Author's Note: Revised on January 9, 2011.

Chapter XX
Where The Compass Points

It had now been a week. Or had it been two? No matter; all I could tell was that it had been a while. I was beginning to forget the shape and shine of the sun and even failing to remember what light looked like all together. My stomach was in a constant seizure and I was positive if I didn't get a good meal in me soon my body would begin to destroy itself.

It was like a nightmare, to put it forthrightly. I was not cut out for this lifestyle. I found my upbringing a suitable place to lay my blame. Think about it, Reader: I was raised as a hopeless aristocrat. Perhaps if I had been out in the open world with my mother, I would have adopted the routine of a fearless sailor and sitting a few days as a prisoner would be a walk in the park.

From Jared's tales, my mother certainly didn't seem like one to cower from danger.

Over my period in the cells, the mysterious boy and I had become quite close despite the iron bars separating us. We had shared a lot. Speaking with him felt as easy as speaking with Sam for a reason I myself could not explain. I had opened up to Jared about everything; my dreams, terrible years spent in captive, escape and adventures. I'd even told him of my feelings towards my father.

"Was it strange?" he had asked one morning whilst I gnawed on my bread.

"I beg your pardon?" I had inquired in the most un-ladylike manner; with my mouth full and more food being shovelled in. Fortunately, he had found my behaviour quite amusing.

"Living with a man for months and then finding out he's your father?"

I had nodded. "Unimaginably strange. I had thought Jack to be mad. I suppose if he were mad, then I would be too."

But Jared had shaken his head at this, a smile threading itself up and over his lips as I had continued to nibble at my stale loaf. "No, it doesn't make you mad," he had assured. "You're your mother's daughter, ya know. In fact, I think you're a lot braver than you give yourself credit for, Miss Cat."

Though blushing at his comments, I had found this a suitable time to correct an error he had made. "Y-you can just call me Cat. I'm not aristocratic anymore. I'm a common adolescent; a pirate's daughter. I'm no better off than you or anyone else aboard this ship." I had caught his twinkling eyes upon mine and grinned. The skin upon my cheeks had felt undeniably flushed.

It was then I had learned of Jared's past: he was the son of two pacifists who longed to put a halt to the slave trade abroad. Shortly after his birth, his parents journeyed with him to the Caribbean where they made it their number one priority to rescue innocent Africans tortured in Jamaica. They were close to succession by the time Jared was five. Unfortunately, they were murdered and their boy employed as a servant in a nearby governor's household. It was at the age of eleven he joined forces with my mother and has been sailing with her ever since.

I had felt a pang of resentment – which still plays on my guilt, even to this very day – at this; he had spent more time with my mother than I had! On the bright side, though, this assured he knew many stories of her and told me practically anything if I inquired it. There were also countless times in which he compared me to her and by the end of our week together, I was beginning to feel as if I hadn't been so far away from her after all.

"I'm thankful for this, Jared," I told him over 'breakfast'. From the water he was slurping from, I could see his eyebrows raised: I alleged this meant he was grinning once more. I continued; "thanks to you, I know enough about my mother to engage in a normal conversation with her once we escape from here." I turned my eyes away, glancing at the wooden wall as if I could see straight through it. "I wonder how she is with my father?"

My new friend chuckled. "She'll be fine," was all he said, though I could tell from the charmed expression on his face he was conjuring up mental images of my mother giving Jack a piece of her mind. I found myself smiling too, though my imagination failed to entertain me as much as his did.

Footsteps. I instantly snapped out of it. My palms began to sweat as I clamped them around my knees, discarding my meal entirely. What were the crew coming for? They weren't due to feed us for another eight hours at the least.

I snuck a nervous glance over to Jared, seeking some comfort, but he appeared to look just as stunned as I was. I bit my lip (which, I will hastily mention, is a habit I had been informed my mother and I both shared) and closed my eyes, selfishly hoping they had come for my friend rather than me. He had more experience with these men; I assumed he would be able to catch onto their tricks and artifices better than I would.

With my eyes still sealed and head bowed, I heard the scrape of a key in a lock and the swing of the rusty door to my cell. I was no longer enclosed, but by no means free. The thought daunted me.

"C'mon Poppet," Pintel jeered. I rose slowly to my feet, stumbling slightly.

"Y-yes, sir? What is it?" I stammered, gluing my feet to the ground. I could feel Jared's eyes – his beautiful, twinkling eyes – on my back, but ignored them in spite of myself.

"Cap'n Barbossa says were ta make our guest more welcome," the chubbier pirate continued, wearing a demoralizing smile upon his grimy lips. His taller companion chuckled like an imbecile which I mentally rolled my eyes at, too afraid to perform this on my actual face.

"Guest?" I repeated, casting Jared a quick glance. "Forgive me, gentleman but... d-do you not mean guests?" I highlighted the use of a plural on my quote, though was beginning to wish I hadn't. Pintel's fat face straightened and I could see his cheeks glowing red.

"I-I..." I had to think fast, Reader; though the chances were slim, a girl completely oblivious to the act of piracy such as myself could see murder flicker behind this man's eyes. If I had only have known better, I would have not blurted out my next phrase so abruptly:

"P-Parley?"

I could almost hear Jared's thoughts protest with my forwardness. I winced as instantly as I had said it: why say such a foolish thing, Cat, why? They were bound to take me straight to Barbossa and – with Alex's stories still on mind – I was quite certain that was a place I definitely didn't want to be.

"He was 'oping you'd say tha'," Pintel chuckled. Both men seized my arms before I had time to protest - not that I would have dared do such a thing anyway.

"Cat?" shrilled Jared, instantly alert. His long fingers gripped at the tarnished bars of his cell which he shook in his own form of remonstration. "Where are you taking her? Where are you taking my friend?"

Despite everything – the fact I was most likely being marched to my death and my new acquaintance was still being kept behind bars – I couldn't help but make an unlikely connection: the strong, charming and imprisoned Jared was just as caring and protective as my gallant and clumsy friend Sam.

The only difference was how my feelings played out for each of them.

x

"She spat on ye?" Arabella mused. Night had fell over La Fleur de la Morte and our Miss Smith found it not her business to inquire as to what happened with Fitzwilliam. Jean had turned up sopping wet with a fish wriggling in his belt and informed her Catalina would be safe as long as Lord Dalton was not to catch on to Barbossa's trail.

Arabella had faith, and was beginning to find peace with the world. She had retreated from her cabin when all was dark and every crew member was snoring away in their hammocks.

All, that was, but Sam.

The awkward silence between the two was short lived and it took but a mere minute for them to be exchanging stories left, right, front and centre. Arabella, after sharing such legends that should really have never left her lips, found great enjoyment in hearing about her daughter's mischief. Sam had little to tell, but what he did was golden.

"Aye," the young man chuckled. "I never thought o' Cat as one to stand up for 'erself, but she weren't about to go down without a fight, I can tell ya that!" His blue eyes glinted in the moonlight as he brought a soiled bottle to his lips, swilling down the grubby liquid within. "I shouldn't o' been mugging, ta be frank. Just needed money for ma Pa'. Gotta tell ya; she were fuming! She 'as a bit o' a temper. Shame she's been tortured out o' it. Anyways, she weren't to 'appy I'd involved meself with crime."

A pang of sadness swept over said girl's mother. Arabella sighed; "so, she wouldn't be too happy finding out her parents are the lowest of the low? Y'know, pirates?"

Sam snorted at this, thick liquid spurting from his nostrils. "Ya kiddin' me, Miss Smith? Ye're all she talks about! It's 'me mother' this, 'me mother' that! She even began pesterin' Cap'n Sparrow to talk about some... Laura women. Her grandmamma, or somethin'. She went on and on about 'ow she could find ye with her 'elp." He waved his heavy hand though the darkness. "Somethin' like that. I forget."

With this, his companion smiled. "Laura. That was me mother. She was never too happy when I fell pregnant with Cat. Especially seeing as Jack was the father..."

Her words drifted off into the abyss. Sam lowered his rum, yet said nothing. He kept his large eyes fixated on Arabella's face, waiting for her to pick up the conversation for herself.

"I-I loved him, ye know?" she whispered, her head bowed and auburn tresses curling down over her porcelain face. "I think a part of me still did. Until today..." Her fists coiled into balls, nails piercing at her palm. She turned to her younger companion, brown eyes blazing; "I-I don't understand it. How could he care more about a fountain than his own bloody daughter?"

"I know," Sam whispered, packaging his large arm around the elder woman's shoulders – something he had done to comfort Cat many times. She sniffled, but didn't shed a tear, staring on bravely into the gulf.

"That boy..." she stammered. " He's Jack's son, isn't he?"

Sam nodded. He found it suitable to say nothing to upset her further. Arabella was motionless. She sniffed up into the cool air, close to tears but refusing them with great strength.

"'E's younger than Cat," the burly young gentleman eventually spoke on the matter. "'E's got a fat lot o' arrogance too. Definitely Jack's boy, though I don't think the cap'n 'as taken to 'im so well. I think 'e sees young Alex as more of a tyro than an actual son." He offered the assuring smile the often flashed at Cat to her mother, with a comforting nudge in the side, "'e loves the bones of our Cat though. Any stranger woulda thought they were siblings even before they knew it 'emselves!"

It appeared Arabella didn't know what to think of this statement. She simply smiled, her eyes glowing as – Sam noticed – Cat's did.

"Ah! Belle! Just where I thought I'd find you to be!"

Jack.

The eccentric captain sauntered forth toward the microscopic party upon deck and hurled something square, hard and painful at Arabella. She squawked in surprise and then groaned in agony as it hit her square upon the forehead.

"Ye dolt!" she exclaimed. She snatched Sam's bottled and tossed it straight at Jack who evidently saw it coming and swerved indolently out of the way. Sam, ignoring the now bickering pair completely, took the fallen object from Arabella's feet and opened it up. He wasn't too excited with what was found inside.

"It's a compass," he said.

"Ah! But not just any compass, lad," Jack exclaimed, breaking his argument with the fuming maiden before him. "This compass is much more better than any ordinary compass. This compass doesn't not point North, or South, or East, or West nor any other 'est' or 'outh' you can think of." With glinting eyes, the captain offered a smirk to both his companions. "This compass happens to point to what you want most on this Earth..."

Arabella scoffed. "Oh, Jack."

Sam, however, seemed more intrigued. "In honesty?" he inquired with caution, arching one red eyebrow high into his brow. It seemed just too mad – too wonderfully and extraordinarily mad – to be true.

"Cross my heart, mate," replied Jack. His chocolate eyes were lingering on Arabella who now had a twitch in her cheek. Her lips were upturning into a slow but sure smile as she wrapped her long fingers around the shiny shape in Sam's beefy grasp.

"And what you want most," he turned to Arabella completely, engulfing her cool hands in his own so that his compass was blanketed in a thick coverlet of fingers, "is to find your daughter. Our daughter."

This hasty correction brought a flutter to the maiden's stomach. Grinning insanely, she stared up at Jack, exchanging such a look with him that could really not be explained by any witnesses. For a brief moment, Sam was certain they were both engaging in a telepathic conversation and it was only when Arabella spoke he dismissed this theory completely.

"Thank ye, Jack. I had faith in ye."

"I know, love," he responded, releasing her fingertips. "I know."

And so, the compass began to spin.

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