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

An Island That Cannot Be Found

The pirate's cave lay at the heart of Isla de Muerta, surrounded by a labyrinth of dark, watery tunnels through which the longboats were slowly rowed in single file. The only light came from lanterns fixed to poles that dangled over each boat's bow. Elizabeth closed her eyes briefly as the boat glided past a skeleton half-buried in sand near the water's edge. Barbossa and the other pirates looked neither left nor right, but peered ahead eagerly as their boats were steered in the direction of a golden glow that was dimly visible before them.

As the boats rounded a last corner, the glow was seen to be shining through a rocky arch that led to the treasure chamber. The boats were brought ashore, and Barbossa jumped down from the bow at once. He strode through the arch without waiting for any of the others and made his way rapidly into the cavern. As he marched forward, he surveyed the scene around him with a deep sense of fulfilment as he took in the magnitude of his achievement.

He remembered his first sight of this very cave, when they had claimed the treasure without understanding the price they would pay. It had been illuminated by soft, filtered beams of sunlight slanting through the sinkholes overhead, and the shadowy air had been cool and damp with little drafts that moved across one's skin. Water dripped from huge stalactites, and meandered lazily in shallow rivulets about the flat stones that made up the cave floor.

There had been nothing in the cave that was not placed there by the hand of Nature – save for the carved stone chest in the very centre of the chamber. A bright shaft of daylight from one of the limestone sinkholes had poured down directly upon the chest, surrounding it with unearthly light.

The chest still stood beneath the sinkhole, but now it rested on the summit of a mountain of gold - a king's ransom ten times over.

Everywhere he looked, Barbossa gazed upon masses of treasure rising in peaks beside the shallow waters, like great golden islands emerging from the sea. Some were dotted with enormous candelabra whose towering branches make them look like silver trees growing on the slopes of glittering hills. Countless chains and necklaces of silver and gold had spilled carelessly down these steep hillsides, and trailed into the water like serpentine rivers streaming off the volcanic peaks of tropical islands.

There were still a dozen or so of Barbossa's crew carrying trunks and baskets, pouring out precious coins and jewels, adding to the golden landscape. Barbossa ignored them, and began to climb toward the chest where the final ritual would take place. With each step, the gold crunched under his boots, almost making him slip once or twice, as the coins slid away like scree down a hill.

When he reached the summit, he walked restlessly to and fro, musing over the plunder, the work of ten years. Ten years of his life, he realised, and he gloried in the thought that his life had been successful. Acres of gold here, he thought. Who could count it all? A lifetime to collect it, and now a lifetime to spend it.

He smiled to himself as he thought of the shining future that lay before him. What sublime delights might await me beyond the curse? he wondered. His mind was filled with fantastic dreams of wealth, pleasure, power and renown that would be his at last.

Barbossa looked around him at the men assembled below, and felt an intense glow of pride: he had kept them together, he had brought them this far, and now he was about to deliver them from their curse.

"Gentlemen!" he began in a commanding voice, "The time has come! Our salvation is nigh! Our torment is near an end."

Ten years of desperation found voice in their answering cheers, and moved Barbossa to speak a few moments longer, so that all his men might savour the victory that they had won against all odds. He praised their sacrifices and their boldness. He pronounced their punishment unjust, and then he turned to the chest.

"Here it is!" he exclaimed, kicking the lid off. "The cursed treasure of Cortes himself! Every last piece that went astray, we have returned," he declared, and suddenly pointed to Elizabeth. "Save for this!" Rallying his men once more, he regarded Elizabeth with an ominous grin.

"You know the first thing I'm goin' to do after the curse is lifted?" he asked his men. "Eat a whole bushel of apples!" He seized Miss Turner by the back of her neck and forced her to lean over the stone chest. She caught herself with her hands, and remained in place, hovering over the cursed gold.

Barbossa took up Tia Dalma's stone knife, and began to recite the words she had taught him. "Begun by blood…by blood undone." Then he seized the medallion from Miss Turner's neck, placed it in her palm, and made a small cut next to it.

Miss Turner gave a quick gasp, then looked at him in amazement. "That's it?" she asked in disbelief.

"Waste not," he murmured with a friendly smile, thinking of the passionate evening they would have together that very night. But Miss Turner did not look grateful or impressed; instead, she appeared to be both angry and disgusted.

He turned her hand downward so that the bloody medallion, the last measure of atonement, fell into the chest. Then, leaving Miss Turner standing behind the chest, Barbossa moved to a position on the golden mountain where he knew he should be able to feel the draft of air that descended through the sinkhole. It might not be the sea breeze for which he yearned, but it would be the first sign that sensation had returned – that the curse had been lifted.

There was a moment of silence in the cave, as all the pirates stood still, waiting for deliverance, until at last Koehler spoke up. "Did it work?" he demanded impatiently.

Barbossa opened his eyes as a dreadful feeling of doubt crept over him. He had not felt the slightest indication of air moving about, nor temperature, nor the salty dampness of the cavern's atmosphere.

"I don't feel no different," Ragetti complained.

If the curse was still upon them, Barbossa reasoned, then either the heathen gods or Tia Dalma had lied. Anger and panic began to build within him.Someone had cheated him, and someone would pay for it.

"How do we tell?" asked Pintel. In no mood to countenance dullards, Barbossa rolled his eyes, pulled out his pistol, and put a lead ball straight through Pintel's chest.

And of course, Pintel didn't die.

All the pirates began talking at once. Their voices sounded frantic as they argued amongst themselves, but Barbossa was busy inspecting the stone knife. His greatest triumph had been snatched away from him, his victory had crumbled into dust, and he would know the reason why.

The knife's blade bore witness to the blood he had spilled. Both blood and medallion had gone into the chest. A terrible suspicion gnawed at him, then seized him so violently he could barely speak. He rushed to the chest and confronted Miss Turner.

"You, maid!" he said, trying to control his voice. "Your father, what was his name?"

Miss Turner's only answer was a sphinxlike smile.

He seized her and shook her. "Was your father William Turner?" he demanded, his heart pounding harder every second.

She smiled again. "No," she said, delivering the coup de grace.

All at once, he was aware of the triumph in her eyes, and understood that this had been her plan: that his defeat was her victory, and his failure, her greatest success.

She had made a fool of him, he thought, and was nearly incoherent with rage. All the urgency of his situation surfaced, as he saw his last chance slipping through his fingers.

He shook her again, his face twisted with fury. "Where's his child?" he demanded, as her mouth widened into a smile. He snatched the medallion from the chest and thrust it at her. "The child that sailed from England eight years ago, the child in whose veins flows the blood of William Turner. Where?"

Miss Turner looked him in the eye defiantly and, still smiling, closed her lips.

She knows, he thought, she's known all along. His temper boiled over, and he lashed out, striking her with the back of his hand, with enough force to knock the medallion out of his grasp. Miss Turner fell over and tumbled down the mountain of gold.

Barbossa saw the medallion glinting as it lay beside the unconscious girl, but the arguing amongst his crew had become an uproar, and he turned to face them. Twigg challenged him at once.

"You brought us here for nothing!" he shouted at Barbossa.

"I won't take questioning, and no second guesses," Barbossa snarled. "Not from the likes of you, Master Twigg."

The assembly erupted in a series of accusations: Barbossa had brought them there in the first place, he had sent Bootstrap to the depths, he was to blame. It was all his fault. And then they drew their weapons on him.

He drew his sword and flourished it. "If any coward here dare challenge me, let him speak!" he declared. He'd be damned if he would let this rabble get the upper hand.

No one would venture a fight with him; while it might not kill them, they would receive a painful, humiliating drubbing, and they knew it. They subsided; not entirely, but enough so that Jack the monkey finally caught his master's attention.

Jack was leaping up and down, pointing anxiously at one of the tunnels. Barbossa swung around instantly to check on Miss Turner, and received a terrible shock.

"The medallion!" he roared. "She's taken it!" He pointed to the tunnel. "Get after her, you feckless pack of ingrates!"

The pirates sprang into action at once, everyone running for the boats, but as Barbossa descended from the mountain of gold, he heard a disturbance amongst the crew coming from the area where they had left the longboats. As he walked through the arch, the pirates parted to let him through their midst.

He glanced from side to side, and suddenly, right in his path stood Jack Sparrow, using an oar to prop himself up, his hat sitting at a ridiculous angle upon his head. I must be dreaming, thought Barbossa. This is straight out of a nightmare.

Knowing the joy that Sparrow would derive from seeing him rage out of control, he suppressed his irritation. "How the blazes did you get off that island?" he asked in measured tones, as Sparrow smirked at him. And Sparrow's answer exemplified everything Barbossa hated about him; foolishness, braggadocio, and the cocky belief that no one would ever defeat him.

"When you marooned me on that godforsaken spit of land," Sparrow said, swaying on his heels and playing to the entire assembly of his former crewmen, "You forgot one very important thing, mate." He took one hand off the oar and spread his arms with a smile. "I'm Captain Jack Sparrow," he said softly, as though it was a simple fact which Barbossa was merely too dull to grasp.

Barbossa's smile was almost as chilly as the look in his eyes. "Ah, well, I won't be making that mistake again," he replied in a menacing voice. "Gents, you all remember Captain Jack Sparrow?" He turned away from Sparrow, walking towards the boats. "Kill him," he added, over his shoulder.

But before he could take another step, Sparrow played his trump card. "The girl's blood didn't work, did it?" he called out.

Barbossa paused for an instant, but his mind leapt ahead. Sparrow has something to sell, he realised. Something he knows I'll pay for.

"Hold your fire!" he ordered. He turned back. and approached Sparrow. Aye, he thought, there be no doubt of it. His mouth began to curve into a smile and he nodded to himself. Ye can read it plain as day on his face.

"You know whose blood we need," he said to Sparrow.

Sparrow smiled, genuinely pleased that his former first mate had succeeded in working an easy puzzle. "I know whose blood ye need," he replied.

"I see," remarked Barbossa. Then he looked at Twigg and Koehler.

"Bind him and take his weapons," he ordered. "Take him aboard and lock him in the brig."

Once aboard thePearl, Barbossa gave orders to pursue the Interceptor, which was a mere dot on the horizon, and he withdrew to the great cabin to contemplate matters. He wanted to collect his wits before dealing with Sparrow, whose negotiating ability rivaled his own, particularly in a situation such as this, where the stakes could not be higher.

His infatuation with Miss Turner – or, Miss Unknown, he reminded himself – had devolved into a cold, angry wish for revenge. Not only had she deprived him of his chance to lift the curse, she had done it by hoodwinking him in front of his entire crew, and he had played the fool for her, thinking that she would eventually give him the recognition and admiration he so craved. He pictured the laughter in taverns all across the Indies when they told the story of how Barbossa was beaten by a mere girl, being persuaded by his vanity that he could win her. It was intolerable. He drew deep breaths and disciplined his thoughts to focus on lifting the curse. He found comfort in the thought that, since he didn't need the girl, he could dispose of her as soon as he caught up with her.

He opened the cabin door and growled at Koehler, "Bring Sparrow."

When Sparrow entered the great cabin where he had once been captain, Barbossa saw his eyes flick towards the bowl of apples on the table. Damned Sparrow notices everything, he thought, and now he can use it to goad me.

Waving Sparrow towards the table, he lounged in a chair; but Sparrow prowled about the cabin as they talked. Ever the actor playing to an audience, Barbossa thought with contempt. A fool who deserved to lose his ship.

"You're lookin' well, Hector," Sparrow began pleasantly. "Bein' cursed suits you – in certain lights, at least." He smiled, and Barbossa pretended to be amused. "Of course," Sparrow added, "I've heard it has its drawbacks." Then he stopped prowling and faced Barbossa with an interested expression that did nothing to conceal his inner mirth.

"So . . . I'm a bit confused," he asked his host. "Is it that you . . . can't get it up? Or that it don't come down?" Barbossa glared at him.

"Never mind," Sparrow added, having had his little joke. "Don't think I'd care for either one. Although, in fact, you're lucky to be cursed."

"Oh?" Barbossa answered, resisting the urge to kill him. "And why is that?"

"Because once you break the curse, I intend to kill you with the same shot you left me with on that island. I've saved it just for you. Bein' sentimental I suppose," Sparrow added with a grin and a nod. "You remember the punishment for mutiny an' all that, eh?"

"What say we attend to business?" Barbossa replied, using every ounce of self-control to stay his temper.

"Oh, very well," Sparrow agreed airily. He paced about, explaining his offer, which involved Barbossa and his crew turning over the Pearl in exchange for the name of the person whose blood would break the curse.

Barbossa listened to the offer. He had considered mentioning Nina at some point, so as to settle the mystery of her fate, but he did not dare venture a question. He knew that Sparrow would guess his true interest immediately, and his negotiating position would suffer.

If Sparrow knew she had drowned, then asking about it would be no more than a pointless digression; if he knew that she lived, he would use this information to exploit Barbossa's vulnerability without mercy. And there was a third possibility: if Sparrow didn't know what had become of her, he might very well ask Barbossa, and the answer would likely be ill-received. Barbossa discarded any idea of probing for answers. He gave Sparrow a guarded smile, and proceeded with the negotiations at hand.

"So you expect to leave me standing on some beach," he said with a wry chuckle, "with nothing but a name and your word it's the one I need and watch you sail away in my ship?"

At this, instead of softening his terms, Sparrow ratcheted them up another notch: the name would be shouted back to shore, not handed over. And when Barbossa cast doubt on the wisdom of trusting Sparrow's word, he got a stinging rebuke in return.

"Of the two of us," Sparrow reminded him, "I am the only one who hasn't committed mutiny, therefore my word is the one we'll be trusting." He studied the apples as though noticing them for the first time, selected one, and finally seated himself at the table. "Although," he conceded with a genial nod, "I suppose I should be thanking you because, in fact, if you hadn't betrayed me and left me to die, I would have an equal share in that curse, same as you."

He took a large bite out of the apple, but he stared at Barbossa, who was finding it nearly impossible to maintain a detached air of amusement as Sparrow added insult to injury.

"Funny ol' world, innit?" Sparrow said, and extended the apple towards Barbossa.

Just then, however, fortune turned in Barbossa's favour. Bo'sun opened the door and announced, "Captain, we're coming up on the Interceptor!" Jack the monkey was first out of the door, followed by Barbossa and Sparrow. They rushed up the steps to the quarterdeck, and Sparrow, suddenly eager to compromise, offered to negotiate on behalf of Barbossa.

Whatever is on that ship, Barbossa realised, he can't afford to have me discover it. Sensing that the balance of power had shifted, he refused Sparrow's offer, snatched the apple from him, and ordered Bo'sun to lock him in the brig once more.

It's on that ship, whatever it is, he thought, his every instinct suddenly sharp as the point of a knife. It's within my reach, and by God, I'll have it!

"Haul on the main brace!" he shouted. "Make ready the guns! And run out the sweeps."

The Interceptor never had a chance. Swift as she was, and even given a head start, she was simply no match for the Pearl, and her crew was no match for Barbossa. Although the Interceptor made for shallower depths where the Pearl could not follow, she was overtaken before she could reach safety; and in truth, Barbossa would have driven the Pearl aground on dry land if it had been necessary. All his murderous anger, all his desperate determination to break the curse, was bent on the capture of the Interceptor.

When he saw the Interceptor's stern start to swing wide, he understood at once that she was being clubhauled to put her in position to fire on the Pearl, but Barbossa had always been a fine tactician as well as a fearless, bloodthirsty opponent, and he set the Pearl to meet their challenge without hesitation. He ordered the Pearl brought to port at such close quarters that the Interceptor was almost within a grapnel's reach, and gave the command for the guns to begin pouring broadsides into the Interceptor's starboard side.

As Pintel and Ragetti fired the chain shot that dismasted the Interceptor, Barbossa strode forward calmly into the midst of the battle, heedless of the Interceptor's mast falling like a massive tree almost at his feet. "Blast all to carcasses, men!" he bellowed. "Forward clear to the powder magazine. And the rest of you, bring me the medallion!"

Grapnels were thrown and the Pearl's crew boarded the Interceptor as Barbossa continued to shout orders. Jack the monkey jumped upon the fallen mast, and ran lightly across it. Both sides fought for their lives, but the tide of battle had turned against the Interceptor. More and more of their crew were being killed or taken captive and brought aboard the Pearl.

At last, Barbossa saw the monkey scampering towards him, holding the medallion and being hotly pursued by his namesake. Barbossa stepped up on the rail and grasped a ratline to keep his balance. His pet sprang upon his shoulder and handed him the medallion.

When Sparrow arrived a second later, he looked up to find Barbossa waiting for him with a vindictive smirk on his face.

"Why, thank ye, Jack," he said, dangling the medallion from his hand.

"You're welcome," Sparrow replied with an unconvincing smile.

"Not you," Barbossa explained, feeling that the day was turning out better than expected. "We named the monkey Jack." He held up the medallion and shouted, "Gents, our hope is restored!"

With Sparrow and the remainder of the Interceptor's crew being trussed up by Pintel and Ragetti, Barbossa turned away, waiting to witness the explosion that would scuttle the Interceptor. Revenge had been long in coming, but he intended to pay out all of those who had caused him so much trouble, who had cheated and lied in order to defeat him.

As the Interceptor's powder magazine exploded, sending flames high above her, Barbossa was struck repeatedly on the back by Miss Turner, who had eluded Pintel and was screaming hysterically. And now for you, missy, he thought as he turned to her.

"Welcome back, Miss," he greeted her with sweet venom in his voice. "You took advantage of our hospitality last time. It holds fair now that you return the favour."

He shoved her across the deck, into a group of his crew, who were more than willing to take what pleasure they could by groping Miss Turner, in preparation for more intrusive pastimes. Barbossa grinned, and was about to exhort them to save the gown by removing it from Miss Turner and passing it over to him, when he heard his name called out boldly from behind.

He spun about quickly to find a young man, scarcely more than a lad, standing on a cannon and pointing a pistol at him. Miss Turner gasped.

"Will!" she exclaimed joyfully.

The boy gestured toward Miss Turner, then pointed the pistol at Barbossa once again. "She goes free," he commanded.

Barbossa, who had tired of being threatened by those who were obviously his inferiors, spoke roughly as he stepped towards the young man. "What's in your head, boy?" he said.

"She goes free!" the young man repeated.

Barbossa chuckled inwardly at the inexperienced youth trying to force his hand. Green as grass, he thought. He walked forward so that the barrel of the pistol almost touched him, and said, "You've only got one shot, and we can't die."

He was gratified to see the look of confusion on the lad's face. Like a whelp that can't find his own tail, he thought. But then the boy leapt back to his perch on the rail, and said something that seemed even more illogical.

"You can't," he said. "I can." And with that, he pointed the pistol at his own jaw.

Barbossa squinted; he was fairly quick at recognising faces, and this boy looked suddenly familiar. A vague association stirred in the back of his mind: a ship named the Enid, the call of a medallion that couldn't be found, and a scared child hiding amid the cargo.

He stepped towards the boy. "Who are you?" he demanded, ignoring Sparrow, who was trying to interject a complicated, far-fetched explanation.

"My name is Will Turner," said the boy. "My father was Bootstrap Bill Turner. His blood runs in my veins."

Next: Retribution - Barbossa's journey reaches a conclusion he did not imagine.