Six days had passed. Six fruitless days of wasted time. For the first few, I fell into a consistent routine: I spent the night in an abandoned stable Henry and I had scoped out before his capture, then would awaken at dawn, steal something resembling edible food for breakfast, then would track down Gibbs, following him around like a pup begging for scraps. His daily routine mostly consisted of doing exactly what I was doing: waiting. Had the inevitability of Jack's eventual return to St. Martin not been promised, he would have otherwise been perfectly content to spend the rest of his life just sitting or wandering about guzzling rum. After hours of waiting for him to do literally anything else, I would eventually grow impatient and pester him with questions about Jack, or the return, or what the next course of action would be. He would then merely grunt a few brief, less than helpful responses. I would then persist, until he would finally snap at me to, "Go run off and do literally anything else than bother me on this godforsaken spit of land."
So, after awhile of this, I began to take action myself, because wandering about the town was at the very least more satisfying then spending all my waking hours in the tavern. However, there existed a difference between my wanderings before and Henry's capture, I soon realized; Now, I donned trousers, not a dress. Therefore, no longer was I camouflaged amongst the masses. My hair by this time was at an awkward length— too short to be a woman's, too long to be a man's. Not wanting to surrender my newfound freedom to the many constrictions of dresses, I opted instead to fully embrace dressing as a man, and as such, fished a few hair pins and a ribbon from a wig on display outside of a shop to pin it up and back.
My main motivation in these days was to find a way to get my pistol back. I would stalk various officers I would come across, patrolling the town, hoping to find the faces of one of the two men who harassed Henry and I and took both my weapon and the Dauntless. I wasn't sure if my memory was failing me or if I truly didn't happen upon the same fellows, for I was unsuccessful with each attempt.
Usually, my wanderings led me to the island prison, where one day I felt my blood run cold as I saw Carina Smyth, the wanted criminal who I had inadvertently helped to capture, being led to the town square to await her trial. Her arms were being held firmly by two guards, her wrists in shackles as a crowd soon amassed around her, jeering and calling her things like, "Witch." Out of anger and my fair share of guilt, I followed behind the crowd, though I was careful to remain out of sight; I knew Carina was displeased with my role in her capture, and I knew not how vengeful she would be were we to meet again. I then waited outside the courthouse as she stood trial, albeit a brief one. She was unsurprisingly given a guilty verdict, and was sentenced to a public hanging within a few weeks, announced a town crier.
My heart dropped into my stomach at this news, and I knew I had to do something to fix it. Desperate, I raced back to the tavern to locate Gibbs. If he had any contacts within the prison, or any means whatsoever to help me break Carina out, I needed his assistance.
Racing inside and pushing between the various regulars I had come to know, my eyes scanned faces to find him. I checked, and double checked, and then checked again, but of course, the moment I truly needed Gibbs, he was nowhere to be found. As there was nothing left for me there, I huffed out of the tavern, storming directly into a newcomer about to enter within.
"Oh! Apologies," I quickly muttered, as I sidestepped him.
"Watch it, lad," the fellow chirped, and though I was slightly amused at his confusing me for a boy, I quickly returned to my goal of finding—
"Gibbs?"
I stopped dead in my tracks, returning back to the doorway and looking within. "Oy, Gibbs? You in here?" a voice said again. Upon closer examination, I discovered that it was the fellow I had just collided with that was calling out for him.
"Hey, garçon?" the man loudly called to the bartender while smashing himself between two intoxicated (and thereafter annoyed) patrons. "You seen a man by the name of Joshamee Gibbs in here?"
The bartender, who most certainly had although perhaps not knowing that that was his name, shrugged and furrowed his brow. "What do I look like? A census keeper? Now unless you're ordering something, begone with you!"
The fellow stopped, as though considering this offer, but I interrupted before he had a chance to place an order. "Sir?" I said, getting his attention. "He was here this morning. I search for him as well."
"Do ya now?" he asked with a grin. "Any luck?"
I narrowed my eyes. "Well…no, because otherwise…he'd be here, wouldn't he?"
The man scrunched up his face and looked up, as though my words were completely confounding. He then shrugged and changed the subject entirely, saying, "Shall we search together, then?"
"Yes, let's!" I eagerly agreed. As we left, he turned and said, "Name's Scrum."
I extended a hand eagerly. "And I'm Anna."
Once again he looked bewildered. "But you're a…" His voice trailed, until he suddenly exclaimed, "Ohhhh I see! Clever disguise, that. You a wanted man, Anna?"
"I…" I began to protest before realizing it was fruitless to argue with this bloke. I simply conceded with a, "Never mind," as we began to peruse the town. Finally, my curiosity broke the silence. "So what business do you have with Gibbs, Scrum?" I asked.
"He's our First Mate, ya see. We've just—"
I interrupted him before he had a chance to say anything further. "First Mate? Do you sail with Jack Sparrow? Where is he now? Have you returned with a ship?"
"Whoa, now, easy does it!" Scrum said, putting his hands up defensively. "I believe the answers to yer questions are 'aye,' 'aye,' 'the docks,' and 'aye.'"
I was elated! My Uncle was closer than ever! "And…what—I mean…when—" I stammered in my excitement. "Which ship?" My expression fell at a new notion. "Is it the Pearl? The Black Pearl? Do you sail with her?"
Scrum took a sharp intake of breath through gritted teeth. "Ehh…technically yes."
"Technically?" I said, stopping our progress by the fountain in the middle of the town square.
"The Pearl is with us, but we're not on her, per se."
I sighed. "Still in the bottle, then, eh?"
Scrum cocked his head. "How do you know of that?"
"Long story," I deflected. "Well which ship do you sail, then?"
He shrugged. "Practically the same as the Pearl, methinks. Given that it's significantly smaller…and less armed…and generally more prone to sinking than the Pearl." He paused a moment, then cheerfully exclaimed, "So not like the Pearl a bit!"
I rolled my eyes. Though this man was closer to my Uncle than I had ever gotten, nothing could be accomplished without first locating Gibbs, and his conversations were getting us nowhere. "Shall we split up in our search?" I proposed. "No matter what, let's meet back here before the church bell strikes twelve, alright?" We agreed upon this, and then each took a separate part of town.
After a several minutes of fruitless scouring, my wanderings took me close by my stable, where I heard Gibbs's familiar voice cry out, "Oi, lass!"
"Master Gibbs!" I cried, rushing towards him.
"Where in the blazes have you been?" he scolded. "The one time I seek you out and yer nowhere to be found!"
I furrowed my brow. "You mean…you knew I slept here? At this stable?"
He gave me a sidelong glance. "Did you honestly expect me to not check up on the daughter of Rose Hexfury? We can't have you meandering about in distasteful places, now can we?"
I was touched by the sentiment, but hadn't the time to respond before Gibbs reported, "Jack's returned. Spotted his colors on the horizon. I'm praying that the vessel he's sailing in on is more impressive up close," he said with a wince.
"Aye, I've found Scrum," I reported, "And from what he has described, I wouldn't get your hopes up."
Just then, Scrum himself came around the corner to find us both. "Hey, Gibbs!" he cried out. "The Cap'n's back!"
"Aye, I gathered that," Gibbs said sardonically. "And what are we sailing, then?"
"The Dying Gull!" he replied happily.
"Sounds promising," Gibbs groaned. "Well, lead us there, then! No time to lose!"
Scrum then began to regale us with the story of how they had come upon the Dying Gull, but his telling of it kept being sidelined by tangental anecdotes he would quickly diverge to when they would enter his mind randomly. As he was more than content to ramble on, regardless of an audience, I gave a very intentional glance with Gibbs to get his attention, then mumbled, "I need your help."
"Aye?" he asked.
"How are you at breaking someone out of prison?"
He sighed. "I've done my fair share of it, mostly for Jack, but if you're talking this prison, you'll find it near impossible. Plus, we've got bigger matters to attend to now that Jack's returned." I began to protest, but was distracted by Gibbs's next demand, "So, repeat the plan back to me."
I exhaled sharply from my nose in exasperation. This was something we had decided upon early on when discussing how my first meeting with Jack would go. "I don't see why I can't just tell him the truth!"
He raised an eyebrow. "Do you want to go straight back to Shipwreck? Your mother rarely got angry, but when she did, the entire planet felt her wrath. From what I hear, she now has the seas in her command, and there be no reasonable man on Earth who would dare counter her, least of all Jack and especially with her only child in question. Jack might be of questionable mind as of late, but he's not that daft!" He gave me a slight nudge when he noticed me quietly brooding as we walked, saying, "Ye can still carry out yer plan as someone else, can't ye? So come on now, tell me the plan!"
"I stay silent and out of the way until my uncle is no longer preoccupied and you can approach him to introduce me," I grumbled.
"And I will introduce ye as?"
"Just Anna, an orphan from Shipwreck."
"And what is your business here?"
"I am a runaway who wishes to sail with the most famous pirate in the Caribbean," I recited. Suddenly, something I hadn't thought of occurred to me. "Wait...Gibbs, I have to tell him about Grandfather."
In all our days of planning, this facet has slipped by us. He pursed his lips, seeing reason in my words. "I can tell 'im," he suggested. "Just say word on the street says he died at sea."
"That's not true," I protested. "That night give him false hope that those are merely rumors or worse—that Captain Turner has the power to find his soul. He died and is buried on land!"
"Alright, alright! Um..." his voice trailed off, uncertainly.
"Wait! I've got it!" I announced. "That's how I heard about Jack! I was an orphan on Shipwreck, Teague took me under his wing, and when he died, he entrusted me with what remaining valuables he had and told me to find his son!" Seeing Gibbs's still skeptical expression, I argued, "It's a blend of truth and fiction. That way I won't have to lie about the fate of his father. He has to know, Gibbs."
"Aye, ye be right," he finally conceded. "Just take caution—the closer ye approach the truth, the sooner ye might find yerself back where ye started."
"HEY!" Scrum yelled, cutting through our conversation. "Were the two of ye's listening to a single word I said?"
"Oh of course," "Yes, very interesting," we both lied.
He raised his eyebrows and put his hands on his hips defensively. "Well?"
Gibbs and I exchanged a glance. "'Well' what?" he asked.
"What should we do?"
"…about what?" Gibbs questioned.
Scrum pointed over his shoulder. "About that!"
Both of us craned our necks around Scrum and our eyes went wide upon seeing exactly what Scrum was referring to. Initially, my eyes locked onto the image of a man standing majestically on the foremast beam, his long hair and jacket blowing in the wind, his gaze set straight forward. The majesty would have been complete were it not for the fact that the ship, dingy and small and dilapidated, was gradually sinking as she approached the harbor. Her crew was shouting, crying to each other to make a swim for it and all one by one tumbling over the edge into the water below. The man on the mast remained stoic and immovable…except for when the Gull's rudder finally made contact with the ocean floor, then precariously tipped on its starboard side, sending the man catapulting into the ocean.
"CAP'N!" Gibbs cried, breaking into a sprint towards the beach, Scrum following close behind.
I, however, remained frozen. That was him. That was my uncle.
I was about to meet the famed Captain Jack Sparrow.
