Author's Note: Oh, I'm so glad you all seem to be enjoying this! I hope it's not too cliché – I promise I'm not intentionally taking any of this from stories I've read before. Apart from the characters and ideas from "Pirates of the Caribbean", of course. So, without further gilding the lily, and with no more ado, here is chapter three. Please R&R!
Chapter 2: The Black Pearl
Anamaria led me to the docks in the chilly seaside air. I saw the faint pre-dawn light starting to glow behind the buildings around us, and I realized with a jolt that I must've walked through the night. The vast, dark shape of an enormous sailing ship loomed ahead of us. It was tied at the end of the dock, and several smaller shadows were darting back and forth across the deck. A man's gruff voice called orders down from the crow's nest, sending the rest of the crew scurrying across the deck hurriedly. The sound of the shouted orders was short and halting in the still morning air. Anamaria approached the ship boldly, stopping at the gangplank.
"Oi, Jack!" she called up to the crow's nest, "We got us a stowaway. Like to come an' have a look at her?"
I looked up at the crow's nest expectantly; I could just make out the dim form of a man straightening and leaning out towards us. Then his shape moved and he slid down to the deck of the ship on a slender rope. He moved towards us and ambled down the gangway to the pier. It was lighter now; the stars were beginning to fade against the sky as it changed from black to blue. I could only just make out the figure of the man coming toward me: dark hair and beard, a sturdy coat of some sort, a leathery three-cornered hat. His dark eyes fixed unblinkingly on me, and I felt a sudden thrill of apprehension.
"What's this all about, Anamaria?" he asked, keeping his eyes on me.
His voice was lazy and slurred, almost careless, but held an unmistakable air of authority. I tried my best not to falter under his cool, appraising stare.
"Abigail Jackson," said Anamaria, "She needs a lift to America."
"America?" asked the man, turning towards her for the first time, "We'll not be goin' that way for a long while yet."
"I know that," said Anamaria, "But she said she needed a fast ship."
The man gave a noncommittal grunt and set his hands on his hips, thrusting his coat aside and revealing the hilt of a sword. Again I felt a wave of unfocused fear pass over me. This was not good; here I had never been truly afraid in my life, and within the past hour it had happened no less than three times.
"Miss Jackson, is it?" asked the man.
"Yes," I replied, feeling suddenly bolder at being given a chance to speak, "And you are?"
"I am Captain Jack Sparrow," he said impressively, "And this is my ship, the Black Pearl."
"Is it a fast ship?"
"It's the fastest ship in the Atlantic, I'll vouch for that. What exactly makes you so anxious to get to America, if I may ask?"
"It's none of your concern, so long as you can take me there."
"Ah, but it is, darlin'. You see, if I am to take you aboard I would very much like to know your motives in boarding. Also, I have no intention whatsoever of altering my present course for just one person. Unless," he added, glancing at my gold ring, "I am provided with generous compensation."
I gripped the strap of my knapsack a little tighter.
"What is your present course?" I asked cautiously.
"We sail first to Paris," said the Captain, "And then we shall make our way south and spend the winter months in a more habitable environment. We don't sail west until the New Year, but we will find our way there in time. I suppose you might be allowed to accompany us, if you're willing to wait that long. . ."
"I reckon it doesn't much matter where we take her," said Anamaria, "As long as it's away from here. She's runnin' away, Jack."
The two of them looked me over carefully, and I took the opportunity to look over Captain Sparrow. The sky had lightened to a soft, indigo blue, and I could now discriminate the Captain's face more clearly. Everything about his appearance had an air of faded glory: his three-cornered hat was old and weather-beaten, and his coat was frayed and mended in several places. His face was deeply tanned and his dark hair, matted and partially dreadlocked, was decorated with strange medallions, brightly-colored beads and what looked like pieces of bone. He carried himself with an easy nonchalance, but his eyes were keen and his gaze piercing. Suddenly, Anamaria's fleeting expression at the mention of "pirates" came back to me, and another piece of the puzzle slid unmistakably into place.
"Will you be followed?" he asked me in a low, serious voice.
"What?"
He sighed exasperatedly and crossed his arms.
"If you are indeed running away," he said, making no effort to mask his annoyance at being asked to repeat himself, "It would do me and my crew no good to be hiding a fugitive, as we are all quite reluctant to give any law enforcers any more reason to chase after us. Do I make myself clear?"
"Yes," I said, somewhat taken aback.
"Now, will you be followed if I allow you to come aboard my ship?"
I hadn't really considered this dilemma, but he had a point: I didn't want anyone, least of all Uncle Roland, to come after me now that I'd made up my mind about leaving my old life behind me indefinitely. So I reflected on the possibilities for a moment. A few of my old suitors had shown great disappointment after I'd turned them down, and fewer still had returned to see if I'd had a change of heart in their absence, but they were all too dim to think of hunting me down anyway. Roland, on the other hand, might feel as if his reputation was in danger if word got around that his only family member had mysteriously disappeared during the night. But he would probably just make up some excuse for me, tell them I'd hanged myself out of grief and boredom – he'd be happier with that idea anyway. And he most certainly wouldn't try to find me again.
"I doubt it," I answered truthfully, "Listen, I can't pay you much for the voyage, but I'll work as an extra hand on-deck if you need me to."
"You know how to sail?" asked Anamaria skeptically.
"I can learn," I assured her, "And I won't be any trouble, I promise."
Captain Sparrow grinned, and I saw the glint of gold teeth in his smile.
"Very well," he said, "So be it! Anamaria, show the girl her quarters and give her something useful to do. The sooner we're off, the better."
"Aye, Captain," she said jovially.
Captain Sparrow turned back towards the ship.
"And who told you lot to take a break?" he bellowed at the crew, who had stopped working to listen in on our conversation, "Back to work, all of ye! I want this ship underway by sunrise!"
With that, the crew hurried back to their places and prepared the ship to make way. Captain Sparrow marched back up the gangplank and Anamaria led me below deck to a small, empty bunk.
"Ye can sleep here tonight," she said, "But for now yer to follow me. Leave that sack and I'll show ye your duties. Come on!"
I tossed my knapsack onto the bed and followed Anamaria back up to the back of the ship – the stern, she said – and tried my best to pay attention while she taught me all the names of the different ropes and what they each did. She introduced me to some of the crew, the ones that were stationed at the stern, and they took to calling me "Abby" fairly quickly.
"What is it exactly that I'm supposed to do back here?" I asked when the lesson seemed to be over.
"Nothing, yet," said Anamaria, "You wait here," she stood me at the very back of the ship, "And cast off this line when I tell you. Should be soon now. . ."
She looked towards the bow, watching the Captain expectantly. I turned my gaze to the sky as a faint pinkish glow crept out from the East; the sun was rising. Captain Sparrow stepped up to the wheel and glanced at a strange instrument in his right hand. Then he clapped the object shut and dropped it in his jacket pocket. He turned back towards the crew.
"Cast off!" he shouted.
It took me half a second to realize what that meant, and in that time the rest of the crew had already released most of the lines holding the ship to the dock. The ship strained against the one remaining line holding it fast, and with more than a little embarrassment I realized my mistake.
"Let her go, Abby!" yelled Anamaria.
I hurriedly reached down and slipped off the last rope. The ship lurched forward and I cried out as I found myself slipping over the stern. But two members of the crew caught me and pulled me back. They were all laughing when I found my feet again. I straightened my hair and cloak, trying to regain some semblance of dignity.
"Don' worry, lass," said the first mate, "Ye'll find yer sea legs ere this voyage is over."