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


You Know Nothing of Hell

This little wench won't get away, Barbossa thought confidently, as he stood on the quarterdeck making plans for Miss Turner. Her inability to escape was fundamental to all his reckoning. The drowned girl had been able to free herself and jump ship (albeit to her doom) before he returned to force his attentions on her. As he saw it, therein lay the problem. You could never be sure of wenches who could escape: they might suddenly overthrow your control and upset your plans.

On the other hand, he reasoned, he could take his time with Miss Turner. There was no need to worry over wenches who were well and truly trapped; you could force them to do what you wanted whenever you liked. Barbossa smiled to himself as he thought about the next two days. He could take Miss Turner at any time of his choosing, but he had decided to wait until he was free of the curse, and could fully enjoy his dainty prize, with or without her consent. However, there was something he wished to do with her immediately, something she had to do voluntarily.

He wanted to see her eat.

It was for this reason that he had kept Miss Turner hungry all day. Then he had ordered Turnspittle, who had not cooked in ten years, to prepare a magnificent, tempting supper. It amused Barbossa to think of the luxurious setting and poor, hungry little Miss Turner in her pretty gown, watching the food being piled high upon her plate. And once the table was laid, oh, what pleasures awaited him!

He closed his eyes and imagined watching her. She would hungrily devour all sorts of food, her mouth watering. She would close her eyes and swallow, lick her fingers, sighing and perhaps even moaning with satisfaction at the delicious tastes and aromas. And then? Then he would offer her an apple, as fresh as the maid herself, and watch as she . . .

"Beg pardon, Cap'n – Turnspittle's ready," announced Ragetti, close at hand. Barbossa's eyes flew open and he made his way down from the quarterdeck.

Once in the galley, he inspected each dish Turnspittle had prepared, which made the cook's hands shake so that he almost dropped a carving knife on his foot. Although forced to judge the food solely by its appearance, Barbossa felt sure that Miss Turner would be impressed and her appetite stimulated to a high degree. At last, to Turnspittle's relief, his captain assembled several crew members, and the dishes were carried away to the great cabin.

As the pirates crossed the main deck, the moonlight's reflection imparted a blue lustre to the eerie procession of the five skeletal ghouls carrying large dishes of rich food to the doors of the main cabin.

Barbossa reached the doors first, and stepped into the shadows, regaining his enfleshed appearance. Carefully, so that she would not glimpse their true nature, he led the pirates into Miss Turner's presence. As they began lighting the fine wax candles and laying out the supper, he took pains overseeing the exact placement of each dish.

Then he looked up at Miss Turner, who was standing some distance away. She was wearing the red gown, which looked magnificent on her. By the powers, even a lady's maid in London wouldn't have so rich a gown unless she stole it from her mistress, he thought; and he half expected her to thank him.

But Miss Turner's mien was stiff and formal, and her eyes distant as she gazed back at him. "Suits ye," he grunted, eyeing her from head to toe.

She did not reply, but maintained a dignified silence.

After a slight hesitation as he weighed the question of which arm to offer, he extended his right elbow and steered her to a seat. He took the chair to her right, moved it closer to her, and smiled as he saw the way she looked at the heaping plates of food.

"Apologies fer not feedin' ye sooner, Miss Turner," he purred. "I hope ye find this humble fare t' yer likin'."

Miss Turner stared at her plate, then her eyes moved towards the spot where there should have been another place laid. "Are you not dining?" she asked, finally looking at him.

"Later," he replied. "You first." There was an uncomfortable pause, and Elizabeth shifted her eyes away once more.

Then she picked up her cutlery and sliced off a small square of meat.

Barbossa held his breath as he watched. His eyes followed the fork being lifted slowly to her lips, trying to imagine the sensation. When she popped the juicy morsel into her mouth and bit down on it, he felt a thrill rush through his body, as though he were reacting to a woman's touch, and he could not suppress an audible gasp of excitement.

The shock of this experience was intoxicating, and he was overwhelmed with the need for a more intense encounter. He had pictured Miss Turner giving in to hunger and eating with greedy abandon; now it became imperative that he see her do this.

"There's no need to stand on ceremony," he said softly, as his desire became almost uncontrollable, "nor call to impress anyone. You must be hungry." He smiled to conceal the urgency of his need.

And perhaps, he thought later, as he stood on the quarterdeck, that had been the point where it all began to go wrong. He had to acknowledge that the sharpness of his appetite had overthrown his better judgement. Although the plan had been to persuade Miss Turner to eat without disclosing his motive, he had pressed her too hard, and the dinner had ended badly.

At first, he had tried to play the gentleman. But he hadn't the patience to go slowly, and had offered so many dishes to her that she stopped eating altogether, fearing poison. He sighed wearily, remembering how she had dropped the bread and even stopped chewing.

He had thought that she would return to her food if he told her why he wouldn't kill her; but his need for immediate gratification undid him. His explanation only half-finished, he made a wry jest about killing her, and then recklessly offered the apple again. Her reaction brought the supper to an abrupt end.

She had brandished a knife at him – and then, she had run from the table of food.

The knife was a minor annoyance, but he was in no humour to have his edacious voyeurism thwarted, and his frustration erupted. His raging appetite, far more intense than a living person could understand, was consuming him. He tried to catch her, to drag her back to the table.

Casting aside all subtler means of persuasion, he had chased her like a starving beast, snarled at her, and taunted her as he pulled the bloody knife from his chest. Then (what else had he expected?), she had run out to the main deck.

He heard her shrieks of terror, but he remained in the cabin, trying to master his irritation. So, Miss Turner, ye find me not to yer likin'? he thought, with grim satisfaction. Then feast yer eyes on the rest o' the company.

After several moments, he decided that Miss Turner had been taught a proper lesson, and he said to Jack the monkey, "Find her."

He seized a bottle of wine from the table and dropped it into his coat pocket; then Jack's aggressive screech brought his master to the door. He was just in time to catch Miss Turner, who was trying to escape back into the cabin. He grabbed her roughly and forced her to stare at what was left of the Pearl's once proud crew.

"Look!" he said, shaking her. "The moonlight shows us for what we really are. We are not among the living, and so we cannot die, but neither are we dead." He spun her about to face him, trying to explain his torment, and his words were both a threat and a cry of despair.

"For too long I've been parched with thirst and unable to quench it," he declared, wanting her to understand his suffering. "Too long I've been starving to death and haven't died." He released her, and she began slowly backing away from him.

"I feel nothing," he said, his eyes wide with desperation as he followed her. "– not the wind on me face nor the spray of the sea, nor the warmth of a woman's flesh." As he spoke, he reached for her, longing to touch her face, but as he stepped forward, the moon showed Miss Turner a rotted corpse with living eyes that looked upon her. He saw the horror and repulsion on her face as she drew back, and it maddened him.

"You'd best start believing in ghost stories Miss Turner," he said with asperity. "Yer in one!" He snatched the bottle from his coat pocket, uncorked it with his teeth, and poured all the wine down his throat defiantly, as if the violence of his actions would somehow allow him to taste it.

Miss Turner screamed as the drink spilled out through his ribs; then she bolted, running past him into the cabin. Disappointed and furious, he smashed the bottle and slammed the cabin doors shut. Facing the crew, he burst into loud, coarse laughter, but when they joined in, he cut them off. "What are ye looking at? Back to work!" he snarled, before making his way to the quarterdeck.

Pintel approached him, saying something. "Shut it," Barbossa grunted, and Pintel went back to his work without a word.

Barbossa remained on the quarterdeck until sunrise with Jack the monkey perched on his shoulder, and calculated his next course of action. He put aside any thought of winning Miss Turner's sympathies for the moment, intending to take what he wanted as soon as he was able to enjoy it. But he had worked out the way he intended to perform the sacrificial ritual, and he thought it might well impress his captive, and change her opinion of him.

To begin with, when Miss Turner was brought into that great storehouse of gold, she would undoubtedly be dazzled; she would never have dreamt of riches so splendid. And he would hold himself aloof, letting her think she was about to die. He would teach her some humility, he thought, and show her how helpless she was. She would look at him with respect and fear.

Then, at the last moment, he would administer the shallow cut, and surely her relief and gratitude would make her see him in a different light. Later, after he had made sure that she was sufficiently satisfying in his bed, he could offer her the chance to become the bride of a very rich pirate. That should knock some sense into her, he thought.

He glanced towards the morning sky, then down at his hands as he steered the ship. He was feeling more than usually weary; his recent outburst must have tired him, he thought. He handed over the wheel to Bo'sun, and went down to the main cabin.

At first, when he entered the day room, he thought Miss Turner must have retreated to his sleeping quarters. There was no sign of her, and the table was just as it had been when she had leapt up from her chair, except that all the candles had burnt down, and pools of wax had hardened beneath them. Jack the monkey leapt to the floor and scampered to his perch, and Barbossa glanced about the cabin for Miss Turner.

Then his sharp ears picked up a soft, rustling sound. The gown, he thought, and realised that she was under the table, and it was undoubtedly the poor lass' trembling that made the gown rustle. If he had been less weary and dispirited, he would have enjoyed that idea.

He sat in a chair, lounging against one of its arms. "Still hidin'?" he asked wryly, addressing the room in general. "There be no reason for fear: ye won't see our cursed forms in the daylight."

Miss Turner emerged cautiously from her hiding place. Barbossa observed that she was, in fact, not trembling; she was calm and sombre.

"Ye've not slept, have ye?" he asked, and for a moment he was stirred by something akin to compassion; but he hardened his manner at once. Compassion makes ye weak, he advised himself. Show her who be master here.

"Ye should get some sleep," he said, narrowing his eyes, "although we don't."

Miss Turner glared at him. "Sleep?" she repeated. "Must I be rested and refreshed for the blood-letting?"

"Oh, so ye do have a sense o' humour after all," he replied with a chuckle. He studied her for a moment, then said, "Ye can use me sleepin' quarters. T'is a soft, warm bed – for those that can feel it," he added with a lewd smile.

"I prefer to remain where I am," she answered, although her face looked pale and tired.

"Ye must suit yerself," he shrugged, as the monkey jumped back upon his shoulder. "Ye can stay here in our company – all day - or retire to me sleeping quarters alone. I won't molest ye," he added with a smile, thinking, not yet.

He watched with amusement as she weighed both distasteful options. At last, she proceeded to the sleeping quarters and shut the door behind her. Barbossa listened with a smile as he heard her fumbling with the door, looking for a way to lock herself in.

He sat in the day room, lost in thought, and after a while, he noticed that the rucksack belonging to the drowned girl had been disturbed. Probably searched by Miss Turner, he guessed. He picked it up, intending to dispose of it, and then put it back down in the corner.

He suddenly wondered whether the drowned girl, like Miss Turner, had also thought of him with revulsion. Was that why she jumped ship? He had always thought himself handsome and desirable enough to make her forget Sparrow. For an instant, he missed her terribly, and allowed sentiments of regret to steal into his thoughts. Then he hardened his heart and dismissed the foolish notions.

Still weary, he stretched out on the settle, and stared at the panelled walls where the sunlight was reflected in patches that grew brighter and dimmer by turns, as shadows from occasional clouds drifted across the Pearl.

Gradually, his restless mind quieted itself. Afterwards, he could not determine whether he had actually slept or whether his thoughts had merely wandered here and there, until he imagined himself standing on a sunny street in Santiago, watching people as they passed by.

He noticed two people on the other side of the street, and recognised Jack Sparrow, who was strolling along with the drowned girl on his other side. As they passed, she peeked around Sparrow, and looked directly into Barbossa's eyes. She smiled at him, and he imagined her saying, "I was close. I saw you."

A feeling of impending danger made him look up and down the street, and though he saw nothing unusual, he was convinced that death was about to overtake her; in fact he knew it was rapidly approaching. She will be killed, and soon, he thought, but how? No one else, including Sparrow, seemed to pay any attention. It came to Barbossa that he was too far away to intervene. But what was it to be? A runaway cart? A deliberate murder?

The girl stole another look at him, and he saw her resigned smile. Don't worry, it said. She knew what awaited her, and whatever it was had begun to happen when he found himself awake on the settle, still staring at the wall. He was sufficiently disturbed by this ending that he closed his eyes briefly and deliberately constructed another one, in which he lunged across the street and either scooped her up or pushed her out of the way of whatever it was.

What could have prompted him to entertain such a fantasy, he wondered. Was it the rucksack in the corner? Or was he thinking of Elizabeth Turner's fears, of her brave acceptance of her own fate?

The paneling in the cabin no longer reflected any sunlight, but it was not yet night. Through the glass panes, he saw a large bank of heavy clouds aft of the Pearl, and the faint flicker of lightning. He was relieved; his instincts must have told him there would be heavy weather that evening, and it had affected his daydreams.

The door to his sleeping quarters opened, and Miss Turner emerged, looking more composed than before, although she did not appear to have slept.

Indeed, Miss Turner had spent a great deal of her time putting together as many clues as she possessed, but she wanted to know more. Will was undeniably involved; that much was clear – but how? She had carefully considered what questions she could ask Barbossa, so as not to give the game away.

She took a few steps towards him, but hesitated, seeming unsure how to begin. Then she lifted her chin and said, "Good afternoon Captain. Would you mind telling me why you believe it is my blood that you need? I didn't steal any gold."

"Aye, t' be sure, ye did not," Barbossa replied, "but yer father did. And since he be . . . unavailable, his child must make the blood sacrifice t' free us all."

So it was Will they were looking for, she thought. But how much could they know of him, given their conviction that she was William Turner's daughter? Perhaps she could find out more without betraying the secret of Will's existence.

"How did you find me?" she asked, reciting the question carefully, just as she had prepared it.

"The gold called to us, missy," Barbossa informed her. "We heard it the mornin' of the day we attacked the town." He flashed a sly grin. "An' the next thing I knew, the gold was brought t' me by Miss Turner herself, who had sailed from England eight years ago." Then he added proudly, "We found that out after we'd been all the way t' Rotherhithe chasin' ye."

Rotherhithe – Will had told her of the years he'd lived there! Not realising she was speaking aloud, she murmured, "Near the Three Mariners Stairs."

Barbossa' eyes glinted triumphantly. "Aye. So ye remember Rotherhithe, eh? Yer old home?"

At that moment, a loud, prolonged roll of thunder filled the air. Barbossa stood up. "We've heavy seas ahead of us tonight, but we'll make port tomorrow." He glanced at the table. "Eat whatever else ye want now. I'll order the rest cleared. No sense lettin' the foul weather spill it all on the floor. Waste not, want not," he added.

Elizabeth sank into a chair as Barbossa made ready to go on deck. "I'll be needed at the wheel tonight," he said as he closed the door. "Good evenin', Miss Turner. We be close to the end, now."

This means there is no hope for me, she thought. Not even a chance to escape during the night, with conditions so stormy. She mused over the possible consequences if she revealed her identity, and all of them seemed to be bad: if the pirates did not believe her, nothing would change – if they did believe her, they would kill her outright and go after Will. They will stop at nothing, she thought.

Of course, they would regret sacrificing her, once they found that her blood was useless. They will never know what I might have told them, she thought. At least I shall have my revenge when they kill me and the curse is still on them – and I'll have kept Will as safe as I am able.

She resolved to say not a single word that could lead to Will. Protecting him gave her sacrifice meaning, and she vowed to summon the courage to see it through.

Despite the stormy weather and even the cursed pirates, she must have fallen asleep, exhausted, for when she opened her eyes again, it was morning, and the Pearl was anchored in a haze of fog just off Isla de Muerta.

She gazed forlornly out the aft windows, still hoping to see a sail in the distance that would tell her James and her father would soon be there to save her. The shouts and thuds coming from outside the cabin told her that the pirates were emptying the Pearl's holds, and loading her cargo into their boats. This activity went on for so long that she seemed to have been forgotten, but after several hours, the cabin doors opened to reveal four unsmiling men, Koehler, Pintel, Ragetti and Twigg. Their captain had sent all of them to collect her.

"Time to go, poppet," said Pintel, giving her a hard look.

Barbossa watched from the quarterdeck as Miss Turner was escorted up the steps and her hands were bound with ropes. Then he stepped behind her and drew her hair back over her shoulders. He fastened the chain with the medallion securely around her neck, and nodded to his crew.

They helped her down the ladder to the longboat ("Careful, poppet," Pintel admonished as they handed her into the boat) and she tried not to show her disgust at the smell of them and the way they touched her. Barbossa wore a grim, determined look as he stood in the bow of the boat, staring straight ahead with one foot on the gunwale. At last, all the longboats set out for the rocky shore of the unknown island, making for the tall, jagged entrance to what appeared to be a half-submerged cavern.


Next: An Island That Cannot Be Found - The medallion goes missing, the ritual goes awry, and Barbossa negotiates with Jack Sparrow.