I led Carina around to the basement entrance to the church, turning a sharp corner alongside the west side of the building and traversing a few precarious steps whose stones had been dislodged from its paving after years of wear. Together, we pounded on the door. No reply. After one more attempt, I tried the handle and found it to be unbolted. We walked inside, smelling the familiar, musty scent of old parchment filling both my nostrils and my heart with its warm, welcoming aroma I so adored.

"Nathaniel?" Carina cried out. "Is anyone here?"

An unfamiliar face suddenly stumbled out from between the shelves, knocking over a few books in the process. This man was young, somewhere around Carina's age or slightly older, with blonde hair and a wide, toothy grin, and he looked as though he hadn't seen the sunlight in days. He sheepishly replied, "My apologies, ladies! You gave me quite the start!" He extended a nervous hand first to Carina, and then to me. "I'm Nathaniel. Nathaniel Peters."

"Carina Barbossa," Carina replied. She was becoming more accustomed to her new name, though it still jarred me every time it slipped now so casually off her tongue.

This Nathaniel fellow also clearly recognized the name. "…as…as in the Pirate Lord? Lord Hector Barbossa, hailing from Ireland, Pirate Lord of the Caspian Sea? That Barbossa?"

Carina set her jaw, knowing that this was to probably be the question she would get for the remainder of her life with a last name such as Barbossa. "Yes," she chirped plainly. "It would seem that he was my father, as it were."

"Fascinating," said he, his eyes lingering on her as though he were in the presence of royalty. He then turned to me. "And you?" he asked, extending his hand.

I took it, giving a slight shrug. "I'm afraid I'm not as impressive," I reported. "Anna."

He narrowed his eyes. "No surname?"

I delivered his suspicion right back to him. "And what's it to you?"

Nathaniel's face fell. "My apologies, I didn't mean to pry. It's just that…" He gestured with his arms outward at his shelves of logbooks. "It's kind of my business to know people's pasts."

Carina and I shared a look. I needed to tread carefully here, as my father's recent undead-edness was still rather a sensitive topic for those outside our circle. "You'll find me under 'h' for 'Hexfury,'" I replied.

"Hexfury?!" he cried,releasing his hold my hand and darting for a step ladder to take him to a high shelf, "And you dare say you're not impressive?!" he scoffed. "Only the name shared with most powerful healer on the entire island and you say you're not impressive!" producing a thick, dark blue volume and placed it down on a nearby table with a deep thud. He then flipped wildly upon hitting an index of "h" names, then traced his finger until finding the handwritten entry he was looking for. "Hexfury…yes, just as I thought. Her daughter…" his voice trailed as he looked up at me. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Miss Hexfury. No record of a father…?"

I was about to shut him down with a swift "no," but Carina cleared her throat. Pointedly, she said to me, "Perhaps, given that things appear relatively calm now, maybe an attempt can be made to correct the past? Perhaps your father deserves a place in history once more."

Every part of me instinctively wanted to resist, but then again I trusted Carina's steadfastness. And she was right— we couldn't hide James Norrington's resurrection forever, and we would need to come up with a reason why he had been recorded as deceased for so long. "Norrington," I finally said to him. "My surname is Norrington."

What a fool I was to expect he'd shrug off the name as meaningless and move on. But instead, it appeared young Nathaniel was a fanatic of famed British servicemen. "Norrington!?" he screeched, nearly knocking down an entire shelf has he lurched for un unmarked ledger with a cracked, leather binding. Clearly, this was a personal log from his own collection. "Norrington, Lawrence," he recited upon finding my family's page. "British Royal Navy Admiral from 1709 to 1740. Leader of a prevalent charge to rid enemy ships to allow the passage of slave traders to the American colonies."

I grimaced, giving Carina a sideways glance, "What a family legacy, eh?"

Carina commiserated, however, saying, "At least your father didn't try to kill the man keeping you under his roof at present, as mine did."

I winced, "Actually, my father definitely tried to kill that man himself. Several times, in fact."

Nathaniel interjected by saying aloud, "Children: Catherine Victoria, James Lawrence, and Thomas Andrew." He then squinted up at me, confused. "Are you kin to these Norringtons?" he asked. "An unrecorded daughter of…" His voice trailed as he eyed me up and down, then returned to the log, "…well it would have to be Thomas, wouldn't it?"

I shifted my eyes to Carina, who gave another encouraging nod. "Thomas would be my uncle," I reported hesitantly. "James is my father."

Nathaniel looked even more bewildered. "That can't be! It says here that Admiral James Lawrence Norrington died at the age of 30 at sea in 1745!"

I gave a slight laugh to diffuse the inexplicable situation, "Ah. Simple recording error, perhaps." Then, quickly shifting the subject before he could proceed, I said, "Anyways, do you have any idea—"

But he was persistent. Interrupting me, he said, "So wait, you are telling me that Admiral James Norrington is your father?"

"Yes," I said with exasperation. "Now could you tell me when—"

"And your mother is Rose Hexfury?

I sighed. "Yes."

Nathaniel's expression dropped into sheer awe. "Rose Hexfury she married the Admiral!?" He laid a hand on his forehead and began to pace. I gave Carina a concerned glance, as neither of us were quite sure what was going on. "Is…everything alright?" I asked."You mean to tell me," Nathaniel stammered, absolutely beside himself, "That the healer of Shipwreck and the founding Commodore of Port Royal wed and had a child who is standing here, in my shop?!"

I furrowed my brow. "Well, technically it's not your shop—"

Nathaniel ignored me and shook my hand once again. "It is an honor, Miss Norrington," he beamed. "Pray tell…is…is the Admiral with us at present?"

"Um?" I said hesitantly, "Well, yes…but he is um…no longer an Admiral." I didn't know how trustworthy this perfect stranger was, so I said, "He's been…demoted."

Nathaniel gasped, flicking his eyes to the side as a thought occurred to him. "…faked his own death…" his voice trailed. Suddenly, he clapped his hands together. "That's it! A forbidden love, he fakes his own death, assumes a new identity, and voila! Here you stand!"

I exchanged a quick glance with Carina, then replied weakly, "Yep. You got it."

He straightened his waistcoat, then put on a very serious demeanor in attempts to suppress his delight. "I would very much like to meet your father, Miss. I'm, well…a look up to him as an idol."

"Really? Couldn't tell," I said, causing Carina to snort with laughter. "Sir, we're actually here to research a bit about Carina's mother, Margaret Smyth? Do you know anything about her?"

Nathaniel furrowed his brow. "Not that I can recall, but I can check the regional census logs!"

When he left to go rummage in his shelves, Carina and I shared a wide-eyed expression of awe at his over-exuberance. From the sounds of books shifting and crashing to the ground back beyond our line of vision, it sounded as though he would be gone for awhile, so I curiously reached out and dragged it closer toward me as my finger traced the various notations recording my family's history. I could feel Carina's heat as she moved, her arm pressed against mine as we read together:

Norrington, James Lawrence. Born April 28, 1715, Died 1745, Age 30. Cause of Death: Unknown cause at sea. Unwedded, no heirs.

Below this entry, Scrum's report was proven correct. Norrington, Thomas Andrew. Born June 12, 1718. Died November 30, 1749. Cause of Death: Heart weakness. Wedded to Muriel Norrington, no heirs.

Then, my eyes traced upwards. I gulped upon reading, Norrington, Catherine Victoria. Born March 1, 1712. Died February 13, 1723. Cause of death: Influenza. Unmarried, no heirs.

The last entries I had to read were those of my grandparents.

Norrington, Lawrence Andrew. We already knew from Scrum's report that Lawrence had died, otherwise Thomas would not have inherited the estate. The circumstances of his death, however, were still a mystery until this moment. The entry read, "Died October 21, 1746. Cause of death: Crushed by descending ship upon falling over dry dock." I winced upon reading this gruesome finale to Lawrence's wretched little life, but couldn't help but feel slightly vindicated: After all the despair he put my father through, I thought it was a fitting, painful end.

But then, lastly, I got to my grandmother: Norrington, Victoria Mary. Born May 25, 1681. Died… She was dead. My father's entire family was gone. I forced myself to continue on. Died December 23, 1762. Cause of death: Natural causes. This told me several things: That she outlived her entire family, that she died alone, and that Father's past life truly was gone. The Norringtons as he knew it were gone forever. But our story was far from over.

Nathaniel returned from his battle with the shelves breathless, then paused upon seeing me staring intently at my family log. "Is something the matter?"

Carina gave me a small nudge, sensing what I wanted to do before I even had a chance to act on it. "Do it," she said simply. I reached for a nearby quill and ink, then pressed the inked tip of the quill into the leaflet that contained our records. "What are you doing?!" he cried in alarm.

"Fixing your records," I replied, as I drew a line through James Norrington's death date and cause of death. I took particular pride in pressing the quill harder into the paper as I scribbled out, "Unmarried," and "No heirs." In its place, I wrote, "Married Rose Hexfury-Teague in 1751. Heir, daughter Anna Jaqueline Norrington, born April 23, 1752." Then, with a satisfied nod, I looked at my handiwork, stating plainly, "There. It's correct now."

Nathaniel looked flummoxed, a bit vexed that I, an outsider, came in and edited his private logbook, but he ultimately let it go, citing that at least the record was accurate. He gingerly took the log book away, replacing it with several others in his place. The three of us pored over them.

"Smith…Smith, Smith, Smith…" Nathan cooed from one of them. "'I' or a 'Y,' miss?

"'Y.'" She replied, scouring another. "S-m-y-t-h."

"No 'e' at the end?"

"No 'e.'"

"And you're how old?"

"20, sir."

Hesitantly, he replied, "Well, it's not a rarity among names, is it?" Catherine and I dropped what we were doing and each took a glance at his book over one of his shoulders. We were crestfallen upon seeing that he had the master visitor's log recording the previous two decades. Seventeen Margaret Smiths or Smyths were listed.

Distraught, Carina gasped, "This is all Margaret Smyth?"

"Sadly, yes," he replied. "Do you know your birthplace perhaps? From your visage, I only presume a British origin."

"I don't know," she stammered, clearly overwhelmed. "I grew up in an orphanage on St. Martin."

"Barbossa told my uncle that her mother came from here," I explained. "Do we perhaps have any logs specifically of Shipwreck residents?"

He shook his head sadly. "Only from the past eighteen years. It took a few years before Shipwreck was in a steady enough position economically to support residents after the War. That's when the first recorders were brought in to perform a census." from the past…oh, twenty or so years. Not before Mrs. Turner took power."

Alas, we had hit a dead end. Nathaniel was genuinely apologetic he couldn't have been of more help, but there was no mistaking that all of this was beyond his control. Margaret Smyth's identity would have to be a mystery for another day.

As we prepared to leave, he suggested, "You know, I know what the implications would be, and it's not much, but you could always check the headstones in our graveyard. Some of them are crumbling to bits, I really need to make a record of them before so that we know exactly who is buried here."

I waited for Carina's answer, but she no longer could keep up her put-upon joyful demeanor. Her displeasure was evident. "Perhaps another day," she replied. "Thank. you for all your hard work today, Mr. Peters."

"Nathaniel, please!" he insisted. He then turned to me, taking my hand and kissing the top of it gently. I couldn't conceal my discomfort at this, but made an attempt at a smile I know just ended up looking like a horrifying grimace. "Miss Norrington," he murmured dramatically. "I bid you adieu."

I winced. "You mean 'au revoir,'" I corrected him. "'Adieu' means we're never seeing each other again."

He raised his eyebrows. "Then let's hope that isn't the case."


"YEE-AAA-AUCK!" I gagged and cringed once we raced out of the churchyard, screaming with laughter. I was wiping my hand vigorously on my trousers. "GOD how I wish it were 'adieu!'"

Carina stopped to catch her breath. "Your face!" she cackled. "I've never seen anyone so terrified in my life! It looked like you thought he was going to eat you!"

"BECAUSE I WAS!" I shouted! "What was that?!"

Carina skipped along the path back towards our respective homes, walking backwards and facing toward me teasingly as she said in a sing-song tone, "Anna's got an admirer!"

"Oh shut it," I protested, kicking dirt at her. "I would sooner pursue a romantic affiliation with Davy Jones himself! His Kraken, even!"

She clicked her tongue. "Oh come now! He's a strapping young lad. He likes books. You like books!"

I raised a skeptical eyebrow. "I think a shared passion of books is not the telltale signs of a successful couple." I opened my mouth to continue my tirade about Nathaniel's various quirks, but was rendered speechless. Ringlets of curls had become dislodged from her braids over the course of the day, and as we made our way up the bluff back to the lighthouse, the wind off the ocean was buffeting her hair so that the way the locks fell across her cheeks, her eyes… And how stark her dark, dark hair was against the dappled orange and pinks the sunset was reflecting on the clouds. It was a breathtaking sight.

And in that moment, it became clear to me why I knew why my sights would never be on Nathaniel.

"What is it?" she said concernedly, noting my sudden shift in moods.

"Uh…" I stammered. "I um… D-do you want me to check the cemetery?" I asked carefully. "I didn't want to—"

"Oh…" she interrupted me, growing somber. "I…I think no. Not yet." When I said nothing in response, she tried to explain herself by saying, "I know it's absurd, I just…"

"No I understand," I said. I understood it all. I understood that by checking the cemetery, if Margaret Smyth was found, there would be but one absolution…that Carina was truly an orphan now, and that she would never have answers as to her parents' pasts. As someone who ventured out into the unknown without any plan or resources to find the truth about my own father, I understood more than most. But she didn't want to hear that now. "There's more people we can try," I offered. "There's plenty of residents who live on the other side of the island. They might know something."

She smiled at this, hopefully. "Yes. Maybe."


I left Carina at the lighthouse, but didn't walk her in. I suddenly needed air, despite being hit with a steady evening sea breeze. I took off as fast I could back for the cove. It was as though my feet weren't fast enough, nothing could match how fast my heart was beating. In the moment, I felt so certain of myself and the way I felt about Carina, but when shaken back to reality, I was suddenly inundated with fearful thoughts. No, Carina loves Henry. He's hers. It's not right for a lady to feel this way. What would people think? What would Father think?

Father.

Now I was at the peak of the hillside looking down over the cove, catching sight of my father working to coil a lead line as one of our visiting pirate vessels made its way out to sea again. All of a sudden, all of my personal issues felt miles away when I recalled that he didn't know the fate of his mother, yet I did.

Reluctantly, I began my trek towards him and when I arrived, I hesitantly squeaked, "Father?"

"Yes?" he asked, turning and wiping the sweat from his brow.

I gulped. "Can…can we talk?"

"Yes, of course," he said in concern, now turning to fully face me. "What's wrong?"

Wringing my hands and dreading what I was about to say, I began, "We just returned from the church," I said. "Just to check the logs see if anyone had record Margaret Smyth."

"And?"

"And…" I struggled, "The historian there knew our family name and found a death log."

Father still looked confused. "And?" he repeated.

"Well…it would appear that Scrum was correct. Your father is dead, as is Thomas." I couldn't bear to look at him as I said, "And your mother."

With my eyes averted, I couldn't gauge his response, though I only heard him ask, "Did it say how?"

"Uncle Thomas was of a weak heart, as reported," I reported. "Grandfather was—"

"You don't have to call him that," Father interrupted. That did cause me to look up at him. "He doesn't deserve to have you call him that," he finished simply.

This was odd. Father seemed…curiously unfazed. Tentatively, I continued with his correction, "Lawrence died rather gruesomely."

"Do tell."

"He…he tripped on a dry dock and was crushed by a descending ship," I said with a grimace.

Father winced at the thought for a moment, but quickly recovered, asking, "And Victoria?"

"Peacefully," I said. "In her sleep."

"Ah," Father replied. "Well, that's disappointing." And just like that, he returned back to the coil to finish his work.

"I don't understand," I said, moving so that I was at his side. "You're not upset?"

"Not particularly," he chirped. "Grief is a service none of them deserve of me. Their chance for that was spent long ago."

He truly was divorced from any emotion towards them. "But," I said, "You do realize what this means, don't you? You're the sole Norrington left."

"I am not," he said simply. "If Thomas and Victoria were in there, surely my name was as well."

"Aye, much to the confusion of the historian, I must say," I replied. "I…I did add my name. And the year of my birth," I said. This caused him to stop his work once again, taking a deep breath. "Was that wrong of me?" I asked, alarmed by his shift in mood.

"No," he replied. "By all means, it's your right. I only meant to ask you sooner if perhaps you shouldn't take your mother's name."

I was taken aback by this. "What, 'Teague?'"

"Lord, no!" Father cringed. "That would be far worse for you."

"…Hexfury?!" I cried in disbelief. "But that's mother's name!"

"Exactly," he said.

"No, I mean it's the name mother made for herself!"

He gave a slight shrug. "But it's a good one. A trusted one."

I gave a small laugh. "A bit absurd…"

"Oh undoubtedly," he replied, "But it's safe. I'm legally dead, Anna. And we don't know what enemies to the Norrington name persist. It doesn't have to be 'Hexfury,' but I do recommend you choose another name."

I saw his reasoning, but this seemed to be such a foreign idea! I was a Norrington through and through. It was central to how I perceived my identity. Could I abandon the moniker so quickly? After a moment, I shook my head. "No, I wish to keep it."

"Think it over first," Father tried.

"No, I have thought it over," I interrupted. "It's my name. And the Norrington legacy won't die with the meaningless deaths of a few horrid people. It will end with us. The last two Norringtons left."

After a moment thinking this over, Father closed his eyes and gave a slight shake of his head. "They way I see it, there is but one Norrington left."

I raised an eyebrow. "But you're alive now! Truly!"

"The Norrington I was died the moment I chose not to come to this very Cove several decades ago," he said. "If the name is what you choose, it begins anew with you."


"So besides a few revelations from our family tree, it was bust, was it?" Father asked me that night over dinner.

It was hardly that by my mind! Though true that we hadn't found anything out for Carina, I suddenly found myself swimming adrift in a pool of confusing emotions that were entirely new to me. But I suppose, as far as our mission went, that yes, it was a bit of a bust. "Sadly yes," I replied. "But, we've still got plenty of means by which to search. Just because Nathaniel couldn't find anything doesn't mean it's not there! We've still got the tannery, the wharf…"

Mother looked troubled as she swirled her goblet of wine gingerly in a slow circle. "Before you do all that," she murmured, "Have you thought of the cemetery?"

I gulped. "Nathaniel suggested it, but Carina had to hurry back to meet the Turners," I lied. "But what if she didn't die?" I said after a moment. "There's so much we don't know because Barbossa isn't here to tell us himself! Perhaps Margaret left after Carina was born, or…or maybe she was captured! She could be anywhere!"

My parents gave one another a skeptical look, then my mother hesitantly said, "Perhaps, but isn't it still worth looking?"

"To what end?" I argued. "So we find out that she's here. That she died when Carina was born. But no one on the island can tell us who she was or where she came from? I don't believe it." I shook my head in frustration. "I do wish Nathaniel would just let me back into the records so I could go through them myself.

"Oh," Mother said, recalling him, "He's new here," she said. "Once you see more of him and he knows you better, I'm sure he'll have no problem letting you in."

I snorted, mumbling into my broth, "That's exactly what I'm afraid of. Seeing more of him."

"Really?" Mother said, her eyebrows raised in amusement. "Is he enamored with you?"

I shrugged. "I'd say more the idea of me," I reported. "He loves you," I said to my mother, then turning to my father, I said, "And he's obsessed with you! He knows every Navy Admiral in the history of ever, practically! Me being your offspring and a fellow his historian is his absolute ideal!"

Father raised an eyebrow. "Shall I intervene?" his voice growled defensively.

Inwardly, I beamed at the feeling of having a father ready to bat away unwanted suitors, yet I only shook my head. "He's harmless. I'm sure it shall pass," I replied.

"Still," Mother said, diverting the conversation, "I'd check the church. Even though it might not provide the answers you want, it's still an answer."

She was right, and I knew it. But I still didn't wish to face such a harsh reality so soon. I still had hope that Margaret might still be out there somewhere. So? Carina and I were to do this all over again until we reached a satisfactory conclusion.

I went to bed that night after writing in my diary, my mind still aflutter with possibilities of where we could go, who else we could interrogate. This excitement made my mind nearly impossible to turn off. It finally grew late, and my eyelids were only just becoming heavy when I saw a light shine out my bedroom window. Curious, I tiptoed toward it and peered out in the direction of where the light was coming from.

To my surprise, there I saw Father, lighting an oil lamp out near the water on the edge of the Cove. He placed the lantern on a barrel and sat atop another nearby. When he did, he seemed to collapse, exhausted, and held his head in his hands. Another disturbed sleep? I feared that perhaps he had been pretending not to be fazed by news of his family's death, and perhaps now that was alone, he mourned. But then again, my mind instantly thought back to only last night, when we awoke to his screams of terror. And then again the odd meeting in the shadows with Will…

Something was definitely wrong. Something was bothering them, and it wasn't just trauma. All I knew was that I had an unmistakeable feeling of dread at the thought that perhaps our perils were only just beginning.