*AN: Here's the responses:

Guinevere-- yes, thanks. All fixed.

Reese Sparrow --sorry, not a whole lot of torturing…but you get a good taste of it, no?

D.M. sorry, but it's all fixed (hopefully) now. What do ya think?

Allyrien Chantel de Montreve-- I've condensed everything now…glad you like it!

….- I'm updating ASAP…I'm tryin'….

Holly - Hey! Fork over some rum to the hard-working author here!

just me... -glad you like Anamaria's past. I wasn't sure exactly what to do…but hey, it works!

Further note: Historical accuracy is a moot point. Keep that in mind. And yes, there will be some derogatory names to the African people: sorry. This is not my opinion, but what I'm making Giselle's.  And no, I don't think it's right.

Further: Sorry this took so long, but *checks reviews* yeah… a whopping 8 people reviewed.  So, I doubt I upset a lot of people.   My main goal was to finish it.  And…

It's not finished.

And yes, this Yao is based on Yao the basketball player. No offense to him.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Devious Plots and Evil Cackles

Giselle frowned at the two children sleeping on the floor of the shack. They obviously weren't suffering enough. She had to make the threat believable.

Threat. Her threat. Her brilliant, evil, nefarious threat.

To kill the kids if their guardian were not delivered within a fortnight.

Giselle did not doubt that the nigger woman would attempt to rescue them. She did doubt that she would sacrifice herself, but there were plans for both occurrences.

Plans…

She had been making plans ever since she had heard the overseer in the whorehouse moaning about finding a mulatto lass. Hell, before that, she had been making plans for three years that wouldn't ever work. Revenge on Jack… the bastard.

This one would work.

The overseer had been sent to find a mulatto lass, aged about 25 or so, to take back to the Carolinas. Turns out she was the bastard daughter of the original owner. And when the original owner had died, she had run south, at the ripe o' age o' 16. The estate had reverted to a brother in England. He had found out about the daughter, and, being the stupid lackwit that thought all people, man, woman, white, black, were equal, writ in his will that the estate would go to her, and, if she could not be found in 5 years, that the estate would go to a cousin in Ireland.

Ireland?

That was where the overseer came in. He was an employee of a neighboring plantation owner, who wanted the huge, fallow land for his own. To do that, he had to possess the mulatto girl, who was still a slave, a runaway slave. So he put out a huge reward, with posters, the lot.

Supposedly the girl was the spittin' image o' her ma, with her da's eyes. So that was the image on the posters.

The image was just close enough for Giselle to recognize her.

It was the whore who had taken up residence on the Black Pearl.

The whore who had taken the "entertainment" of the Lonely Widow.

The whore who had taken Jack's love.

Damnit!

She had had him. Had that Captain Jack Sparrow, the Casanova of the Seven Seas, the man who had come up with the idea of a woman in every port. She had had him for a delightful fortnight, humping like rabbits and whispering endearments and love.

And marriage.

He had said he would marry her! The two-faced lying scum!

When he had come back to Tortuga, she had fully expected to be swept into his arms and into the nearest bed. Instead, she was beat to welcome him by an angry redhead, and her instinct had taken over.

And he had jumped into bed with the nearest available woman. An unnatural negro bitch.

Giselle had vowed revenge, and fate had smiled upon her. Her opportunity had ended up on her lap.

The overseer and his crew would take the nigger back to the Carolinas, to be done whatever with. Jack, most certainly, would follow her to Tortuga, and while that whore was being abducted, she would sent Yao to deal with Jack.

Yao, her faithful servant. He was a giant Oriental man, who for some reason, had taken up with a pirate ship and then abandoned ship to make his fortune in Tortuga. He had ended up as her servant.

Some races obviously knew their place.

Giselle looked at the children thoughtfully. She would have to get a message to the woman alone, to lure her away from Jack and to the overseer.

What was the damned man's name again?

Didn't matter. Once he had her, well, outta sight, outta mind.

For both the overseer and the woman.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Demands

Anamaria and Jack strode up the beach. Even from the distance of a mile or so they could tell that the house had obviously been attacked.

Anamaria broke into a run, Jack at her heels.

She burst through the door, bellowing, "Zeke! Ada!"

Jack bellowed from behind her, "Will! Liz!"

They were answered by a groan. They both wheeled to their left, and were greeted by Will, crusted with blood, tottering down the hall.

They ran to his side.

Jack's eyes narrowed in inspection of Will's wounds. The only serious one was to his shoulder; a sword had pierced almost right through his right one. The rest were a series of nicks and cuts. They had bled profusely, staining his clothes, but they were starting to heal already.

Anamaria began to question him. "Where are they? What happened? Please, Will, tell me!"

Will waved irritably with his hands, unconsciously mimicking Jack. "Attacked me at the forge. Tried to fight, knocked me out, took Zeke. Came up here when I woke up, everyone dead or gone. Found ransom note." His eyes widened, examining Anamaria as if for the first time. "You. You are who they want." He paused, his mouth moving silently, as if about to utter something distasteful. "The slave."

The blood ran from Anamaria's face. "What?"

Jack relinquished his hold on Will and looked for the note.

"Here." Will pulled it from his pocket. "Read it."

Jack took it and coughed, politely, twice, to clear his throat. Nobody was amused.

"Slave," Jack's voice tightened. "In return for your spawn, we request your presence in Tortuga. You will be contacted further upon your arrival."

He looked at Will. "Elizabeth?"

Will's eyes darkened. "Gone."

Jack shrugged, and caught Will about the shoulders. "Ye'll just be comin' with us, then, aye?"

They were about to waltz out the door when Will turned suddenly. "Ana?" He said softly. "Are you coming?"

Anamaria suddenly shook herself, and the light came back into her face. "Please, Will, call me 'Ria. My father used to call me Ana."

She strode past them. "Correction: my owner used to call me Ana."

Will looked at Jack for an explanation. All he got was a shake of a head. Jack said, "'Tis not me place to explain. She'll do it in her own time."

Jack nudged Will towards the door. "C'mon, whelp." Will smiled unconsciously at the nickname. " 'Ria will patch ye up on the ship, once she gets her wind back."

And they followed the young woman down the beach, back to the Pearl.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------When the Past Won't Let Go

Anamaria did patch Will up, the first night, when the ship was manned by a skeleton crew and night watch.

Will gripped a bottle of Jack's best rum as he stared fixedly at a particular knot in the wood of the door of Jack's cabin. Anamaria noted that it was full.

"Ye somehow manage to get Jack to give ye a full bottle o' 'is best, and ye can't even drink it?" Anamaria's voice was low and soothing, but with a note of teasing in it. She could tell her stitching pained him horribly. " 'E'll be terribly insulted." She was good, patching up sails and crew with ease, but rarely did the wound not trouble the victim, intoxicated or no.

Will grimaced. "Elizabeth has weaned me off spirits. Chances are, I'll take two sips and my stomach will tolerate no more."

Anamaria snorted. "Boy, ye half-pirate, at least. A sip o' rum will do ye a world o' good." She frowned at his wound. "Split it with ye shoulder. Ye better take the first half."

Will popped the top of the bottle and took a swig. Instead of immediately spraying the burning liquid back out, as Anamaria expected he would, he made a face and swallowed. She was impressed. Bootstrap's son to the end.

Will gasped for air. Then he took another gulp.

"Whoa, there," Anamaria cautioned. "I need some o' that. Don't drink it all." She grabbed the bottle from his hand and poured it onto a scrap of clean cloth. She then pressed the cloth to the wound. Will moaned, and reached for the bottle once more, but Anamaria eluded him.

"No, not too much now." She said as she quickly finished stitching him up. She then upended the bottle over the wound, and Will moaned. He then leaned back on her hammock and promptly fell asleep.

Anamaria stared at him. What the hell…?

Oh well. She had thinking to do.

She went up to the deck. Unfortunately, Jack was already there, at the helm, all to happy to question her about their mission.

"Ye sure ye are tellin' me the truth about ye past, luv?" Jack questioned gently, wasting no time.

Anamaria narrowed her eyes. " 'Ow much did I tell ye that night, Jack?"

Jack shrugged. "Ye the bastard o' a slave woman an' 'er master, from the Carolinas." He paused, considering whether or not to go on. Anamaria's knowing glare convinced him. "An' ye defended yeself against a couple o' bastards, an' took their boat for good measure." Jack grinned widely. "An' I know the rest. Ye pearl dove for a year o' two, went to Tortuga for some 'uman contact, found me lovely self instead, assisted me in a rather unfair fight, and then I, " he paused, debating whether it would be worth relinquishing his hold on the helm to avoid being slapped. He held on, and prepared to duck. "I commandeered ye boat, with every intent of returnin' it, we had our lovely adventure with the undead getting' me Pearl back, an' I convinced ye to join me crew. And a lovely three years it been."

Anamaria turned from him, unsatisfied but unwilling to voice her uneasiness. "Aye, that'd be it."

Jack waggled his head, and frowned. But it had to be asked. "Luv, Ye sure ye aren't the unknowing heiress of a rich estate? The daughter of a powerful African king? Queen o' Sheba perhaps? Ye didn't hold up a Governor o' a colony, o' murder anyone important? Emperor of China, maybe? Rob a bank? " Anamaria shot him a look over her shoulder, the look that said, "Jack, ye sound like ye mad an' I don't like it." Jack sighed and pushed forward. His distraction wouldn't work. "Ye didn't happen to become a…"

Anamaria wheeled.

Jack continued, wary. "A…special friend o' anyone important, eh?"

Anamaria screeched. "No! Damn ye eyes!" She didn't slap him, as Jack expected. She punched him, hard, right above his left eye. They howled in pain together.

Anamaria continued her rant, in a breathless tone, cradling her hand. "No, damn ye to hell and back. I missed that fate by the skin o' me teeth, and there's not an innocent's chance in Tortuga I'll ever be a white man's mistress."

She stood tall, and looked in Jack's eyes. "I'd die first."

She turned on her booted heel and stomped to mast, and started to climb. Jack felt compelled to worry, but shoved the emotion aside. She had done watch so many times that she could do it blind folded, much less on a moonlit night on calm seas. Nothing to fret about.

He did anyway, keeping a careful eye on her until she disappeared into the crow's nest.

And a thought occurred to him, while he did what he told himself not to do: Why would all this be brought up almost six years after she had disappeared?

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Pirates Gone Wild

Anamaria kept to the nest most of the next day. Her relief, Tomas, was sent back down to the galley to get a loaf from Jean and a bottle of water. He did so with a queer gleam in his eye, and as soon as his task was done, he sought Jack out.

"Cap'n, methinks the lady's gone mad." Jack had to hide his snort at the crew's term for Anamaria. She had never caught them using it, despite her cat-like hearing. She would have taken offense.

The crew used it only as a term of utmost respect.

Jack forced himself to pay attention to the rather elderly man in front of him. Tomas' voice was low and earest. He was a relatively calm, peaceful man, happy with simple theft and plunder. Bewigged. A member for three years, the original crew.

Anamaria didn't usually intimidate him. Hadn't for nigh two years. So what was goin' on?

Tomas, seeing Jack more confused then usual, elaborated. "She's sittin' up there, mutterin' in some foreign tongue, rockin' back an' forth. Not like 'e would with the ship, but rockin' like 'e had…" Tomas' voice choked. "Like 'e 'ad Ada in 'er arms again, o' somethin'. An' 'e 'eard me comin', and knew 'o I was, an' everythin'. Ain't natural, even for 'er."

Jack nodded gravely at this report, and waved a hand in dismissal. "Thank ye, Tomas. I'll look into it immediately."

He debated whether or not to wait for her to come down. He decided to give her the rest of the day. A pirate would have to be seriously disturbed to stay in that bucket of a crows' nest for a full 24 hours.

It soon became clear that Anamaria was seriously disturbed. Anytime Jack had sent up a relief, she had turned them right back around. No one was going to fight her for it; they reported back to the Captain, stated whatever inane retort Anamaria had thought up, and went about doing other tasks.

It was time for the captain to take her in hand.

Will searched for Jack. It wasn't hard. First he tried the cabin, but it was empty, so Will continued to the deck. And there he was, standing at the helm, grinning widely. Will felt himself smiling unconsciously in response as he approached.

"Oy, Jack." He called. Jack's eyes never left the horizon as he answered, "Aye, boy, I'm worried too."

Both pairs of eye flicked upwards.

Will looked at Jack. "What are you going to do?"

Jack eyed Will. "Whaddya mean, 'What am I goin' to do?'?"

Will didn't falter. "Exactly what I said."

Jack turned to face Will fully. "And why me?"

"You are her captain." Will said evenly. "And I had assumed her friend."

Jack interrupted. "Tis bad to assume. Know what they said-- 'makes an ass of you and me'…" He sang the phrase a tad off key.

Will continued. "And I didn't think you'd let her sacrifice herself for the children."

Jack muttered, "I'm not sure who I'd rather be stuck with-- trainable little demons or one bitchy woman who at least carried her own weight…"

Will glared at him, then sighed and turned away. He had said his part.

Jack said, lowly, "Don't worry yourself, whelp."

Will nodded once, and continued looking out at the ocean.

Jack climbed the rigging, thinking that Anamaria had better appreciate his efforts. He never climbed the rigging, struggling to maintain his elegance while grabbing at ropes.

He heard her call down, "Allez-vous -en."

Go away. He wondered momentarily why she had buried herself in French, then he had reached that horrid sky-high bucket and he threw himself over the rail.

She was curled up, head on her knees, arms wrapped around her legs, one had loosely holding his spyglass that she had stolen late last spring.

Jack's lightheartedness took a nosedive.

"Luv…Ce qui est erroné?" What is wrong?

"Je ne sais pas quoi faire." I do not know what to do.

Jack was dumbfounded. His strong, powerful, determined, always-know-where-I'm-going-and-how-to-get-there girl was at a loss?

He uneasily put an arm around her thin shoulders as he moved to sit by her side. Anamaria wriggled closer to his side. Jack cursed softly and pulled her onto his lap, wrapping his arms around her tightly.

"Je les veux en arrière" She cried out, "Je les veux en arrière dans des mes bras." I want them back. I want them back in my arms.

Jack made soothing noises, then thought better of it. Anamaria was not to be babied, even while in extreme emotion turmoil. At least she wasn't full out bawling. Distraction time. "Pourquoi sommes nous parlant en français?" Why are we talking in French?

Anamaria took a deep breath. Her face was still buried in Jack's shoulder when she said, "Whenever I was upset, I talked to Nan-- an older slave, my friend. But she didn't speak English well enough to understand me all the time…so I learned to speak French…"

Jack nodded. She felt it even if she couldn't see it. She continued taking deep breaths so she wouldn't burst out sobbing. Sound carried out here on the ocean.

Jack rocked her gently. As the sun melted into a simmering splash of reds and oranges on the horizon, Anamaria and Jack fell asleep in each others arms.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Meetings with Questionable Characters

Anamaria wandered down the street, contemplating where to gather gossip next. Somewhere were she didn't have to see Jack be propositioned and enjoying it, she hoped. She began to stalk towards the Merry Widow. She had made it past several "establishments" when she felt someone following her. She wheeled towards an alley, fingering the hilt of her sword. When she was three-fourths down the alley, she turned, sword out and demanded, "Whaddya want?"

It was a prositute—older, matronly looking. She beckoned to Anamaria with a finger. "I have information about ye kiddies" she said softly.

Anamaria's eyes widened in disbelief, then narrowed suspicously. She waved her sword impatiently. "I want proof."

The woman had obviously been expecting this, and she began to recite, "The boy will only answer to Zeke, and to none of his old names. The girl, whom he calls Ada, has obviously been around pirates or sailors, 'cause she curses like one. She-"

Anamaria cut her off. Fine." She snapped, lowering her sword. "Show me."

The woman shook her head. "Come with me, and I'll explain the situation."

Jack stumbled into the next tavern looking for Anamaria. He needed someone relatively sober to make sure that he didn't drown trying to board the Pearl and he always needed to sleep aboard his ship. Always. It was a security blanket, of sorts. No one could sail away with it if he was already aboard.

The sight that greeted him was astounding. Anamaria sat slouched in a chair at an otherwise empty table, an older looking whore perched in her lap. The prostitute was winding her long white fingers through Anamaria's raven-black hair and leaning in close to whisper in her ear.

Jack looked around the room. The other patrons went along their merry way, ignoring what could possibly pass as a very pretty male being propositioned by a waitress. Jack blinked slowly. He was used to alcohol induced hallucinations, but this was too much. He was slightly shocked to feel jealousy curdle his stomach. Holy hell, this had to stop. The infamous Captain Jack Sparrow was jealous of a common whore? Enough. Jack stomped over to the table, suddenly sobered.

"Anam-" he got out before the whore sat back, a dispassionate look on her face.

Anamaria whirled, and inadvertently dumped the whore on the floor. Jack was stunned by the look on her face. While she had looked angry, agitated, guilty, and just plain unreadable for a variety of inexplicable reasons that Jack really didn't want to know, now she had this look of pain on her face. She looked like she wanted to cry.

"Help me, Jack." She pleaded, reaching a hand hesitantly towards him. "Please."

Jack moved instantly. He pulled her into his arms, and whispered into her hair, "I'll do anything."

He glanced warily at the whore, who flounced off. But she flounced off angerly, she seemed more…satified.

Jack shook his head to rid himself of the rum in his head.  It had to be the rum.  Whenever anything didn't make sense that dealt with females, he had learned to blame the drink.  If ye blamed the females, all ye got was slapped.  He had learned something after all those blows to the head. 

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Unreasonablenesss

Jack stomped down the street.  Unreasonable females indeed.  Wantin' 'im to go smash down some bordello.  Why, bordellos bordered on sacred ground, as far as 'e was concerned.  But she kept insisting that the information the whore gave 'er matched what she saw in 'er dream, and that they should go confront whomever ran the whorehouse.

He had argued with her that the whore he was with told him that there had been strange noises comin' from an usually abandoned cabin at the end of the island, and that they should go investigate that, first.

At the end, they split.  Jack didn't allow himself a moment of regret as he stomped towards the end of the island.  She had let him go, yelling at him to watch out for large Oriental men at the end.  At least, that's what he heard.  Who cared if it made sense.  All females were out of their minds, as far as he was concerned.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Ya Gotta Fight…

Anamaria threw open the door at the top of the stairwell. 

De ja vu swept over her and instinct screamed as her body threw itself on the floor.

Anamaria marveled at the hostile takeover her instinct had wrought when the sound registered—the sound of a knife humming as it rocked, embedded into the wall.

She barely made it to her feet in time to meet the screeching blonde who threw herself at Anamaria, another knife clenched in her thin hand.  Anamaria dodged right and tripped over the opulent bed that took up the majority of the space in the room.

How could I have missed that?  She thought as she rolled, missing another blow by the skin of her teeth.

The whore kept screeching, but now she was screeching words.  Barely understandable, but Anamaria could guess.

"You bitch!  Worthless whore!  Sad nigger excuse for a cunt! Two bastards borne and countin'!"  The insults kept coming, and Anamaria tuned out her noises.  If Anamaria got any angrier, the list of deaths she had planed she wouldn't get to execute.

Anamaria paused.  Execute.  Ha.

The pause was a bad idea.  Giselle managed to get in a blow to the head.  But she leaned too far, and Anamaria grabbed her hand, which Anamaria noted, still had the knife, and swiftly lifted her knee to the loony lady's stomach, and then kicked.

Plainly put, Anamaria launched Giselle over her head and through the window.

The second-story window.