The soft creaking of the Black Pearl was soothing for a man to sleep. Every sailor that had been tossing and turning for sleep was almost immediately dead to the world from the Black Pearl's lullaby. Every man, that is, except Captain Jack Sparrow.

            Jack Sparrow was unlike other pirates. He would not be easily pacified from the sounds of his ship. He felt like he was betraying his ship since his own beauty could not sing him to sleep.

            Not tonight, love. He told her silently.

            The soft swaying of the ship caused items to slightly move back and forth. Jack's bed was nailed to the floor so he had no fear he would go sailing across the room. He lay on his white sheets with his back against the head of the bed. He wore his usual white long shirt, dark blue vest, weathered ripped pants, and cream and cherry sash around his waist. His sailor's coat, hat, and sword hung on a peg on the wall and his boots were askew beside his bed. Jack looked as one in deep thought. Perhaps that was the reason he could not fall asleep.

            Why am I so worried? Jack asked himself. I trust Barbossa, why am I afraid to let him know where the Isle is?

            The thing was that he had sensed a strange air among his crew. He didn't feel loyalty in them. The black cloud above his ship had reflected in their hearts. He felt Barbossa was right with the fact that a mutiny was possible. Now that Jack had told Barbossa where the treasure lay, he should've felt relieved. But he didn't. Was there a change in Barbossa?

            Stop it. Jack scolded himself. What are ye talking about? Barbossa is yer friend! One of the only two ye trust completely! Barbossa committing mutiny, especially after ye told him where the treasure was, is just stupid.

            Jack finally felt somewhat at peace as he came to this reasonable conclusion. He lay his head against the wooden board of the bed and let his arms drop beside him. His eyes finally drooped and closed.

            A pirate's life for me…

~

            The doors swung open to yield to the cavern a likely character. The brawls, the conversations, the games did not cease to greet him. A bottle flew across the room and hit the wall and was no longer whole. Luckily it missed the one who had just entered.

            His eyes searched through the crowd until he found a table with one man. He pushed his way through the fighting men until he had sat down across from the loner. The cloaked man held his hand up, showing two fingers to the bartender who somehow noticed them from behind his barkeep. He scurried to their table and set two mugs down. The bartender paid no more notice to either of the men as he went back to important business.

            "Thank ye," said Jack as he lifted the mug to his lips.

            The cloaked figure also took a sip from his mug, but said nothing.

            Jack wiped his mouth and set the mug down.

            "What do ye got for me, Hunter?"

            Hunter looked up, allowing some light to reach his face. He was a man with long brown hair, scraggly from years on the run. He had thick black eyebrows that were set over strange eyes. Strange being that Jack couldn't quite tell what color they were.  Great pirate he was, but he couldn't tell the color of a man's eyes – it was ironic. A large scar traced beside his eye and eyebrow, threatening to make him blind. His skin held cracks that life and age had given him, age that Jack hardly knew himself, nor was familiar with.

            "This be different, Jack."

            The opposite pirate hunched over to listen better.

            "This is a new treasure, very dangerous. I still hesitate to give it to ye."

            Jack grinned. "Now ye know ye can trust me, mate." It is I who can't trust you.

            "That I can't," said Hunter, with still no smile upon his face. "You're a dishonest man, Jack. I can't put it blunter."

            "My honesty," the captain started as he leaned back in his chair, "is not an issue here. What IS an issue is how I handle this. I'm a very good man at handling things, eh?"

            "This might be more than ye can handle. This is no ordinary plundering."

            "What do ye mean by all this?" Jack said carelessly and slightly impatient.

            This time, Hunter leaned forward.

            "This treasure is Aztec gold."

            Jack laughed.

            "Owner by Cortés," Hunter continued. "Sounds pretty innocent, eh? Pretty easy?"

            "Aye!" Jack almost shouted with laughter.

            "WRONG!" Hunter bellowed. He slammed his mug on the table, startling Jack and causing him to almost drop his own mug.

            "It is cursed, Jack. Cursed for his greed."

            Jack sighed.

            "Curses, Hunter? And I was expecting the werewolf."

            "No jokin', mate. I have seen what it does."

            "Cut it, Hunter. What are the bearings? I want to get back to me Pearl."

            Hunter looked desperately at Jack. He started but a pistol appeared from beneath a coat, and not his own.

            "Give me…the bearings."

            Hunter scowled.

            "I warned ye, Jack, and I warn yer crew. Once you, IF you ever get that cursed treasure, I want you to never bother me again. I will not give you any more." Hunter paused and almost smiled. "That treasure can last a man many lifetimes. Ye'll be needin' me no more."

            Jack was undaunted.

            "Let's have it, Hunter."

            Hunter finally reached into his coat and pulled out a worn piece of parchment. He looked over it one last time and finally handed it over to the captain. Jack placed it inside his own coat without looking at it.

            "Thank ye." Jack finished his mug and set it down. He stood up in his chair and started to leave. He turned around and faced Hunter, who hadn't moved.

            "I'll see ye around, Hunter."

            Hunter desolately looked up at Jack.

            "No ye won't," he said with a hint of anger.

~

            Jack was awake but he didn't open his eyes. He could feel something wasn't right. His right hand carefully, slowly moved towards under his pillow where his pistol lay hidden. His hand closed around the handle.

            His eyes shot open and his hand flew from behind the pillow, holding the gun. All for naught. A hard object met his face and Jack felt his neck crack with the blow. He immediately fell unconscious.