Chapter 12 – The Legacy of a Sparrow

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A thick cloud of gray fog engulfed the Hellride and the Pearl moments after they pulled away from the small Floridian port. Light rain gently crashed down upon her dark mahogany decks as Jack Sparrow stood confidently at the helm, steadfast, expecting the worst but hoping for the best.

He narrowed his eyes, seeking passages through the endless cloud before him; small wisps of the fog danced around his body and entwined themselves in his hair. The farther Jack ventured out into open waters, the higher the risk of danger became for him and his crew.

"Cap'n, we 'ave an unfavorable wind!" Gibbs yells to Jack, finding his way up to the quarter deck, slightly stumbling at the last step.

"Mr. Gibbs, brace the yards, we're passing through danger waters," he ordered gravely, letting the wheel shift slightly to port as his kohl dripped down from his eyes from the mist. "Secure as many men as you can find."

"Aye, Cap'n," Gibbs paused, rubbing his hand together, warming them from the cold rain. "This is the work of that woman. Ever since we left port we've had this wretched cloud followin' us. Bad luck to have a woman aboard, Cap'n - especially one who's wanted by the gods."

Jack narrowed his eyes, looking for a way out, feeling more than just a bit uneasy about sailing blindly out to open sea.

"Might have been a bit simpler if I hadn't lost that map," Jack pondered out loud.

"The map will do you no good," intruded a voice, shadowed by pillows of fog.

Isabella emerged from smoke to face the two men. A small breeze grazed her face, letting her dark, shoulder length hair join in its passage. Small drops of rain tumbled down her forehead onto her cheeks and caused her face glisten.

She looked up toward the cloudy sky. "Calypso," she whispered, gripping her hands on the rail, still not used to the ship's constant sway. After a moment, she looked over to Jack and Gibbs. "She's been released?"

"Aye," Jack stated, turning his attention back to the fog ahead. "You know of her?"

Isabella let out a small grin as she walked toward the helm. "She will not harm me. She has allowed us safe passage. If anything, she will keep Poseidon at bay until we reach our destination. The wind will lead us."

Extending her hand, she caresses one of the many puffs of fog before her. "Thank you," She whispered gratefully, being greeted by another cold gust of wind.

Her other hand held an aged cylindrical object, appearing to be a scroll of some sort, soft and moldy within her palm. Unrolling it, she let her eyes scan the dials, adjusting them to their proper location, holding it up in front of Jack's face.

"The 'X' goes where I go. No mortals know of the fountain position, but they know where I am. And where I go, it will follow."

"You thievin' charlatan!" Jack exclaimed, snatching the map from her hands as he watched the black 'X' slowly move along the edges of Florida.

"I am not! You should have kept better care of it!"

"Well at least we know where we're going now! Bloody fog isn't helping as much as we'd like to think."

"So it seems," she whispered, looking over to a nervous Joshamee Gibbs, trying with all his might to avoid her gaze by averting his eyes to the floor, fidgeting his fingers. She peered over at Jack, who was fixated on the map.

"I have matters to attend to below deck," she said hesitantly, feeling unwanted. She turned, returning in the direction that she once came, making her way down to see her men.


As the day ensued, Isabella found herself all over the ship, tending to her small army below decks, partaking in early morning training, checking the conditions of her armor, and strategizing with her lieutenants and Colin Andrews – who most certainly proved to be an excellent tactical aid in their journey. He had learned various forms of material arts since childhood, which enabled him to teach new techniques that would enhance her army in battle.

Later in the day, she found herself wobbling around deck, continuing to find her sea legs, when she stumbled into Pintel and Ragetti sitting back to back, arms folded, noses pointed up into the air.

She raised her brow, placing her hands on her hips.

'Very curious, indeed…What's eating away at those two?'

She stumbled over to the two silent men, sitting herself down between them, finding much relief in no longer needing to stand.

She stared them intently, realizing that they were probably trying to ignore the her. Isabella had dealt with many men and their various masculine affairs, so-to-speak, for her entire existence. Therefore, bluntness was very much her forte.

"All right, out with it," she insisted.

Pintel and Ragetti both turned to face her, watching as she shifted her eyes between them. They slowly turned back to their original position, huffing at her intrusion.

She smacked both men on their backs. "Well? Out with it now, I haven't got all day!"

Ragetti cleared his throat. "He's always impugnin' me honor," he spat, fixing the collar of his green jacket. "He doesn't even listen to me anymore, and it makes me feel like a neglected, ol', ruddy housewife!"

"That's because yeh act like an ol', ruddy housewife!"

She noticed Pintel beginning to rise from his seat beside her, arms held out, reaching for Ragetti's throat.

She quickly held out her arms to separate the two men. "Hold on to that thought, Mr. Pintel. How did this come to be?" Pintel sat back down with a gloomy expression on his face.

Ragetti reached into his pocket and pulled out a small piece of parchment. "He wouldn't listen to my recipe…"

Isabella was quite amused, how this whole debacle could be caused by a small piece of paper. She softly grabbed the harmless piece of parchment from his hand and scanned it quickly.

"This sounds pretty delicious, actually," Isabella said, rubbing her stomach, looking over at Pintel, who was still sulking.

"What do say you to this," she pointed her fingers at them both men turning to face her as she stood. "We take this recipe down to the galley and you both make it, together. With my help, of course, but ye have to do it, together or else I'm not helping. I'm not going to do all the bloody work myself. Otherwise, I'll lock the both of you down there till you reconcile your own differences…"

"No, no! That won't be necessary," Pintel exclaimed.

Ragetti rubbed his hands together, adjusting his eye as he smiled merrily.

"All right, then! Off you go!" she shooed them both down the galley stairs.


Jack Sparrow's nose tweaked from a surprisingly non-foul odor aboard the ship.

"Mr. Cotton!" he called out aimlessly amidst the cloud of fog. He heard scurrying up the steps to the quarterdeck, Mr. Cotton finally emerged from the fog, parrot on his left shoulder.

"Mr. Cotton and parrot, could you kindly take the wheel for a few moment, there's some sort of disturbance on this vessel and it smells enchanting."

Jack swaggered his way down to the main deck, only to find a line of men awaiting entrance into the ships galley.

"Excuse me, lads! Coming through! Step lively now, gents!" Jack dodged his way in and out of the line.

"Bloody fog!" he yelled, waving his arms to clear a path around him. He was able to push through the line until he reached the very front.

"Oi! We were here first!" yelled Murtogg.

"Yeah, you've got to wait in line just like everyone else!" Mullroy chimed in.

Jack looked back to the two men. "Captain!" he stated, pointing at himself.

"Cap'n!" Gibbs shouted merrily as he walked over to the swaying captain. Isabella, Pintel and Ragetti were working side-by-side cutting vegetables and stirring the giant vat of salmagundi.

"We've been waitin' fer ya, Jack," he said, handing him an empty bowl.

He proceeded to walk over to the large vat that was currently being stirred by Isabella, holding up his bowl to her as he looked up to her with his wide, chocolate eyes. She gave him a small smirk of satisfaction as she filled up his bowl with the delectable, thick, red substance.

"Thanks very much, love."

"Don't thank me, these two were behind it all," she said, nodding over at Pintel and Ragetti, who were both chopping an enormous batch of onions with teary eyed smiles.

Jack nodded back gratefully. 'Hmph, they finally did something right. Didn't think they had it in them. '

"Oh wait! Let me taste to see if its right!" she said rather hastily, handing her his bowl. She continued to stir the vat as she sipped from the very edge of the rim, savored the tender vegetables and meat.

"Suit your fancy?"

She looked at him keenly. "I think it does," she said smiling, quickly turning to Pintel and Ragetti. "Go easy on the onions there! What have they ever done to you?"

Jack snickered, watching as she served each man a bowl of Pintel and Ragetti's fine meal. To Isabella's men, it was certainly a first seeing her in the kitchen, elbows deep in chopped vegetables and raw meat.

"I thought you didn't know how to cook?" inquired Lieutenant Moore, chomping away at his succulent goat meat, sucking some fragments from between his teeth.

"Well, obviously, I don't. But, I'm an excellent stirrer."

Once the line had finally come to an end, they were able to pour themselves a bowl of their creation to enjoy out on deck. Jack managed to salvage a large bowl for the faithful Mr. Cotton, who was manning the helm during his absence. He was very much obliged to see that the captain had thought of him, and gave Jack a small nod of thanks and grand smile.

The parrot squawked wildly at Jack. "You thought I'd forget about you, you mangy bird?" he said, holding out several walnuts in his hand. Cotton's parrot quickly tries to seize the nut from Jack's hand, but Jack pulls it away.

"Only if you shut it! Even for just a moment," he urged, listening as the parrot continued to squawk even louder than before.

"Fine! Here, have it!" He relinquished the nut to the very happy parrot. Although, Jack's deed had been small token of his appreciation, it still depicted one of the many reasons why his crew held a great respect for him. He had always been a kind and honorable captain by them.

On deck, Pintel, Ragetti and Isabella rejoiced, sitting on several kegs of power as they finished their meal.

"Aye, me sister sure knew what she was doin' when she made up this recipe!" Pintel confirmed, licking the remnants of his bowl.

"Mum sure did have a way with the kitchen!" Nodded Ragetti, finishing his last cube of goat meat. "Ol' Darla sure made a good stew though," he chuckled.

"She was one of the finest goats on the seven seas!" Isabella stated, holding up a bottle of rum.

"A toast, to dear Ol' Darla, gents," she toasted. All three lifted their drinks in honor of the old goat.

Ragetti began reciting a tale to Isabella of how he came about his green jacket. "Stole it from some fru-fru French nobleman, right off his back!" he exclaimed, rather pleased with himself.

"His wig is probably still spinnin' to this day!" stated Pintel, letting out a hearty laugh.

The cold zephyr of evening had approached much sooner than they had anticipated; the lamps around the deck were being lit simultaneously by the crew, and the amber glow of candlelight glimmering through the surrounding fog. Jack could see a faint indication that the lamps of the Pearl being lit as well. They followed very close behind, to Jack's relief.

Most of the men had returned below decks to seek their bunks for a good nights rest. Jack had decided to remain on forecastle deck with Isabella, listening to the waves gently crash against the ship's mighty hull.

At first, they talked about small things such as parts of the ship. Isabella was eager to learn how to sail once she had managed to figure out how to walk without having to hold on to the rails for dear life. She wondered if one day she could man the helm just as confidently as Jack, sailing off into the horizon.

"Rather fine thing you did by those two mongrels," Jack finally said, interrupting her thoughts.

"Nay, it's alright, they told me they'd teach me how to play the fiddle tomorrow," she chuckled. "I doubt I'll be any good at it really, but I can give it a shot," she said, grabbing onto the rail before her rather tightly as the ship swayed from the passing of a large wave.

"Haven't found your sea legs yet, have you, darling?"

"I will eventually!"

"You sure you can manage all by your lonesome out here this evening?" Jack said, running his fingers along the rail, sounding rather disappointed.

"I'm sure I'll be fine, I should be on the look out either way."

She stole a quick glance at his profile, letting her eyes linger for a moment.

He turned to her. "All right, but if you change your mind, my doors always open."

"You mean my door, Jack?"

"It may be your door, but I'm still the one behind it."


The night grew cold and unforgiving. Isabella's soft skin turned to goose flesh, shivering as countless rain drops relentlessly sprinkled down upon her. She had tried to sleep as best she could within the large coil of rope but to no avail; she was no longer used to sleeping in harsh conditions.

A wave smashed forcefully into the starboard side of the Hellride, sending splashes of water on deck, soaking her skin, tunic and the rope she rested on. She turned onto her back, facing the sky, some of the fog and storm clouds had shifted, revealing small touches of iridescent specks of light on a dark blue canvas. She let the droplets of rain run down the length of her as she ran her fingers through her damp hair, another gust of wind came over her. She shivered once more and her teeth began to clatter.

She hoisted herself up from the center of the coil, and swayed a bit once she reached her feet. 'Who knew it'd take this long to get used to walking around on a ship?' she thought to herself. 'Maybe this is why Jack walks funny…he's obviously gotten more then used to it.' She raised an eyebrow, keeping her balance.

She looked over to Jack's cabin; a single light from a candle could be made visible from behind the curtain, most likely from her table. Jack must be reading, drinking, or a combination of both come to think of it.

A great wind bore down upon her, sending her hair flying as she narrowed her eyes, quickly wrapping her arms around the mast for leverage until it subsided.

"I wouldn't be out here, lass!" A lone voice in the storm spoke out to her.

She looked up to search for its origin, masked in the presence of fog; a petite figure loomed above her.

"Mr. Marty!" she called out to him. "What are you doing up there?"

"Second dog watch," he said gruffly. "Yer daft for bein' out 'ere in this storm!"

A bright light overcame her eyes followed by a loud roar of thunder. The wind had not calmed, but the rain still remained light and gentle.

"Doesn't that make you equally as daft?"

"Suppose so! It's a risk I'm willin' to take."

"Will you be all right?" she yelled, cupping her hands around her mouth. He gave a small nod and grumbled. It has been many a year since Marty had first taken his spot on crows nest. Whether it was rain or shine, Marty had always completed his watch.

She looked back towards her cabin. The small, dim essence of the candle light looked warm and welcoming. She relinquished her grip on the mast and began to sway forward toward the familiar glow.


With a full belly, Jack returned to his cabin early in the evening to fulfill his duties as captain. He had met with Gibbs to finish the day's markings in the log book. Jack was not one for paper and pencil and found that Gibbs had more of an affinity towards it than he ever had. Once Gibbs left his quarters to take first watch, Jack removed his tricorne hat and coat as he began unrolling a rather large map he pilfered early that morning from the Black Pearl, smothering the cherry table with its enormity.

He lit a single candle, enough to bring life to the page before him. Small dotted lines ran through its entirety, names of countries, cities, islands, oceans and small coordinates were all marked down diligently. He even took the time to make small drawings of ships he sailed and the treasure he had found. On the back of the enormous map were small inscriptions, stories of his life, thing he had been through, witnessed, and learned. Jack Sparrow had kept many maps, but this one, was his pride and joy – his legacy.

He placed his compass on the table as he redrew several lines from Nassau port to southern Florida. He drew a cup right below an "X" and labeled it "Aqua De Vida."

He gently opened his compass with his finger tips and let it spin on the table before him, Jack lingered as it slowly came to a stop. It pointed to the bottle of rum beside him, uncorking the bottle with his teeth, taking a long swig. A quick surge of light came in through the cabin windows followed by a piercing howl thunder, and the light sounds of rain. Jack's compass began to spin wildly once more and pointed towards the door.

He rose to his feet and then quickly sat down again. He tapped the needle slightly out of place, but it whipped back to the same exact spot.

'She's perfectly fine. In fact, sleeping on deck builds character!' he thought.

"Why just look at Gibbs!" he thought aloud. He looked down at his map yet again, drumming his fingers on the edge of the table as he decided to get up once more. She was a woman, whether she was immortal or not she must be cold and Jack could not fight the gentleman within him. Jack pushed through the thin white curtain of the bedchamber and pulled the thick, burgundy blanket off the bed, heading towards the door.


She had finally reached his cabin door, feeling as though she had been swaying for an eternity. She raised her palm, placing it on the door's frigid surface. She was overcome with pride, unsure whether she should just knock or manage her way below deck to seek refuge from her men.

The door jerked open, startling the pensive Isabella.

"Oh!" he muttered, looking down at the shivering woman.

Isabella looked down at his right arm, smiling when she discovered that he was cradling a large blanket.

"I was just about to…"

"Thank you, Jack."

What that, he quickly unfolded it and wrapped it around her tightly, pulling her closer to his body. He wiped away several stray drops of water falling from her damp hair, placing the fallen tresses behind her ear.

"Couldn't manage on your own, darling?" he said with a smirk, watching as her teeth continued to rattle.

She chose not to answer. Her presence was enough of an indication that she in fact couldn't manage on her own.

He ushered her into the cabin, closing the door behind them to keep the cold out. Her legs fell weak once more from the ships endless swaying, causing her to fall forward onto him, gripping his waist tightly while basking in the warmth of his chest and unvarying stability.

"Come, come, dearie," he said slowly moving her to the chair he was sitting in just a few moments prior. He handed her a large bottle of rum, pulling up another chair to face her.

"Still stumbling about aimlessly, I see," he joked, plopping himself down in front of her, resting his elbows on his knees.

She simply nodded, letting the fiery liquid pierce her throat and travel through her, warming her insides. Her cheeks grew rosy again and her body was slowly catching up. She gave Jack the remnants of the bottle and squeezed the remaining water out of her hair onto the floor.

"Now, although, I like the idea of a half dressed, dripping wet woman scampering about my cabin nor would it be the first time its ever happened … regrettably, I think it's time to get you some breeches," he said, taking a quick swig from his bottle, setting on the table.

"I don't want the crew, including myself to become distracted by all that," he slurred.

She pulled her legs into her chest, smiling at his warm face; his features were gently caressed by candlelight. The amber glow made his eyes shimmer even more than the trinkets in his hair. She looked over to the large piece of parchment adjacent to her; it was a map of some sort with a very large inscription at the top, 'The Legacy of a Sparrow.'

"Jack, this is remarkable. You've been to all these places?"

She noticed small dotted lines going from one continent to another, city to city, sea to sea. She observed one line in particular, going from the Spain to Italy.

"Every one, love."

"Parli Italiano?"

Jack smiled and leaned in closer. "Sì, bellissima. Parlo molte lingue."

His Italian was somewhat garbled, not sure if it was because of the rum or from lack of practice.

"Ah! Ora capisco perché hai "La Divina Commedia" in italiano," she confirmed. (Now, I understand why you have "The Divine Comedy" in Italian).

He smiled, running his hand over the map. "Questo programma è la mia eredità, la mia vita ad una pagina di pergamena," he states triumphantly, waving his arms over the map, showing her the finer details that only he would notice. (This map is my legacy, my life on a page of parchment).

"Desidero a fare un programma per la mia vita pure…" she sighed at the idea of it. (I wish I could have made a map for my life as well).

"Vorrei conoscere di più la tua eredità…" he replied slyly, giving her a small smirk. (I'd like to know more about your legacy).

She looked at him, knowing full well what he meant, and started laughing. She clapped her hands together.

"Jack, you're very clever. But you're going to have to try harder than that," she lifted herself up from the chair, re-wrapping the blanket around her, attempting to find her balance.

He rose as well, holding his fingers up to her lips. "No, love, I really mean it. You're the guardian of one of the most sacred secrets of mankind."

"I am neither guardian nor god," she whispers, letting her hot breath warm his fingers. "I am a soldier of chaos, seeking my revenge."

"Now if you'll excuse me," she said, bowing out rather gracefully, walking passed the curtain separating the two rooms, plopping herself face down onto the soft mattress.

"You know, love," Jack began, following her behind the thin lace curtain into the bedchamber. "You never finished tell me about William Shakespeare."

"I met him once." Her words muffled by her pillow.

"Yes, I've got that much, but under friendly circumstances I presume?" he inquired, slithering on top of the bare mattress beside her, resting his head in his hand.

"Hardly, English men are too pompous for my liking," she started. "I was seeking refuge in a bar with several men from Scotland years after my prison break, ended up staying there longer than expected."

"He came in, one night, acted like he owned the place, of course, because you know, he was to be a grand poet, he boasted. Unfortunately, he noticed me sitting at the bar and obviously thought I would grovel at his feet. Not my style as you might have been able to deduce."

Isabella turned her head to the side to face Jack, nuzzling her body beneath the warm blanket.

"I will always remember William Shakespeare as a pompous, absinthe drinking git. But, then again, that was before he became some brilliant poet. Don't know how he managed to tell you the truth … can't read more than a page of his writing in one sitting," she stated, stretching her legs out a bit as she rubbed her eyes.

"But, why are you asking me? Moore always says that I'm a poor judge of character," she debated, yawning as she slowly drifted into sleep, lifting the blanket up over her neck and closed her eyes.

"No, you're not," he whispered, thinking of the fifty brave souls below deck. He pushed back a few strands of damp hair from her face, letting his fingertips linger along her cheek and jaw line. He watched her chest rise and fall softly has she embraced every quiet breath of serenity.

After a few moments, Jack lifted himself up from the small mattress, walking back out into the candlelit room. He sat down, at the table and flipped his great map over, searching for a blank spot on the page and wrote:

'I've finally encountered a woman with just as many stories and ventures as I. She is determined and powerful, yet shy and lonely at heart. There is more wisdom in her body than in the deepest philosophy. She is a soldier of chaos and I will betray her.'