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Chapter Seven:

Silver and Gold

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The storm was had opened up upon them seemingly out of nowhere. Innocent white clouds swelled to gray monsters, and the clement breeze to gale force winds, all in the half hour following sunset. Now, the moon lent a pearly gleam to the fierce mountainous waves that hurtled themselves at the Interceptor, flooding her decks with stinging foamy brine and half-freezing the sailors attempting to keep her above water.

Sarah's icy fingers clumsily groped the shrouds as she tried to keep her balance. Seawater swept her feet out from under her, rainwater pelted her from above, and both blurred her vision. She squinted at the figures on deck, trying to decipher which one was Will, which one was Gibbs, and which—well, there was no reason to look for Jack. She knew where he was.

Glancing over her shoulder, she paused a moment to gape at him, grinning viciously as he stood at the helm, steering the ship with one hand and holding his 'broken' compass with the other. She was sorely tempted to smack the cheerful expression off his face, when the rest of them were scrambling around gasping for breath as they tried to save his stolen hunk of wood and canvas. Using the shrouds and the web of rigging stretched around the mast, she hoisted herself up next to him.

"What the hell's making you so bloody happy?" She shouted over the tempest's rage.

"We're catching up." His voice was hard with determination and spite.

She thought a little uneasily that he was awfully enthusiastic for someone embarking on a mission to attack a load of cursed criminals that were fundamentally indestructible. Perhaps he was as insane as she had first thought—or perhaps he was keeping something from them. Both were equally likely.

She turned and made her way back onto the main deck just as Gibbs was coming up behind her. She heard his shout, muffled by the storm: "We should drop canvas, sir!"

Back among the crew, she half-slid over to Will as he struggled to strap down one of the few remaining free cannons. For a brief moment she was distracted by the dark that spread beyond the ship, as it seemed to writhe in the flashes of lightning. Her right mind told her it was only the storm clouds, but its sheer vastness still frightened her.

As she came and crouched over the other side of the cannon, Will cried, "How can we sail to an island that nobody can find, with a compass that doesn't work?"

She grinned at him despite her freezing misery, Jack's words from the jail cell running through her head. "Sure, the compass doesn't point north—but we're not trying to find north, are we!"

His response, which undoubtedly would've been sarcastic, was cut off by a particularly immense wave rolling over the ship, throwing them backwards. Will managed to keep his footing by holding both the railing and the rope, but Sarah skidded backwards, virtually rolling to the other side of the deck.

She had never claimed to be as experienced as any other of the sailors. A few sailing lessons from her father hardly counted as knowledge. As she tried to gulp in air and instead gulped in water, somewhere in her mind she noted that she perhaps missed the lesson on how to stay aboard during a storm.

All the salt water and shouting to be heard had made her throat raw—her scream was a gravelly scraping sound that scarcely reached her own ears. The lack of oxygen caused black spots to mar her sight—she barely made out the outline of the bulwark before it made painful contact with her side, and then the water pushed her over. Her already torn fingernails dug into the wood, and then she was falling into the distorted shadowy fog, air whistling past her flailing limbs as she seized the air with her fists.

The water was almost as hard as stone when she hit it, and just as opaque. She opened her eyes for a fleeting second, and saw nothing but black before the stinging water convinced her to close them.

You've fallen overboard. You're in the water. Her mind struggled to register these ideas as she instinctively panicked, struggling to reach the surface and swallowing water that she prayed would turn into air.

You're going to drown.

The more she tried to swim, the harder the water seemed to push her downwards, compressing her body and sealing her lungs. She could feel the current of each wave as it rose and plummeted over her, and she knew she was moving further away from her only chance of rescue.

The water was suddenly so much stronger, as her exhausted limbs slowed and she let herself drift, ears roaring, thoughts fading…

Something stirred in the bleak nothing that filled her head, and it felt as though a giant cork was being pushed out of her throat. What must've been gallons of seawater came pouring from her lungs, coating her mouth with a fresh layer of salt as she choked on the unfamiliar sweetness of the air. Her hands reached out and found a solid wood surface—her eyes flew open and familiar faces slowly formed among the smudges of blue.

"She's alive," Will said, sounding relieved. Besides him, Gibbs, Anamaria, a portly looking sailor with white hair and a muscular Asian man were all surrounding her, the same look of curiosity and relief all written across their faces. But, leaning over her, water dripping from his dreadlocks and onto her face, was an exceptionally stony-faced Jack. There was a rope tied around his waist, and his hat, coat, and belt were missing.

She was torn between astonishment, dread, and gratitude—but mostly astonishment. For some reason she had thought Will was more the rescuing type. An icy coat of shame spread over her insides as she stared openmouthed at the pirate captain, who had undeniably been the one to risk his life to save what most captains would've considered a lost cause.

And you've been absolutely rude to him the entire trip.

Words of apology and thanks rose in her throat, but just before they escaped her lips, Jack said callously, "You are hardly worth the trouble."

The abrupt warmth she had towards him diminished and died out. She placed both hands on his shoulders and shoved him, only slightly roughly, out of the way so she could sit up. She smiled thankfully up at the surrounding audience as they all helped her to her feet, and then returned to their posts. The storm seemed to have lessened already, as though possessing her for even the shortest amount of time had satisfied its thirst.

Sarah turned to Jack, who was shrugging his sodden coat back on. "Thank you for saving me," she said brokenly, hoping he would look at her, or say something to make her less angry with him. When he didn't, she added, "Next time we stop somewhere, I will be sure to get off the ship and save you the trouble."

۞

What sleep Sarah had that night was fitful and riddled with dreams. She would see the featureless silhouette of the Black Pearl, sailing into Port Royal, or struggling like the Interceptor through the surging waters of the tempest—and then she would jerk up in her swinging hammock as she felt the water pressing in around her.

Finally, when the stench of the crewmen in the surrounding hammocks had become too much and sleep seemed hopeless, she rose silently as she could and tiptoed up on deck.

Faint tendrils of mist were curling around the Interceptor, too translucent to entirely block out the dark blue of the early morning sky, but heavy enough to smudge the ship's contour. Astern, the sea spread out clearly, but past the bowsprit there was only a dense cloud of white. She peered apprehensively into it, remembering the fog that doggedly followed the Black Pearl wherever it sailed.

Only two other men would be on deck—the helmsman, and the morning watch. She approached the latter and offered to take the lanky, fiery-haired man's place. He accepted graciously and ambled down the hatch, leaving her to her own machinations.

Sunlight was just peaking over the horizon, but the orb itself had yet to appear. She leaned over the bulwark and peered over the anchor at the hull. It cut through drifting fog and murky water, quiet as a whisper and neat as a knife. She eased back and gazed into the dreary weather until her watch ended and the crew slowly carried themselves up onto the deck.

"Good morning," Will greeted her. She gave him a tired smile in reply. "I didn't know it was your turn on morning watch," he exclaimed. "I would've stayed up with you."

"I took the last half of Duncan's shift," she reassured him. "And I wouldn't have let you anyways."

Will opened his mouth to reply, when his eyes suddenly averted from hers and narrowed. "Is that a ship?"

Sarah whirled around. Will was right—there was something in the fog. She stepped forward, trying to make out the gray narrow form coming in and out of focus. "Mast," she muttered. "It's a mast!"

"Coming out of the water? A sunken ship?"

"Mast to the le—port! On the port side!" Sarah's shoulders slumped in relief as she watched Anamaria steer the ship clear. "It's not the Pearl," she told Will as he squinted at it. "I don't think it's possible for a cursed ship to sink."

Will gave her a wondering look. "You believe in the curse?"

"You don't?"

"Pirates are superstitious…I wouldn't believe everything they say."

Sarah wrinkled her nose at him and decided to drop the subject. She had witnessed Will's stubborn streak and preferred to stay away from it. He would have to see for himself.

۞

By noon the fog was so thick it seemed almost solid, and a morose, edgy atmosphere had settled over the crew. The mast Will had spotted was not the last they would see—as Gibbs had explained, the passage they had to travel to reach Isla de Muerta was treacherous, and without a shallow draft like the Interceptor's, a ship could easily collide with one of the many rocky outcrops that lingered below the surface. The sight of the countless weathered masts jutting out of the mist was proof enough. The place was a ship's graveyard.

It seemed like they had spent days in the chilling fog when the first land formations finally appeared. They were soon making their way through a maze of tiny islets, and Gibbs came over to where Will and Sarah stood by the railing and informed them that they would reach the main island soon.

"Thank god," Will muttered. Cotton's parrot chose that moment to screech, "Dead men tell no tales!"

Sarah shuddered.

"I know how ye feel," Gibbs said sympathetically. "Puts a chill in the bones, how many honest sailors have been claimed by this passage."

There was a short silence, and then Will suddenly asked, "How is it that Jack came by that compass?" The question was completely off topic but Sarah found herself interested right away.

Gibbs glanced over at their captain and shrugged as he adjusted a line in mooring preparation. "Not a lot's known about Jack Sparrow before he showed up in Tortuga with a mind to go after the treasure of the Isla de Muerta. That was before I met 'im, back when he was captain of the Black Pearl." He took a swig of the substance in his canteen, and then nearly choked on it as Will and Sarah both cried out in astonishment.

"What?" Will said angrily. "He failed to mention that."

"Ah, well, he plays things close to the vest now," Gibbs said in a soothing tone, "And a hard-learned lesson it was. See, three days out on the venture, the first mate comes to him and says everything's an equal share as should be the location of the treasure, too." They all exchanged knowing looks, Sarah and Will kneeling down with Gibbs, both listening intently. "So," Gibbs continued, "Jack gives up the bearings. That night, there was a mutiny." Sarah flinched at the harshness of the word, as pity dawned on her countenance. The man that was their captain abruptly made sense to her.

"They marooned Jack on an island and left him to die—but not before he'd gone mad with hate!"

"Ah," Will said understandingly. "So that's the reason for all the…" He did an exaggerated imitation of Jack's elaborate hand gestures, and Sarah inadvertently giggled.

"Reason's got nothing t'do with it," Gibbs replied gravely. "Now, when a man is marooned, he's a given a pistol with a single shot—one shot! Well, it won't do much good hunting or to be rescued. But after three weeks of starvin' belly and thirst—" He gestured crudely with his fingers, like a man holding a pistol to his temple. "—That pistol starts to look real friendly. But Jack made it off the island and he still has that one shot! Oh, but he won't use it though, save on one man." Gibbs grinned unpleasantly. "His mutinous first mate."

"Barbossa," Sarah nodded.

"Aye."

"How did Jack get off the island?"

"Well, I'll tell ye." His eyes sparked as something akin to pride came over his features. "He waded out into the shallows, and there he waited three days and three nights—till all manner of sea creature came and acclimated to his presence. And on the fourth morning he roped himself a couple of sea turtles, lashed them all together and made a raft!"

Will and Sarah stared at their narrator dumbly. "He roped a couple of sea turtles," Will repeated blankly.

Sarah had a sinking feeling. She was sorely reminded of the story about the tribe of midgets—the one that landed her in jail.

"Aye, sea turtles." Gibbs smiled with honest admiration.

"What did he use for rope?" Will asked cynically, and Gibbs looked stumped. Sarah almost wished Will wouldn't spoil the story for the man. She would rather believe it and be happy than think of Jack as a liar.

Oh, but he is. Love.

"Human hair," said a familiar voice, and they all turned to stare at the man of the hour. Jack looked down on them all with raised eyebrows. "From my back."

Gibbs grinned, his confidence in his captain restored.

"Let go the anchor!" Jack ordered, ending Will and Sarah's little story session. "Young Mr. Turner and I are to go ashore."

The crew rushed to follow his command, but Sarah lagged behind unenthusiastically. Contradicting all her earlier fears, she felt curiously left out to think that Jack and Will were going to, with any luck, save Elizabeth without her. They had done everything else together so far; she had hoped they created a sort of trio.

Gibbs brushed past her, interrupting her disappointed reverie.

"Captain! What if the worst should happen?" He asked Jack, and the pirate gave him a fleeting look.

"Keep to the code," Jack said with quiet conviction.

"Aye, the code," Gibbs agreed heartily, and Sarah stepped forward as Jack moved away.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Oh, lass—well, I meant if he or Will should die along the way—"

Sarah was already marching away. She half-stomped across deck to where Will and Jack were climbing down into a jolly boat, and then towered over them. "I'm going with you."

"Oh god," Jack groaned, massaging his temple. "Sarah…Miss Burke, please," he smiled at her with false sweetness. "It would be much smarter of you to stay here. Out of danger. Out of the way."

Ignoring him, she hitched up her skirts and began climbing down the bulwark.

Sarah had never done anything extraordinarily brave. She had never stood up to her enemies at school. She had never jumped off the high board. She had never dressed anything but low-key.

She had never been amazingly popular. Her father was dead, her mother and sisters barely knew her—the total amount of phone numbers in her agenda added up to, maybe, five.

There was quite literally nothing to lose.

"Sarah, you don't even have anything to protect yourself with," Will pointed out pleadingly.

She paused. As much as her inner hero wanted to fight the good fight and die a noble death, the intelligent half of her mind thought a weapon sounded just fine. "Give me your gun," she ordered the sailor holding the line to cast off the boat—Duncan.

With a wary glance at Jack, he handed it to her. She shoved it in her belt and stepped down into the boat, taking a seat beside Will and exhaling loudly.

"Women," the pirate muttered irritably. Sarah stuck up her chin and disregarded the comment. As Jack rowed rhythmically towards the gaping cave in the center island, she clutched the plank she sat on with white fingers and silently begged herself to not be afraid. It almost worked; instead of feeling frightened, a sort of numb sensation washed over her and she felt nothing at all.

They passed a particularly large outcrop of rocks, and another ship came into view on the other side of the cove. This one, unlike the prim Interceptor, seemed to belong amidst the soupy fog, with tattered its black sails and a decrepit appearance that Jack appeared to find painful to look at. Reluctantly he got out his telescope and scanned the Black Pearl's deck.

"Is she there?" Will asked desperately.

"No," Jack replied, closing his telescope and frowning.

"Where is she?"

"It's begun."

۞

The inside of cave was, oddly enough, less frightening than the outside. Sarah stared around at the rocky, algae-covered walls of the grotto as they shone in the dim light of the lantern Will was holding out in front of them. She could easily imagine a mermaid sitting on the rocky platforms that lined the water, the reflection of her scales blending with the reflection of the treasure-littered water. Truly, Sarah had never seen so much gold—the pirates who used the cave appeared to have gotten clumsy, and if they could afford to waste this much, Sarah could scarcely imagine what lay ahead. She gaped down at the glittering doubloons, warped from spheres to radical zigzags in the translucent water.

Thus far, the only noise had been the rustle of the water as Jack disturbed its glassy surface with the oars. Will's voice was slightly higher than usual when he spoke up and broke into the silence.

"What code is Gibbs to keep to if the worst should happen?"

"Pirate's code," Jack replied easily. "Any man that falls behind is left behind."

Will's mouth twisted bitterly. "No heroes among thieves, eh?"

Unfazed, Jack answered, "You know, for having such a bleak outlook on pirates, you're well on your way to becoming one. Sprung a man from jail," Jack listed, "Commandeered a ship of the Fleet, sailed with a buccaneer crew out of Tortuga…" He leaned over Sarah's shoulder, and she realized Will had been looking at the coins below them as well. "And," Jack finished with a smile, "You're completely obsessed with treasure."

Sarah couldn't help but laugh, though she did it quietly so not to cause an echo. Jack grinned at her, and they exchanged doubtful looks as Will muttered indignantly, "That's not true." They scrambled up the abrupt slope of the cave floor, one after the other. "I am not obsessed with treasure."

Sarah was the first up, loose gold digging into her palms as she climbed up and kneeled down on the ledge, staring through the nature-made window that let her look into the core of the cave system. What she saw sent an unexpected thrill through her veins.

A collection of the filthiest, fiercest looking men she had ever seen were spread around one point in the cavern, all shouting and punching the air with clenched fists. The center point was a high mound of treasure mixed with sand, and standing atop it was a disheveled Elizabeth, dressed in a striking dark gown, her tawny hair tumbling over her shoulders as she leaned forward over an ancient-looking stone chest. Beside her, an older man with a twisted smile had his arm raised over the gigantic feathered hat on his head. He was wearing a captain's cloak.

Barbossa. She felt a swell of loathing and fear grow in the pit of her stomach. There was a knife in his hand.

"Not all treasure is silver and gold, love," Jack whispered to her as he came up beside her, Will after him.

"Gentlemen," Barbossa cried, his voice a hard, accented growl. "The time has come!" The men cheered. "Salvation is nigh!" Their cheering grew louder. "Our torment is near an end!"

"Elizabeth," Will gasped, instinctively moving forward and pushing a few doubloons off the ledge. Jack put a hand on his shoulder and shoved him backwards.

Barbossa continued. "For ten years we've been tested and tried, and each one of you here has proved his mettle a hundred times over—" The cursed men roared. "—And a hundred times again!"

"Suffered, I have!" Someone from the crowd called out.

"Punished we were," Barbossa agreed passionately. "The lot of us—disproportionate to our crime! Here it is—" He shoved the stone lid off the chest, making Elizabeth jump. Her expression of stubborn dislike slipped a little. "The cursed treasure of Cortés himself! Every last piece that went astray we have returned…save for this." He thrust a finger at the medallion around Elizabeth's neck.

Jack suddenly slipped down the slant and started down one of the torch-lit passages. "Jack!" Will exclaimed, he and Sarah going after him.

"Not yet," Jack said suddenly, pivoting on the spot to face Will. "We wait…for the opportune moment." He started to head away again.

"When's that?" Will inquired angrily. "When it's of greatest profit to you?"

Jack's eyes bulged as he came so close to Will that their noses were almost touching. "May I ask you something?" He paused, his hands poised. "Have I ever given you reason not to trust me? Do us a favor," a smile flitted across his features as he rattled on, "I know it's difficult for you but please, stay here…and try not to do anything…" He seemed to be searching for the right word, then suddenly finished with, "Stupid."

Sarah and Will stood frozen as Jack disappeared into the shadows. Sarah could hear Barbossa and the crew's zealous yells in the distance.

"That's it," Will said, grinding his teeth. He seized up an oar from the boat and started after Jack, Sarah skipping worriedly at his heels.

"Will, Jack said to wait—he said to stay here—we should listen—"

"Wait by the boat," Will ordered.

"No!"

He turned on her and shook her. "Just go!" He glared her down until she scrambled backwards and ran in the direction of the boat. When she got to the water, she quivering from head to foot, tears in her eyes, wondering what on earth she had gotten herself into.

She didn't want to think about what Will might to do Jack—she knew he wouldn't go as far as killing him—but would the blacksmith bother to save the pirate once he had gotten his girl?

"Oh my god," Sarah whispered. "Oh god, oh god, oh god…"

Swallowing back her tears, she crawled up the slope.

۞

Author's Note: Another glowing thanks to all my reviewers! I hope you enjoyed this installment.