I want to forewarn anyone who reads this chapter to not take everything said at face value. They're pirates for heaven's sake. Most of them are liars. So don't stop reading the story or anything just because one of them says something crazy sounding, for example "The Black Pearl isn't really cursed." Not that that's what they'd say...oh just read it.

The entire crew sat quietly, listening intently. On the balcony, above the captain's office stood Myra Swann. With her hair pulled half up, a bottle of rum in one hand, and three rings on the other, she had captivated everybody's attention. I stepped onto the ship and saw her there. She wore only a corset, a pair of pants, and a short wrap around her waist, and she was telling a story. A story about a young man, Jason, who pirated for Captain Henry Morgan. I couldn't believe my eyes—or ears!

If it hadn't of been for her voice, I would have never recognized this new version of my mother. In shock, I exclaimed quietly to Slacker, "Is that really my mother?"

"Capt'n says not a werd from ye," he replied, continuing toward the jail, but he still answered, "Aye."

I frowned as we walked on. We entered the jail room where Bootstrap held a cell door open for me—surely out of the kindness of his heart. They exchanged a nod of recognition. Apparently, everyone was betting on my life—or maybe that was just my negative opinion of Bootstrap coming out. Then, Slacker left. For hours, I sat silently in the cell doing nothing. I couldn't escape; Bootstrap was there. There were no games. Will had taken the two balls with him. I couldn't practice sword fighting with myself, and I wasn't about to talk to Bootstrap. Very clearly, I was bored.

"If I only had a book," I mumbled to myself.

"What are you grumbling about back there boy?" Bootstrap asked, looking up from what my best guess said was a letter.

"I wasn't talking to you," I replied.

"Not to me? Wesley, there's not another to speak to. Insanity isn't accepted well amongst pirates."

I rolled my eyes and sat there for another minute or so before finally resigning myself to asking, "Do you have a book then?"

"I do," Bootstrap paused to get my hopes up, "but you can't have it." He looked back to his letter.

I mocked him silently before continuing, "Can I see my mother?"

"No." He didn't look up that time.

"What are you doing?" I started walking toward Bootstrap.

"Nothing you can do."

I stood on the cell wall and looked over Bootstrap's shoulder. It was some sort of mesmerizing pattern of numbers and letters. The first line or so had been crossed out and replaced by his version of what it said.

He wrote, "To one who might care to give assistance. Our fellow pirates of the ship Renown have declared a," and that was all he had done so far.

04M12M04M was next, and then Bootstrap's head was in the way. I stood on my tiptoes to try to see more, but that I could see was still the top line. Something stood out to me—another M. Bootstrap had translated it to the character '.'. Then, I looked for a four and found it to be 's'.

"S dot, blank dot, S dot," I muttered to try to remember.

"What?" Bootstrap asked again, standing and turning toward me. I backed off the door quickly, but he had seen me; he knew what I'd said. I could tell by the look on his face.

"S.O.S.," I replied quietly, "The ship declared an S.O.S."

"I thought…I told you not to," he began and then, just stopped.

I smiled, "But that is what the message says isn't it?"

He stared silently at the paper. Then, he looked up and said, "Someday you'll wish you didn't know that."

"Why?" I asked. It seemed a good thing to be able to translate the code.

Bootstrap then proceeded to go into a long, drawn out description of where the letters come from: the POLANDs.

Okay, since this is a really boring part in my life, I feel quite okay adding some more bore with this short detour entitled What really is a POLAND? I feel this works much better if it is drawn, so thou can actually see it. Therefore, I suggest thee walks over to that white board and takes the lid off that dry marker, goes to the store and buys a poster board, or steals some of your kids' chalk and useth thy sidewalk—what thee prefers.

Now, take thy pen, marker, or other writing utensil and draw a BIG circle. That is the world. On the world, draw several other shapes such as triangles, squares, or blobs. These are landmasses. Scattered across these shapes are thousands of little 'x's called people. These people—or POLANDs—are actually nothing more than pirates…on land…and not in the water.

Some POLANDs—situated about an hour's hard ride apart—are quite similar to the Pony Express…just faster…and pirates. They also deliver people if asked properly. Other POLANDs work for—surprisingly—the government. For as thou shalt see, many a years future in me life, it happens to be discovered that many pirates, unbeknownst to their employers, deliver vital information about ship routes to regular pirates through the…Pony Express Express.

So that's what a POLAND is. Now you know. That is exactly what Bootstrap said, just longer, more descriptive, and more boring. Since I knew all of this, I chose not to listen. When I started paying attention again, he was freaking out and talking about kidnapping, torturing, and killing.

I didn't really want to hear about that either, so I changed the subject by blurting out, "Jack's alive."

"What?" He asked.

"Jack," I repeated, "I saw him on Tortuga. He's actually the reason I'm back here…but that's…he misses my mother."

"Jack," he thought for a second. Then, he walked over to the entrance of the jail and called up, "Bo'sun!"

"Yes sir," a deep voice replied from the deck. It was surely a black man, based on his voice.

"Bring me Miss Swann," he commanded skeptically. Turning back to me, he added, "You better not be lying to me."

I just smiled. Bootstrap shook his head in disapproval. We sat in silence again until Mother came down.

"What is it?" She asked, "You wanted to see me?"

"Yes," he replied, "Come along." Bootstrap led her over to my cell.

"Wesley!" She exclaimed as soon as she saw me. "You're back! I missed you so much!" She kneeled, and hugged and kissed me through the bars. She paused for a second, wondering, "Are you okay Wesley?"

"Yeah." I frowned. I didn't feel like anything was wrong. What was she seeing?

"You're different Wesley. More quiet, somewhat pensive."

"So? Is that wrong? Six months ago I wouldn't have known what pensive meant. I just think more now. You've changed too."

"Yes!" She stood up and spun around as if to show it off. "Do you like it?"

She was still in the same pants, and the same short wrap. She had taken off the corset and replaced it was an elbow-length, white, baggy shirt. All of her hair had been put up sloppily, and her feet were bare.

"At least you're wearing clothes now," I mumbled.

"Don't give me that attitude, Wesley," she commanded loudly.

Bootstrap's eyes opened wide, and he jumped between Mother and me. "No, no, no," he interrupted, "This is a secret. You're not supposed to be here, and you're not supposed to see her."

"Well, in that case, what am I doing here?" Mother asked as she turned to leave.

"Because Jack is alive," he stated. Mother stopped in her tracks.

"Really?...Can I see him?"

"That is why you are here. Wesley says Jack is waiting for you on Tortuga. If we sneak you out tomorrow evening, we will be just close enough to Haiti that you could get there easily, and Tortuga isn't far from there."

She smiled for a while before continuing, "Well, I shall have to dress up. This is very special." She paused in thought. "I do still have my red dress."

"You mean the one you used to wear for Father on your anniversary?" I asked, not really liking that idea.

"Yes, that one. It's special enough, don't you say?" She sighed, "Jack."

Then, all of a sudden, we heard Barbossa talking to the Bo'sun just outside the door. Mother listened for a second before running out the other door. Barbossa came down into the jail and waved Bootstrap over. They spoke quietly for a little while. I could tell Barbossa was mad by the gestures he used, but I couldn't hear anything. After a short time, Barbossa left.

Bootstrap came back over to me and questioned, "Would you like to do some more translating for me?"

I smiled.

I stayed up all night translating letters for Bootstrap. By the morning, I was sick and tired of reading the same annoying things about the same annoying parties. Everynow and then there was a lost person, a warning of a coming storm in the Bahamas, or someone's ship had been stolen, but mostly it was parties. I only had three or four notes left when Bootstrap finally came back. He too had stayed up all night, doing what only a select few knew. He had left after I had finished fifteen or so letters. When he returned, he brought with him six others, the 'select few.' They were the same people who had been at the meeting in Jack's room—this time without Barbossa and Jack.

"How's it coming Wesley?" Bootstrap asked.

"Okay, I guess. I'm almost done," I replied, standing up and bringing him the letters I was done with. "How did your night go?"

He didn't answer me. I don't know why I expected him to, or why I even asked, but I did, and he didn't.

Instead, he turned back to the group, "Remember the letters I showed you? The ones not in my handwriting, done by someone else? They are his. But this is why I really called the meeting: you noticed that he was showing less and less of his work, but look at this. After a few times, he was just translating in his head, like he could just read the code." He passed a few copies out to three of the people—the ones that could read. They looked at the letters for a while, contemplating.

"So he can translate better than you," George said, handing the letter back. "I'm still not seeing why you think it's a good idea to tell him all the rest of our secrets."

"Secrets?" I broke in, "Bootstrap, what were you doing last night? What did Barbossa tell you? Why'd you all of a sudden let me read the letters? What secrets?"

Everyone looked at Bootstrap like: "you got yourself into this."

"Wesley, Barbossa wants one of us to leave the ship," Bootstrap explained. "One of us has to walk the plank, and I volunteered."

I paused for a second, "Why? I mean, I don't like you personally, but I don't think I could ever come up with a reason for ye to die—any of you."

A Spanish man continued, "Kid, our entire lives are secrets. Secrets Barbossa keeps from the crew, secrets the crew keeps from Barbossa. We know them all, and we tell them when it's important to. But…everytime we tell one of Barbossa's secrets, he gets mad and forces one of us overboard."

"I don't believe it," I protested.

"Why not?"

"How do you keep secrets from an entire crew of pirates? Their lives are based on stealing, goods and information! It's impossible to keep any big secret from people like that, and anything small enough isn't worth keeping."

"You'd be surprised by what Barbossa doesn't tell the crew," Bootstrap supplied. "Like why he really wants you here."

I frowned at him, but didn't get a chance to say anything before another pirate added, "Or there really ain't no curse."

"No curse?" I repeated, shocked. On Tortuga I had found out there was.

At the same time, everyone exclaimed, "Dingo!"

"Now we have to tell him," a fourth one spoke up. After a nod of agreement from George, he continued, "Yes, Wesley, we see where you're coming from. That's exactly what we thought when we first found out. Stories of treasure buried on an island that cannot be found except for by those who know where it is. Find it we did, and we took all the gold, spent it and traded it. The more we gave it away, the more we feared the curse, for food and drink would not satisfy the poor, so-called 'cursed' souls. These men of us cannot feel, cannot be pleased. Desperately, we searched for a cure while you were gone, but all we could find was the source: a drug from the fountain of youth. Our crew is addicted to the smell and feel of getting younger."

"And there is no curse?" I inquired, frowning even more. This was seeming really fictional. The fountain of youth wasn't real…was it?

"It be a curse of sorts," George answered, "without the drug, they go crazy, with it, they are walking dead people who will one day, for absolutely no reason, just die."

"And that," Bootstrap continued, "is why Barbossa would not tell the crew. If they found out he had killed them all—while Jack had been overthrown the first time—they would have welcomed Jack back with open arms and planned a mutiny against Barbossa, thus foiling all his evil plans."

"Evil plans?" I raised my eyebrows, showing that I really meant, Now which lying pirate should I believe?

Before they could respond, though, KABOOM, there was a loud explosion just outside the ship. Up on deck we heard, through the commotion, Barbossa giving hurried orders, "Bring the ship about!" "Load the cannons!" Then another blast hit, close enough to shake the ship.

"Stay here!" Bootstrap ordered as he and his six friends ran off to help.

Great, I thought to myself, My first real pirate battle and I can't even see anything. Just as I thought that, another cannon blasted into the ship. The explosion was so powerful that it lifted me off my feet and threw me through the cell door.

"Bloody awesome!" I exclaimed, picking myself up off the floor. Then, I glanced over to the hole, and water was pouring in. I ran out the entrance, and onto the middle level of the ship. Bootstrap was there, commanding the "cannoneers."

"Hurry, you lazy dogs!" He shouted, "This ain't time to be foolin' 'round." Then, he turned around and noticed me. "Wesley, I thought I told you to stay down there."

"Yeah, but it's flooding," I replied.

"So?" He asked, coming toward me, "Does that give you the right to leave? No, get back in there."

"But it's flooding, like filling up with water!"

Bootstrap glanced in, "Shiver me timbers, it is…but I cannot keep my eye on you. Stay down there 'til you can't no more. Then, knock an' I'll let you out."

"Yes sir," I said reluctantly, walking back down. I mumbled to myself, "I'll just swim out the hole, no one will notice."

"No one will notice," Bootstrap repeated, closing the door behind me. He had an idea. "Twigg!"

"Aye Sir," Twigg replied, running over from a cannon. He had blonde, scraggly hair, and a dirty, young face.

"Take charge for me," Bootstrap commanded, continuing up to the deck.

Meanwhile, back below deck where I was, I had gotten my handcuffs off. I jumped into the water, which was now knee deep, to swim out the hole, but I was back out of the water in less than a second. It was so cold!

"I guess I'll just sit here," I said to myself, climbing to the top of the stairs.

Bootstrap really had a good idea.

"This would be the perfect time for you to escape Myra!" Bootstrap explained, "No one will ever notice until you're too far gone."

"But isn't it dangerous to go out there?" She wondered, reluctant to step out of the room.

"Aye, but it's dangerous here too. Don't worry; I'll protect you."

"Oka-ay," she agreed, stepping out the door.

Bootstrap ushered her toward the lifeboats, but the door closed on her dress. When he noticed, he stopped to get it out of the door. While he did that, a British soldier, James Norrington, took aim at Bootstrap. He fired. However, at the exact same second, Bootstrap stepped to the side. My mother screamed, falling into Bootstrap's arms.

I heard her scream from all the way below deck. That was it; I couldn't stay down there any longer. I had to be with my mother! I started banging incessantly on the door. I tried to push it open, but it wouldn't budge. Someone must have been lying on it. I didn't want to swim over to the other door, but I had no choice. Even if it wasn't for my mother, I would have to get out eventually, and I wasn't going to be able to get out the door I was at. So I dived into the water and swam across the ship.

I came back up, gasping and freezing cold with saltwater in my eyes. By that time, the water was only about a foot away from the ceiling and rising quickly. I reached to push the hatch open, but instead I ended up pushing myself back under the water. This time I came back up coughing. That wasn't going to work either. I reached through the holes in the hatch and felt the wood that had fallen on it.

Great, I thought, Now I'm stuck below deck, in a ship that's sinking, and my mother is dying up there, and I can't be up there with her! So I did what any eight and a half year old would do. I screamed for help, took a big breath, and let the water cover over my face. Amazingly, someone grabbed my hand that was reached through the door. You see, Ragetti had been crawling on his hands and knees behind the pile off rubble that in part was blocking my exit. He hadn't heard my call for help. I doubt anyone had with all the rest of the ruckus out there.

However, he did see my hand as he crawled by, and he grabbed hold of it. He tried to kick the rubble off the door. He had to use his feet because he was holing my hand with one of his and a bandage over his eye with the other. As soon as the door was cleared, Ragetti let go of me for a second. He opened the hatch and brought me out of the water. Laying me down on the deck, Ragetti noticed for the first time who he was saving.

"Wesley?" He asked, turning his head to the side.

I gasped, which made me cough. Then, I moaned and opened my eyes. At first everything was blurry, but gradually, Ragetti came into focus. As soon as he had, though, there was another explosion near us. It sent us both flying, and I hit my head on something that knocked me unconscious.

By that time, George was over with Bootstrap and my mother. "Could you hand me the clamp?" George asked Bootstrap, while applying pressure to the wound.

"Sorry," Bootstrap replied, "I believe that's been lost in the battle."

"Marvelous." George paused to think of what to do, "Could you fetch me some rum then?"

"Of course," Bootstrap agreed, running off to get some.

"You're going to be all right, okay Myra," George tried to comfort Mother. She was crying and breathing heavily. He stroked her hair and touched her face. "We're going to save you."

Bootstrap returned with bad news, "George, there's none left. All of below is flooded."

George looked Mother in the eye. "Grab Bootstrap's hand Myra. This is going to hurt." As soon as Bootstrap kneeled down and took Mother's hand, George asked him, "Isn't Wesley still down there?"

Before he could respond, Mother screamed, "Wesley!" and tried to sit up. Bootstrap realized what George was trying to do, so he held her down. That gave George just enough time to pull the bullet out of Mother while she was still distracted.

"Got it!" He announced.

Then, Bootstrap answered Mother, "I'm sure Wesley is fine. Now don't move."

"Okay," she whispered, crying harder now.

"We're almost done Myra. We only have to put you back together now," George said pulling out a needle and thread. She squeezed harder on Bootstrap's hand as George started sewing her back up. George was half-way done when he felt the muzzle of a loaded musket against his head.

"Step away from Miss Swann," Norrington commanded.

George put his hands—now covered in blood—in the air, and slowly stood up along with Bootstrap. "I think you're making a mistake, Sir," George responded, "I can save her."

"I cannot allow you to touch the governor's wife," Norrington explained.

George and Bootstrap looked at each other. Sometimes they forgot how important she really was. It made sense then, that the British navy would be attacking pirates and not the other way around. They had come to retireve her.

"Murtogg," Norrington called.

"Aye Sir.," a marine responded.

"Bring Miss Swann back to the ship."

Aye Sir."

"No," Mother whispered, stirring slightly.

"No?" Norrington was shocked. "What have you doned to her? You dirty pirate!" He pushed George over with his musket. "Murtogg, get Miss Swann out of here immediately!"

"No," Bootstrap argued, jumping between Norrington and Mother. "Didn't you hear the lady? She said no! As in 'no, don't move me'" He turned to Murtogg. "Moving My—Miss Swann could be detrimental to her health. She could even…die."

"Well, if what you say passes, and she does die, I'll shoot him." Norrington pointed the musket back at George, who was still on his hands and knees.

"That's counter-productive. He's the only one who can save her."

Norrington didn't change his mind, but only a second later, he also had a pistol pointed at his head. He turned around quickly as Barbossa replied, "It's not very kind of you to make threats like that."

He continued, getting everyone's attention, "Ship's company! Gentlemen!" He raised his hat and returned it to its place after turning to Mother and saying, "Lady…I believe it be time for a truce!"

Some of the crowd agreed, and some did not. George snuck back over to Mother. Murtogg noticed this and almost went after him but decided against it.

"Now Mister…" Barbossa began.

"Norrington, Captain James Norrington," the officer responded, annoyed. Some in his crew mumbled a bit, knowing he wasn't the captain yet, even though, he did most of the captain's jobs.

"Ah, Mister Norrington, what is it ye want from us humble pirates?"

"We have been sent here on an expedition, authorized by Weatherby Swann, governor of Port Royal, Jamaica, English territory, to retrieve his wife at any cost."

"Oh, so yer after Myra."

Norrington stared blankly, not used to that name.

"Well in thact case," Barbossa assumed, "I suppose you'd want his son as well."

Norrington wasn't exactly sure how to answer that question, but the awkward silence caused by his speechlessness was quickly ended when George stood up exclaiming, "She's dead, and your men have killed her!" He pushed Norrington.

Norrington shoved back, countering, "Not so, it must have been your men."

The news spread through both crews rapidly, with some of them muttering, "Myra's dead," or something of the sort. The whole battle was suddenly taken up again.

Barbossa shot in the air and shouted, "Silence!" He paused to let things quiet down, and then stated, "If ye want Miss Swann, take her. Let the poor governor have her body. We have no use for a dead body."

Everyone was in agreement with that statement.

"But…" he continued, "we will be taking something of yours in return."

Norrington knew what he meant. It was only fair, but how do you replace the governor's wife, who to the pirates was just a fun, loving woman? They didn't need more money. The best he had to give was a young, healthy sailor, who would certainly then be forced into service, but after a battle like that, he couldn't afford to lose any men. Neither did he want to give any of them up to piracy. He simply had no choice.

"Bartholomew," he called, "come here."

A young man looked up. He was kind of an apprentice to Norrington was still learning the art of sailing. Since he was inexperienced, and only there because his father was rich, he wouldn't be too terrible to lose. But that was not how Bartholomew felt about it. He'd heard the stories about what pirates did to people. It didn't help, either, that as he walked by, people were bidding him farewell with sad eyes or a pat on the back. He came forward, though, just as he was told. Barbossa chained his hands. A few soldiers picked up Mother. They went back to their ship, and both crews began the lengthy process of recovering.