Disclaimer: I own no part of Pirates of the Caribbean. The original plots and characters are owned by me.

Here There Be Monsters

Although the weather had been fair when the Lorena set sail, the last watches of the night had seen patchy fog building in from the east. Captain Harden stood at her aft rail, keeping an uneasy eye on the fog. He couldn't say why it troubled him, but he was somehow alarmed at the thought of it overtaking his ship. Still, the Lorena might have made port ahead of the inclement weather if only her mizzen backstay had held together. Unfortunately, no one had observed it slowly unravelling at the top of the mizzen-mast. Each roll of the ship had severed a few more strands, until at last the entire backstay broke loose with a violent snap.

Captain Harden ordered the ship hove to, and had his bo'sun dispatch a team to repair the damage. The fog and the broken backstay put him in a nettlesome mood which was not improved when he was accosted by his least favourite passenger, the self-important, moon-faced Horace Jervis. Jervis had a nervous habit of fingering the heavy gold watch chain that adorned his waistcoat, and he appeared to be quite nervous at the moment.

"Up late, Mr Jervis?" Harden observed.

"I am a light sleeper; when the ship stopped moving, I was awakened," replied Jervis reproachfully, with a look at the mast. "Unfortunate that she should be in such ill-repair."

Harden murmured some soothing words, though he was stung by the landsman's insult to the state of his ship.

Oblivious to the effect of his words, the portly Mr Jervis continued, adding, "I hope we're not much delayed – are we not all risking our lives in these waters? Are they not infested with bloodthirsty sea robbers?"

"Nay, Mr Jervis," Harden answered testily, "Pirates be less and less common in these parts. Ye'd run more risk in the East Indies."

"Still," Jervis pursued. "Think of the value of the goods they seize! Think of the money lost by investors! And, naturally," he added, belatedly, "the innocent lives cut short!"

"I've sailed these waters for near twenty years," replied Harden, "and been boarded twice by pirates. Generally, they content themselves with plunderin' of her valuables, and don't molest the passengers unless resisted." He knocked a dottle out of the pipe he'd been smoking, and added, "I find it best to offer no resistance."

He made this last remark chiefly to goad Jervis. Harden had never been attacked by pirates, but he knew that, for the greedy little merchant, the risk of people being killed was far less upsetting than the possible theft of his possessions.

"How could you recommend such a course?" Mr Jervis burst out, clutching his watch chain. "It would be the rankest cowardice–" But Harden interrupted him.

"As long as I'm Master of the Lorena, Mr Jervis, I'll do as I see fit," he said, before turning back to confer with his bo'sun.

Less than a mile astern, a ship with black sails, her lights doused by order of her captain, was drawing steadily closer. Barbossa stood on the Pearl's starboard side near the bow, peering through his spyglass at the Lorena. Judging by the way her sails were set and the activity at the mizzen mast-head, he surmised that the Lorena's crew was making a repair – one which had forced them to heave to until it was complete.

The sight made him smile. Fortune favours us tonight, he thought. He closed the spyglass and turned to Ragetti, who was standing a little to one side.

"Hoist the colours," he told Ragetti in a quiet voice. "Tell 'em t' make ready the starboard guns and keep it quiet. We'll come up on her windward side in the fog, an' give her a buccaneer's kiss."

"Aye, Cap'n," Ragetti said under his breath. With a nod and a grin, he made haste to pass along Barbossa's orders.

Barbossa turned back to the Lorena, listening to the faint call of the medallions. Every man on the Pearl could hear it; the thrumming filled their veins with fire, calling them to seek out the gold, to seize it, and to destroy anything that stood in their way. Barbossa glanced at Jack the monkey and saw the excitement in the little animal's face; but even Jack seemed to understand that he had to keep quiet as the Pearl silently gained on the Lorena.

Keeping an eye on the diminishing distance to his prey, Barbossa glanced quickly behind him to make sure the gunners were in position. When the two ships were quite near each other, he signaled with his arm to release the sheets and slow the Pearl. As they drifted slowly abeam of the Lorena, he suddenly shouted, "Fire!"

Captain Harden heard the shouted order, but it was far too late. There was a brilliant yellow flash off to larboard, followed a split second later by a deafening roar, as the Pearl fired a broadside into the Lorena. Captain Harden found himself hurriedly following the philosophy he had blithely explained to Mr Jervis – amidst the screams of his crew and passengers, he struck his colours at once and called for quarter.

The Lorena's dozen or so passengers milled about the main deck in panic as the pirates boarded her. "Where's the cap'n?" demanded Pintel loudly amidst a cacophony of shouting from the Pearl's crew. He brandished his pistol under the noses of the terrified passengers. "Bring 'im out!"

At the same time, Twigg was shouting threats to force the same passengers to line up on the main deck. One luckless member of the Lorena's crew failed to step aside quickly enough for Twigg, who drew his cutlass and slashed the man across his chest. In short order, the trembling passengers were standing in formation, Pintel and Ragetti had secured Captain Harden and the Lorena's officers to the main-mast, and the rest of her crew had been herded together and made to sit on the deck some distance away, guarded by Koehler and Jacoby.

A hush fell over the passengers a moment later, when a tall, shadowy figure stepped onto the Lorena's deck and approached them with a loping, deliberate stride. They moved about anxiously –- tethered prey being stalked by a lion.

As Barbossa paced the length of the line in silence, some passengers tossed pieces of jewelry and small pouches of coins at his feet, hoping to forestall the further use of force. Barbossa ignored their trinkets; he could hear the gold quite clearly, and it led him to a rotund little merchant whose quivering face shone with rivulets of perspiration. The man was standing next to an overdressed, whey-faced matron who was evidently his wife. Barbossa stopped, eyeing the couple. He drew his pistol and cocked it.

"Deliver yer goods or by God I'll blow off her head," he demanded loudly, pointing his weapon at Jervis' wife.

"Take it all," cried Jervis, and began snatching his wife's rings off her fingers. All of her jewels were thrown down on the deck, and Jervis laid his watch down as well, but did not produce the medallions. Barbossa could still hear them, a faint hum coming from the right pocket of Jervis' waistcoat.

Captain Harden suddenly called out, "We called for quarters! We yield all our goods and valuables! What is it ye want?"

"Shut it!" Barbossa snarled, glaring at the captain. Harden's question unsettled him; it was indeed remarkable for pirates to spurn valuables of any kind, and he suddenly felt that his true purpose risked exposure. Better to plunder the ship of all she carries, he reasoned.

"Gents, relieve 'em of their cargo an' stores," he ordered his men grandly. "I want everything." He turned back to Mr Jervis. I'll give ye one last chance to play the gentleman, he thought.

"Stand off," he ordered the other passengers, who made haste to back away from Mr Jervis. Once more, Barbossa pointed his pistol at the woman's head.

"Now: deliver what I know yer carryin', or she dies," he said.

Jervis swallowed hard, blinking rapidly. "I can't give you what I don't have," he whined.

Barbossa raised his eyebrows. "Not even fer her life?" he enquired with disgust.

Jervis' face grew red, but he said nothing.

Barbossa began to squeeze the trigger, as Jervis shut his eyes and hunched his shoulders. Then, with a swift movement, he swung the pistol around and shot Jervis through the head.

Jervis dropped to the deck and his wife shrieked as she collapsed to her knees.

Barbossa motioned to Koehler to approach. "Right pocket, Master Koehler," he muttered, gesturing with the smoking pistol. Koehler extracted a purse from Jervis' waistcoat pocket and handed it to Barbossa as Jervis' wife burst into loud wails.

"Shut yer bawlin'," Barbossa ordered her. He shook the purse in her face. "Less he loved ye than what's in this purse."

He had just holstered his weapon when the moon appeared through the clouds, shining through the fog and revealing the true nature of the pirates. As the panicked screaming began, the pirate crew raised their weapons, and Barbossa called out his final orders.

"Bind 'em all fast," he commanded his men. "Blow the powder magazine. Scuttle her. No survivors, no tales o' what they saw."

The pirates worked with deadly efficiency, and it was not long afterwards that they watched from the deck of the Pearl as the Lorena went up in a blazing explosion. The curse prevented them from feeling the heat of the blast, but they did feel the fiery splinters of wood and iron that rained down on them.

Thirty more medallions, thought Barbossa, brushing cinders off his coat sleeve. He was still angry over Jervis' daring to argue with him, and disgusted at the man's willingness to abandon his wife to keep the gold. Next time, I'll kill 'em all first, he promised himself. No one to argue with me, and no survivors tellin' tales of what I were searching for.

He turned from the rail to find Pintel and Ragetti standing behind him. Ragetti was holding a silk parasol that he had evidently taken from the Lorena, and Pintel's eyes glinted in a way that always heralded a ridiculous plan of some sort. Barbossa raised his eyebrows as Pintel addressed him.

"Beggin' yer pardon, Cap'n," Pintel began, "but this bit o' frippery made me think o' the last thing Bootstrap said before we hoisted 'im from the yard. Said 'e knew 'ow t' make a fortune off Jack's little poppet–"

"Off a dead lass?" Barbossa scoffed. "The curse turned his wits."

Ragetti laughed. "Turned Turner's wits," he chortled.

Pintel's smile faded, but Barbossa's curiosity had been piqued. "An' how did Bootstrap say we could come at these riches?" he asked.

Brightening at once, Pintel answered, "'Er uncle's put a fair price on 'er – I thought we might disguise one of us with a gown an' all, and—"

"It be the medallions we need," Barbossa pointed out sharply. "Unless the uncle can pay with Aztec gold, what care I for ransoms? Back t' work, ye bottle-headed sea slugs!" He glared after them as they retreated, and then spoke to Bo'sun. "Send Koehler t' me quarters," he said, and made his way to the day room.

Koehler entered to find Barbossa seated at the table with the open log before him. "Three missin' medallions," Barbossa said, without preamble. Koehler nodded quickly.

"Aye, Cap'n," he said, staring at the floor with a sullen expression.

He looked unwilling and yet anxious to speak, and Barbossa waited to hear him out. Koehler, he mused, had sailed with him for many years, and this man, standing before him now with stooped shoulders and glowering expression, had not always looked so menacing. Years ago, Koehler's messmates would joke that he had more luck plundering ladies than ships, and indeed he had won many a female heart with his dark eyes and handsome looks.

"I'll get you the medallions," Koehler said at last. Barbossa could sense something in his voice akin to fear, which he would have sworn was unknown to Koehler.

"Thank ye," he said. "An' where might ye be fetchin' 'em from?" Koehler hesitated, but then seemed to resolve some momentary doubt.

"Saint-Pierre," he replied, staring hard at Barbossa. "Solange has them." There was a silence while Barbossa tried to remember if Koehler had ever before mentioned the little town in Martinique, or any woman named Solange.

"My wife," Koehler explained. Still looking Barbossa in the eye, he added, "She knows nothing of the curse. If she gives them up quietly . . ."

"Ye needn't worry if she does," answered Barbossa, dishonestly. "But . . . if she doesn't . . ."

"Then she would not be the woman I think she is," Koehler replied with a serious look. Barbossa nodded, and no more was said on the subject until the Pearl reached Martinique.

Saint-Pierre, a small, picturesque town, lay nestled at the foot of a volcano on one of the loveliest islands in the Antilles. The first sign that the pirates were nearing their destination was the sight of Martinique's steep, mountainous peaks growing taller as the Pearl approached, as though they were steadily emerging from the depths of the ocean. Even at that distance, the most casual observer would have been struck by the lush, emerald verdure of the jungle-like forests that covered every part of the mountains.

Then, as the Pearl drew closer, the bright, narrow ribbon of Saint-Pierre came into view. Its cobbled streets were lined with brilliant yellow and orange houses with red tile roofs and blue shutters, looking like a flock of tropical birds perched on a single, long branch in the midst of an impossibly green rainforest.

All this time, Barbossa had been surveying the shore through his spyglass, but now he lowered it. He remembered the town well, and allowed himself to muse on pleasant memories of Saint-Pierre.

It must be more than ten years, he thought, recalling her narrow little side streets that struggled up from the harbour towards the steep slopes of the mountains. He remembered walking those streets, inhaling the intoxicating perfume of cinnamon, sugar, mangoes and coconut that sweetened the air, whilst listening to the continual, soft, rustling flow of the many rivières that surrounded the town. A jewel of a town, he thought. And now he could no longer immerse himself in her many charms.

The Pearl lingered several miles off shore in the sapphire waters until just after sunset. Then, because the land shelved away so steeply, Barbossa was able to bring the Pearl very close to the island's rocky coastline, with its multitude of coves and inlets – so close that the eerie fog that surrounded the Pearl rolled a good way up the sides of the mountains behind the town.

Koehler might have expected to go ashore by himself, but Barbossa boarded the longboat in silence, and Koehler rowed them to shore without a word. When they disembarked, Barbossa waved Koehler ahead, and the two men started up a side street so steeply pitched that it had been built with steps cut at several points. The street bore the fanciful name of "Rue Mont-au-Ciel", or "Climb-to-Heaven Street", and at the very top of it lived Koehler's wife, Solange Cyparis.

When they reached the cramped little stucco house, Koehler turned to Barbossa, who stepped back into a dark recess between two of the humble dwellings. He nodded to Koehler, and waited in the shadows.

Koehler looked quickly about, then went to the door and rapped on it softly. In a moment, someone opened the door, and light from inside the house spilled into the street. In the doorway stood Solange, tall and willowy, with light coffee-coloured skin and large, dark eyes framed by the perfect arc of her eyebrows, giving her face the appearance of an elegant doll. Her hair was pulled back and gathered simply at the crown of her head, without ringlets or any other adornment. Barbossa was astonished and envious of Koehler's pretty, graceful wife.

Solange threw her arms about her husband and drew him inside. Barbossa could see them through the glassless window, and hear Koehler reluctantly telling her that he must have the medallions. There was a moment's pause, and Barbossa made ready to draw his pistol and put an end to this encounter if Solange became distraught. However, there was only a softly murmured "Mais, pourquoi?"as she tried to read her husband's intentions. Koehler shook his head, full of mute misery, but Solange had grasped all that was necessary.

She gently disengaged herself from his arms, and fetched a small leather purse, which she handed to Koehler. How did he make her do that so willingly? Barbossa thought as he watched with astonishment.

Koehler was nervously bidding a quick farewell, unable to answer his wife's questions, and (Barbossa speculated) perhaps knowing the long, hellish exile to which he was condemned to return. In any case, he made such haste that he stepped out of the door and straight into a silvery patch of moonlight that instantly exposed his rotting, skeletal form.

Solange, who had followed him with her arms outstretched, froze in horror.

Once more, Barbossa began to tighten his grip on his pistol, but once more Solange confounded his expectations. Grief-stricken and frightened, she nonetheless reached out tentatively, coaxing Koehler, even taking him by his skeletal wrist, and drawing the despairing man back into the shelter of the house, where he resumed his human form. She embraced him tenderly, holding him for a long time. At last, she spoke some words softly in his ear, to which he nodded agreement, keeping his head bowed. She withdrew into the house once more, and returned with two small children clinging to her hands. She lifted them to Koehler's arms, one after the other.

She knows this be the last farewell, Barbossa mused. How is it that she still loves, seein' the monster he is now? He dropped his hand from his pistol, fighting down the desolation that threatened to fill his breast.

Even after their farewells were said, she stood outside to watch her husband as he walked away. When he passed the corner where Barbossa waited, his captain stepped forward and walked with him in silence and without looking back.

It was not until they were back on the Pearl that Barbossa ventured to look through his glass at the shore. At water's edge in the moonlight, with wisps of fog curling about her, stood Solange, Koehler's lonely guardian angel, looking helplessly out to sea.

In the weeks that followed, Barbossa noticed a change in Koehler: he seemed to resign himself more to his cursed existence, becoming more sullen, more merciless than ever. He followed orders, but there was a ferocity and dull anger in his gaze that gradually became permanent, and he rarely looked his captain in the eyes.

On a sunny morning six months after visiting Martinique, Barbossa found himself standing at the larboard rail, pondering whether the boon he had obtained from Tia Dalma was, in fact, a comfort or an ordeal. A second strange dream had come to him only the night before. He was holding a green apple in his hand, purely out of habit, as he mulled over the perplexing dream.

He had not expected to sleep again so soon, and had been pleased to find himself becoming drowsy. He had fallen asleep quite easily, and soon the dream began.

This time, he was seated at a table in a house somewhat like the one in Saint-Pierre where he had watched and envied Koehler. The setting, therefore, was easy to explain; but the rest of the dream was mysterious and frustrating, tantalizing him with suggestions of a meaning he could not quite discern.

There had been a woman seated on his lap who might have been Solange, since she whispered "Mon ange," softly in his ear. Her arms encircled his neck and she leaned against his chest, but then she raised her head to glance shyly at him for an instant, and he saw that it was Nina. His ability to feel, to taste and to smell had returned, and he was keenly aware of the warmth and softness of her body lying against him.

Holding her in this way had made him conscious of a new feeling – a strong, almost overwhelming urge to protect her. She had twined herself about him, resting her head close to his neck. He remembered the sensation of the small hand grasping his pigtail and tightening affectionately, trustingly about it. Aye, he thought with longing, recalling the dream. She trusted me.

There was an air of quiet serenity over the scene, and he had noticed that they were breathing, he thought, in unison. He had said, "I'll keep ye safe," wanting to promise her this, wanting her to belong to him.

But she had shaken her head. What had she answered? You can't? You won't? Something like, "because of dying", but the exact words had already faded from his memory.

Then the dream had started to change, and he remembered the feeling of her warm breath as she kissed the side of his face. Suddenly overflowing with desire for her, he had kissed her mouth, wanting to drown in these sweet feelings. He had brought his hand up to caress her breast, and just as he touched her there, the dream had ended.

What had cast his spirits even lower was the thought of how little this slight contact would have meant to him before being cursed. And now he was pitifully grateful for the brief dream, struggling to recapture every sensation and luxuriate in it before it fled, yet knowing it was all quite hopeless. He was ready to accept Tia Dalma's warning that his wished-for dreams would make the rest of the time worse for him. Greed, or lust, which was simply greed by another name, had made him bargain yet again for something that was not his, and which he could not enjoy. But even more troublesome was his growing suspicion that he might be harbouring some sort of unexpected feelings towards the girl in the dreams.

He tried to think of the last time he had wanted to protect anyone. Glancing at Jack the monkey, he thought, Well, except for you.

Then he remembered the battle on the Pearl, when he had slyly cut the locket off her neck with one swift flick of his sword while she was distracted. And then? Why had he followed her when she chased after the two pirates?

She had been ready to fire on them from their own deck, and follow them down the hatchway, where she would have been cut down. Stupid. Had he been protecting her, or had he simply been looking after a less-than-expert shipmate? And why did he still think of protecting her?

As if anything could threaten a drowned lass. As if he could protect a drowned lass. These were dangerous feelings, he realised.

He should have taken her when he had the chance, he thought, forced himself on her, even before sending Sparrow overboard. Now I be a dead man, haunted for all time by a living ghost. He looked down and discovered that, without conscious thought, he had once more taken the hairpin from his coat pocket, and was clutching it tightly. Let the damned thing go, and her with it, he thought. Throw it into the sea, where her body rests until the Last Day.

He watched his hand as it slowly returned the pin to his pocket. Ye can't even let a hairpin go, he thought, with an ache in his chest. He looked at the apple in his other hand – its shiny green skin covering the juicy, sweet fruit he could not enjoy. I wish I'd never tasted you, he thought with great bitterness. Suddenly, he pitched the apple overboard, as hard as he could throw it.

Next: A Captain So Evil - Bootstrap's medallion eludes the Pearl.

A/N: One of the reasons pirates were so successful at this time was that ships chiefly used latitudes for navigation. When sailing to their destination, they would sail to the latitude of the port where they were going, and then stay on it until they arrived. This made it quite easy for pirates to know where ships would be and, in this case, for the Pearl to find the Lorena.