He had the strangest eyes Sparrow had ever seen ; golden as a bird of prey's, and bestowed with the same intensity. Jack shivered slightly. That was not a normal human's eyes, even if he didn't take their colour into account. The man had spiky short hair, mostly covered by a nice-looking hat ornated by a white feather, and a long black and red coat that let his chest bare. Grey pants and black boots completed the whole attire. He looked like a refined man, and what he was doing in what seemed to be the filthiest cells of Port Royal remained a complete mystery.

The gaoler pushed the newcomer in the jail next to Jack's, but the man didn't fall - he somehow managed to catch himself in motion, and ended on both his feet. Jack raised an eyebrow at the stranger's stance. That was the moves of someone used to moving swiftly and deftly, with a thrift of energy. A fighter.

"You gallows birds can exchange your last words together", the gaoler jeered through several missing teeth, before leaving. He wouldn't be missed.

The stranger walked to the wall and leaned back against it, as he sat down wearily. From the state of dirtiness and crumpleness his clothes were in, Jack could safely assumed he had had a few rough days, lately.

"Hey ! Want some water ?" he offered, as the gaoler had "forgotten", whether it be on purpose or not, to bring some to the man.

The newcomer turned his unearthly eyes towards Jack, and seemed to weigh him up for a moment, before he nodded and took some water through the steel bars.

"Thank you", he said in a raspy voice, that indicated he really needed that water.

"What's your name ?" Jack queried. Anything to distract him.

"Juraquille Mihawk. Yours ?"

"I am captain Jack Sparrow", Jack replied with a touch of pride. No matter where he was, in a cell or elsewhere, no one could take that rank away from him.

"So you're a pirate ?" there was a hint of curiosity in this silky but cold voice, that until then had only displayed a casual lack of interest in the conversation.

"One of the greatest of the Caribbeans !" Jack said, and that wasn't even that far from the truth. If not the greatest, he certainly was the most famous.

"The Caribbeans ?" Mihawk repeated with a lack of understanding. Jack frowned.

"Yes, the Caribbeans. The sea where we are."

"So that's what it's called."

Jack blinked several times as he stared at the man in disbelief. And yet, he didn't seem to be having any audition trouble.

"How can you not know that ?" he asked, dumbfounded.

"I only just arrived here", Mihawk shrugged. "I used to live... far away from here, I guess."

"Oh, I see", Jack said, although he saw little, if anything at all. "So, you are a pirate too ?"

"No." The answer was terse, not to say rude.

"Then, why are you here ?"

Mihawk suddenly looked embarrassed, which didn't fit at all his aristocratic features. That look was priceless, and he certainly didn't wear it often, Jack mused as he saw a hint of red on the man's cheeks.

"I somehow found myself on a ship of the Navy", the stranger reluctantly admitted. "They thought I was trying to steal it, and assumed I was a pirate."

There were many gaps in this quick summary - how he had "found himself" on a ship of the Navy, for starters - but the man didn't seem in a mood to explain in details, and Jack judged better not to get on his bad side. After all, if he wanted the man's assistance to escape, he'd better become friends with him.

"If you're not a pirate, then who are you ?" Jack queried.

"I am a Shichibukai", came the terse reply.

Jack frowned. He had never heard this word before, but the man had said it with quiet assurance, as if it was a famous and feared name all across the sea. Obviously, this title must have some worth whereever this stranger came from, but to tell what it meant... However, Mihawk seemed to pick up Jack's confusion, for he deigned to give some more explanations.

"I guess it would mean little to you", he admitted. "In this... Caribbeans sea of yours. Shichibukai, that's the equivalent, of sorts, of a privateer captain."

"Oh. I understand", Jack lied. That information didn't tell him much, but he'd keep it in memory. "So, does that mean you're on the government's side ?"

"I am on my own side", Mihawk replied dryly. "But that means the government doesn't bother me, yes. Or shouldn't, as it is."

"Hmm", Jack muttered, and he fell silent.

If this man was a privateer, that changed everything. Maybe. Jack could not trust him - not that he could have, had the man been a pirate. But still... privateer or not, he certainly didn't want to die, did he ? Maybe they could agree on some kind of alliance until they reached safety, then each go their own way... he would have to ponder that. Not to mention that, even with this Mihawk's help, he still needed a plan...


"I hate people who bring trouble when I'm drinking with a friend", Shanks muttered for the umpteenth time.

He had been swimming in the sea for what seemed to be hours. And, if that was nothing to enjoy in normal cirumstances, it was even worse with only one arm. At least, the sea wasn't that cold, or he'd long be dead and frozen. But having struggled all this time to end up drowning wasn't really appealing either.

After Winslow had given his little show, all Shanks remembered was a golden light, then falling for what had seemed a very long time, before diving in the sea. He had felt the lack of air burn his lungs before he was able to rise to the surface, surprised that this Winslow fellow had been able to send him that far in the sea without even touching him. But then, when he had turned all around to take directions, he had seen no island, no Mihawk, and no green-haired swordsman. Only the sea, as far as the eye could see. Whatever Winslow had done to them, one thing at least was obvious ; they weren't anywhere near the atoll. Or, at least, Shanks wasn't. Mihawk had possibly managed to dodge, and if that was the case, the red-haired pirate would not hear the end of it.

So, he had kept swimming, since there wasn't anything else he could do, taking directions from the sun for lack of anything better. Not that he knew in which direction he should go, but at least he wouldn't be going in circles. He prefered not to think of how astronomical his chances to find a ship - a boat, a canoe, anything - were. But Red-haired Shanks had never given up, and he wasn't about to now. So, in spite of the futility of his efforts, he kept swimming, slowly but steadily.

When he eventually saw the sail of a ship, he had to blink to be sure he wasn't having hallucinations. But, no, it seemed to be real. That didn't mean he was saved, but his chances just jumped from astronomical to dim. He started to swim towards salvation, a bit more enthusiastically that before. He would not be winning swimming competitions anytime soon, especially with his arm missing, but he was a fairly good swimmer, and slowly but certainly he got closer, although he was close exhaustion. Aware that he would not get another chance if he let this ship go away, he kept up his efforts, with the hope that the watchman was of the conscientious kind. At least, the ship was more or less going in Shanks' direction, or it would have been a lost fight. But his limbs seemed to be heavier and heavier with each passing second.

"A man in the sea !"

Shanks heard shouts and a racket on the deck of the ship. Yes ! They obviously had noticed him. Now, all he had to do was to swim a little longer. Just a little longer...

There was a splash when the lifeboat hit the surface of the sea, and more aquatic sounds as the oars bit in the ocean. Just a little longer... Shanks felt himself sink, but he was unable to move his arms, not even one more time. He tasted the salted water in his mouth, as he fell in a blissfull silence and quietness. Can't... breathe... damn... silly way to die...

His lungs burned, and he tried to rise to the surface one more time. As he thought he wouldn't reach it, he heard a dim sound, and soon a hand clasped around his right arm. He was dragged out of the water, and felt the wind on his face with relief, while more hands closed up around his chest. However, he was panic-stricken when he realised that, in spite of his being out of the water, he still couldn't breath, and he weakly tried to struggle, but that had little if any result, for the same hands that had saved him now impeded him. He heard voices, all around him.

"...Give me this towel..."

"Row, you idiot ! Back to the ship !"

"He's not breathing..."

A flare of pain erupted in his chest when someone hit him, hard, once then twice, but that had the desired result ; Shanks started to cough, then he choked, before he eventually threw up the water in his lungs. He was finally able to take a ragged, painful breath in, before he lost consciousness.


Shanks dimly realised there was people around him, and one of them seemed to be pouring some kind of alcohol in his mouth. Well, alcohol was a universal remedy in any ship, and after several coughs, he managed to swallow some. Now that he was out of the water, he was starting to freeze, and the warmth the drink brought him was more than welcome. Then he fell back into unconsciousness.


He was in a bed. Or something soft, that didn't matter. And he was warm. And he could breath. All in all, that was much better. What had he been doing, to find himself in such a state ? Ah, yes... On the atoll, with Mihawk, then this swordsman, Zoto, Zogo, something like that... Zoro, had come, and then they had been interrupted by this... something Winslow, who had said something about a triangle of some sorts. Then the sea, and... Damn, he had nearly drowned, this time, Shanks realised with a start.

"Awake already ?"

The red-haired pirate opened his eyes, and sat up in the bed, slowly. His muscles ached from the strain, but it felt good to be alive. As powerful as any pirate captain might be, he still could be easily humbled by the sea, and this time, it had nearly taken Shanks' life.

Now, the pirate was staring at a man in his forties, with black hair tinged with streaks of gray, and soft brown eyes. Yet, he was wearing a duo of pistols that looked fairly threatening, Shanks noticed. Not all that peaceful, then.

"Here."

The man gave him a glass of water, and Shanks realised he probably was very dehydrated, for he felt thirsty enough to take on his own a whole barrel of saké. But water would do the trick too, and he drunk avidly, emptying the glass quickly.

"You were nearly dead when we fished you out", the black-haired man commented, and Shanks grimaced. He definitely didn't need to be reminded of that.

"And I am grateful", he replied wholeheartedly. "So, are you the captain of this ship ? I'd like to thank him."

"Nah, I'm the doctor, Stephen Brown, and a recent addition to the crew", the man said as he shook his head. "But you won't be able to speak to the captain, I'm afraid. The first mate will have to do."

"Oh ? How is that ?" Shanks asked, surprised. Captains rarely left their crew on their own. All right, so he had, but they weren't supposed to go anywhere before his return, so that didn't count.

"That's a long story", Brown replied firmly. "I think you'd better speak with the first mate about it."

He was gone before Shanks could ask him anything more, so the red-haired pirate shrugged it off and refilled his glass with the pitcher Brown had left near the bed.

However, Shanks didn't have long to wait, for the first mate in question soon entered the room - which he guessed was this ship's sickbay. Said first mate was an older man, with grey hair and beard, short and of average bulk, with a merry smile on his face.

"Well, mister..." his voice trailed off as he waited for the answer.

"Shanks", the red-haired pirate informed him. There was little harm in telling them his name.

"Shanks", the first mate repeated. "My name is Joshamee Gibbs. You are onboard the Black Pearl, the most famous pirate galleon in all the Caribbeans."

The Caribbeans ? What kind of sea was that ? And more importantly, that was a pirate ship ? Shanks had not paid attention to the ensign, busy as he was to struggle for his life, when he was swimming closer to the ship, and he had not noticed whether there was a skull and crossbones flag anywhere on it, but on the other hand, this Gibbs didn't have any reason to lie. Except if it was a very elaborated joke.

However, Shanks had learnt to never underestimate anyone - even, or maybe especially when they looked harmless. He himself didn't look that dangerous to anyone who didn't know he was one of the most powerful pirates of the four seas... thinking of which, these people didn't seem to have recognized him, and that was weird. Shanks didn't care much about his fame, but he knew he was easily recognized, with his red hair, scarred face and lacking arm. So... did that mean Winslow had sent him much farther than he had initially assumed ? Too many things didn't fit...

"Well, I'm grateful for your assistance", Shanks replied when he realised he had been a bit too long deep in thoughts. "I was in a bit of trouble", he smiled at that. Now that it was over, it was rather funny. Him, the great pirate captain, in such a ridiculous predicament ! Beaten in two seconds by a rookie, at that !

Gibbs looked curiously at the man. People who just barely escaped death, only to be rescued by a crew of pirates, didn't usually look that cheerful. On the other hand, this red-haired man certainly looked a bit like a pirate himself, with his scars and his only arm.

"And how did you find yourself in such a situation ?" the first mate asked.

Shanks scratched his head at the question.

"I wish I knew..." he muttered through clenched teeth. "Truth to be told, I'm not sure - probably drank more alcohol than I thought. So I guess now I'll try to find my ship and crew."

"Your ship and... you mean you've lost your ship ?" Gibbs queried, astounded. Then he thought a bit more. "So if I get it right, you're a captain who's lost his ship ?"

"Add 'pirate' behing the 'captain' and you got it right", Shanks nodded. Among a crew of pirates, better to let them know he was one too. As they said, when in Rome... "What about you ? Your doctor told me something about a missing captain..."

"Yes, well", Gibbs said darkly. "We've lost him during a skirmish with the Navy, and I'm not sure where he is."

Shanks smiled ; after getting worse, things were getting better.

"A captainless ship, and a shipless captain", he summed up. "I think we'll be able to come to an agreement."