Welcome, everyone! I've had this story going round my head for months now, and I've finally decided to start writing it. I've got a couple of IMPORTANT things to tell you before I let you enjoy it, though. Please, READ THEM. Thank you.
Firstly, in this story, the Pirate Lord of the Atlantic isn't Jocard. Just so you know.
Secondly, don't expect James to fall in love with my OC during the Curse of the Black Pearl part. It's going to be a slow burn. Don't worry, though, I've got big plans for the interval between CotBP and Dead Man's Chest *evil snicker*.
And thirdly, before you start reading, you should know that the word Brine-Tongue is an invention of mine, so don't bother looking it up on the internet. You'll come to understand what it means as the story unfolds.
I apologize for any mistakes I might have made. English isn't my native tongue, I'm afraid.
Disclaimer, which I'm not going to repeat: I don't own the Pirates of the Caribbean franchise, only my OCs and my own additions to the plot.
Okay, I think that's it. Let's see what you guys think...
"And once again, Jack's cheap scams come back to bite us," Isabella muttered under her breath as she vindictively threw another bucketful of seawater overboard.
She had no doubt that either Scarlett or Giselle was responsible for their current predicament. The two wenches might have been naïve enough to believe that Jack had truly intended to marry them but, obviously, one of them had had the presence of mind to make sure he wouldn't run for the hills, or rather the waves, before their supposed wedding. If Isabella had to guess, she'd say that the culprit had removed a few of the nails that held the Jolly Mon together, hence the seawater slowly but steadily filling the small fishing dory. At this rate, they'd soon have to swim to Port Royal. That's what you get for underestimating a woman, the Italian pirate thought with a twinge of grim satisfaction.
"Did you say something?" Jack called out from his perch on the tiny crow's nest.
Isabella paused her work to glower at the infamous pirate whom she had the dubious pleasure of calling her friend.
"I said, stop pretending you're sailing a three-master, get down here, and help me bail out the damn boat."
"With what? There's only one bucket."
"Then use your hat."
Jack looked at her as if she'd suggested he quit drinking rum, to which she rolled her eyes.
"Do it, Sparrow, or I'll throw the next bucketfuls at you until you move your arse," she growled.
Jack grumbled but, knowing full well that his friend wouldn't hesitate to carry out her threat, he complied. In the end, however, their combined efforts weren't enough to spare them a particularly incongruous entrance into Port Royal harbour. The hull of the boat had disappeared underwater a few minutes before, forcing the pair to perch atop the mast, which was now cutting its merry way through the water towards the docks. Needless to say, they drew many a befuddled stare. Despite their absurd situation, the two pirates stood tall, their faces set in an air of dignified indifference. Nothing in Isabella's expression betrayed the fact that she was busy clobbering her pride so it would stop railing against the humiliation that she, Isabella Sforza, Brine-Tongue, rightful Pirate Lord of the Atlantic Ocean and captain of the Danse Macabre, descendant of a two-century-long line of pirates, was forced to endure because of Jack. Shut up, you, she snapped internally. Firstly, nobody here knows me. Secondly, if not for Jack, I would have died five years ago, so this is a small price to pay. And thirdly, I lost all rights to demand the respect that comes with the Sforza name the moment I chose to disappear rather than ensuring Valerio wouldn't sully it further. At the thought of her twin brother's name, something twisted painfully in her chest and, deep in her mind, a blood-red door opened a crack. She had to slam it shut before memories started pouring out like a flow of black icy water.
The hull of the boat scraped the seafloor noisily, snapping Isabella out of her gloomy train of thought right when the pitiful excuse for a crow's nest bumped against the wooden dock. The two pirates only had to step off the mast as they would go down the last step of a staircase, which they did with perfect assurance, as if everything was completely normal.
"I assume you're planning to commandeer a ship?" Isabella enquired as they strode—or, in Jack's case, swaggered—up the wharf, passing a pinched-faced bespectacled man carrying a thick ledger under his arm and accompanied by a dark-skinned boy.
Jack opened his mouth to answer but he was interrupted by the aforementioned man, whom Isabella suspected to be the harbourmaster.
"Hey! Hold up, there, you two!" the man called out irritably, forcing them to come to a halt before they could get lost in the crowd.
"Not even a minute ashore and there's already someone to bribe," Isabella muttered with a wry smile, earning herself an amused snort from Jack.
"It's a shilling to tie up your boat at the dock," the harbourmaster informed them when they came up to him.
Four pairs of eyes converged on the bit of mast that poked out of the water. Isabella resisted the urge to point out that, technically, the boat wasn't tied up and, instead, considered how much she could afford to pay. She hoped that the man wasn't one of those rare and strange creatures of which she had only heard stories—uncorruptible government officials.
"And I shall need to know your names."
Jack plunged a hand into his coat pocket just as Isabella pulled a small coin purse out of hers.
"What do ya say to three shillings?" Jack offered, placing three silver coins on the pages of the open ledger.
"Each," Isabella added, following suit.
"And we forget the names."
The avid glint that lit up the harbourmaster's eyes was impossible to miss. No, he most certainly wasn't incorruptible, and he finished proving it when he snapped his ledger closed, trapping the six coins between its pages.
"Welcome to Port Royal, Mr. and Mrs. Smith," he said good-naturedly before walking away.
Unfortunately for him, he had forgotten his coin purse on his lectern at the other end of the dock and Jack took it upon himself to rescue it from abandonment, though not without giving it an appraising shake first.
"Want to go halfsies?" he asked with a gold-teethed grin, dangling the purse in front of his friend's face.
"You keep it, amico mio," the Italian woman declined as she pulled him after her, lest the harbourmaster spotted them. "I've got enough."
"Course you do, ya bloody aristocrat," Jack groused, his tone belied by his lopsided smile. "Well, more coins for me."
"Please, an aristocrat would never have said no to extra money. Now, shall we go and take a closer look at all those nice ships, Mr. Smith?"
Jack gave Isabella a sly grin and slung an arm around her shoulders, a liberty that she allowed because she had made sure years ago that he knew exactly which limits not to cross. Jack had long since resigned himself to the fact that she wouldn't succomb to his—questionable—charms. While that didn't deter him from flirting with her, it was meant as harmless teasing that made her laugh and let her exercise her sharp wit.
"We certainly shall, Mrs. Smith."
Apparently, Jack had already a destination in mind because he led her through the busy harbour without hesitation. Under the hot morning sun, amid a clamour of shouts and creaking ropes and seagull cries, they wove through the swarm of workers and sailors, dodging piles of crates and sacks waiting to be loaded onto the ships, breathing in the smells of brine and sweat. Isabella didn't need to ask how Jack knew where he was going. Some two years before, he had told her about Barbossa's mutiny, his marooning, and his subsequent rescue by rumrunners, who had agreed to take him to Port Royal. It wasn't a story he shared readily, for obvious reasons, but, after now five years of travelling and pirating in her company, he trusted Isabella more than he did anyone else. That, and she was in an especially good position to understand treachery. In fact, one might even argue that she had had it much worse—not even Jack could hope to comprehend what it felt like to be betrayed by one's own wombmate.
It took them almost twenty minutes to finally escape the throng. They had come to the periphery of the harbour, near the beach, where stood the larger, sturdier docks at which the Royal Navy ships were moored. In the relative quiet, they could hear strains of music drifting down from Fort Charles, the stronghold squatting atop the bluff that overlooked the harbour. Isabella wondered what the Port Royal aristocracy was celebrating—some official ceremony in honour of a military man, most likely, or the party would have been taking place in someone's mansion. Her musings ground to a swift halt when she realized that Jack was steering her towards a beautiful sleek brig that reminded her painfully of the Trickster's Fate, the brig that her parents had gifted her with, named in honour of Loki, the Norse god of mischief. She had sailed it around the world for three amazing years, and now, its wreck was lying somewhere at the bottom of the Caribbean Sea.
"Dio mio, Jack!" she hissed. "Don't tell me you want to steal a Navy ship! Sei impazzito? They'll chase us across the Seven Seas to get it back!"
"If we plan this right, we'll have it repainted and rechristened before they even start giving chase," her friend argued without slowing down.
The two pirates strode down a ramp that led to the lower level of the dock, the heels of their boots clacking against the dark wooden planks.
"We'd have to sabotage all the other Navy ships first," Isabella pointed out quietly. "And find a way to distract the sentinels. We can't–"
She broke off when a pair of marines scrambled from a corner of the pier to bar their way, their faces set in their best approximation of professional impassiveness and their rifles on display.
"This dock is off-limits to civilians," the one on the right, who was almost comically thinner than his comrade, declared sternly.
"I'm terribly sorry, we didn't know," Jack replied without missing a beat. "If we see one, we shall inform you immediately."
With these words, he tried to continue on his way, only to be immediately thwarted when the marines once again planted themselves firmly in front of him, while Isabella observed the scene with undisguised amusement. She hadn't bothered to move—the two guards didn't look too bright but she didn't expect them to be that profoundly stupid.
"So, do you know what's going on up at the fort?" she chimed in, stepping up to Jack.
Her charming smile and the emphasis she'd put on her slight Italian accent proved as effective as usual—the marines' postures relaxed a smidge and, although they didn't smile back, their faces recovered some of their expressiveness. Englishmen and their taste for exoticism... They never let me down. She wasn't quite sure where she was going with that line of enquiry but, since she and Jack were obviously not going any further right now, she might as well satisfy her curiosity.
"Oh, it's Captain Norrington's promotion ceremony," the stockier guard said, his voice laced with unmistakable pride, from which Isabella deduced that he was part of Norrington's crew.
"Commodore Norrington, now, actually," his comrade amended in the same proud tone. "And there's no one as deserves it more."
Norrington. Isabella knew the name as well as any Caribbean pirate. James Norrington, son of Admiral Lawrence Norrington, captain of the HMS Interceptor, scourge of the pirates of the Caribbean. And he was right there, in Port Royal, where they had come to steal a ship. Well, merda. God must really hate us. But wait, if he's here, then that brig must be–
"And how could it be that two upstanding gentlemen such as yourselves did not merit an invitation?" Jack inquired, injecting as much sincerity as he could in his flattering words.
He didn't seem concerned by the news of Norrington's presence, Isabella noticed when she glanced at him. Either he'd been aware of it or he didn't think it would affect their plan. Mind you, if they sabotaged the ships, the commodore would be just as stuck as anyone else.
"Someone has to make sure this dock stays off-limits to civilians," Marine Number One—the thinner one—retorted matter-of-factly.
Well, if Jack had been hoping to play on some supposed resentment, he had quite plainly failed.
"It's a worthy goal, to be sure, but it seems to me that a," he moved to the left, immediately followed by the guards, to point at the warship anchored in the bay, "a ship like that makes this one here a bit superfluous, really."
"This one here is the Interceptor, Jack," Isabella remarked dryly, folding her arms loosely and shifting her weight onto her left leg. "Norrington's flagship. It's with her that he captured the most fearsome pirates in the Caribbean waters."
"That's right," Number One said, apparently pleased that she knew of the freshly promoted commodore's prowesses. "That's because there's no ship as can match 'er for speed."
"I've heard of one," Jack countered, a finger in the air, "supposed to be very fast, nigh uncatchable..."
Cue pause for effect.
"The Black Pearl."
He had uttered the name of his stolen ship in a low ominous voice but, if he had expected to unnerve the two marines, he was disappointed. Number One's face remained mostly blank while Number Two laughed scornfully.
"There's no real ship that can match the Interceptor," Number Two scoffed.
"The Black Pearl is a real ship," Number One asserted.
"No. No, it's not."
"Yes, it is. I've seen it."
Number Two couldn't have looked more disbelieving if the other marine had told him that he'd met Davy Jones and shaken his hand.
"You've seen it?"
"Yes."
"You haven't seen it."
"Yes, I have."
Isabella and Jack shared a look that said 'How long do you think they can keep that up?' The answer, they knew, was 'Probably a good while.'
"You've seen a ship with black sails, that's crewed by the damned and captained by a man so evil that Hell itself spat him back out?"
"... No."
"No," Number Two concluded in a definitive tone.
He turned to the two pirates again, confident that he'd settled the matter, but the other marine wasn't done.
"But I have seen a ship with black sails."
That was the moment Jack chose to slip away to the brig, followed by a reluctant Isabella, who was internally seething with exasperation. Managgia a te, Jack. If we get thrown in jail, I swear I'll strangle you before the rope can do the job itself. Naturally, he had barely touched the wheel when the marines noticed them.
"Hey! You two! Get away from there!" Number One shouted as he and his comrade came charging aboard, their rifles aimed squarely at the pirates.
"You don't have permission to be aboard," Number Two said once they had reached the top of the stairs that led to the quarterdeck.
"I'm sorry," Jack sighed in an unconvincingly sheepish tone, his hands spead in apology, "it's just– it's such a pretty boat. Ship."
"Yes, positively irresistible," Isabella drawled tartly.
She had positioned herself to Jack's right, her body slightly angled and deceptively relaxed. If they try to arrest us, we'll have to kill them and hide their bodies, she decided with a pang of regret—the two men were only doing their job, after all. For all I know, the hangsman is a delightful man but I have no intention of making his acquaintance.
"What are your names?" Number One demanded, his eyes narrowed in suspicion.
"Smith. Or Smithy, if you like. And this is Mrs. Smith."
"What's your purpose in Port Royal, Mr. and Mrs. Smith?" Number Two questioned on, lading their fake name with enough scepticism to sink a sloop.
"Yeah, and no lies!" Number One added.
"Well, then, I confess," Jack began and, as he talked, he sauntered forward until he could grasp one of the main mast backstays, prompting the marines to point their rifles at him a little more threateningly. Isabella cursed his recklessness silently—if the marines decided to shoot, he wouldn't be able to take cover in time. "It is our intention to commandeer one of these ships, pick up a crew in Tortuga, raid, pillage, plunder, and otherwise pilfer our weasely black guts out!"
Isabella let her hand drift towards the grip of her cutlass, even though she was reasonably certain that the guards wouldn't believe a word Jack had just said.
"I said no lies!" Number One snapped.
Oh, grazie a Dio. Maybe we can get out of this without having to fight two Royal Marines on the deck of a ship in broad daylight.
"I think he's telling the truth," Number Two commented in an undertone.
"If he were telling the truth, he wouldn't have told us."
"Unless, of course, he knew you wouldn't believe the truth even if he told it to you," Jack pointed out.
Isabella's eye twitched. That's it. I'm going to kill him.
So... thoughts? Was it good? Bad? Let me know!
For your information, the Sforza family actually existed. They ruled the Duchy of Milan during the Renaissance until the death of the last family member in 1535. Well, the last legitimate family member, that is ;)
You now know a little about Isabella's background. More will be revealed in the next chapter. But yeah... she's got an evil twin! Just so you know, I chose her name in honour of one of my favourite video game characters: Isabela from the Dragon Age franchise, who happens to be a pirate captain too. Their personalities are very different, though. And I made her Italian... well, mostly for the sake of diversity.
The Danse Macabre, or Dance of Death, is a medieval allegory on the universality of death: no one can escape it, no matter their social status. It's also a memento mori (in Latin, 'remember that you have to die').
Translation:
- amico mio = my friend
- dio mio = oh my god
- sei impazzito? = have you gone mad?
- merda = shit
- managgia a te = damn you
- grazie a Dio = thank God