Disclaimer: All hail Terry Rossio, Ted Elliott, Gore Verbinski and Jerry Bruckheimer! They rule, peeps!
Summary for Chapter One: When the crew of the Black Pearl discover half an ancient map in the writing desk of a merchant ship, Captain Jack Sparrow sets out to find the remaining piece, and recover the lost treasure. Meanwhile, Elizabeth and Will are taken hostage aboard the Irish pirate ship The Dark Horse, captained by a direct descendant of the famous Irish pirate captain Morgan, and bound for Tortuga...
-~*~-
The ship blazed, half sunk beneath the water, her torn sails snapping in the wind. Crates and broken planks slammed against her sides, and then scattered as the gunpowder store suddenly erupted up through the deck in a plume of smoke and fire.
Wreathed within the haze, the silhouette of another ship lurked at a close distance, the Jolly Roger writhing at the tip of her mast. Kohl-rimmed eyes narrowed against the smoke as they peered out at the sinking ship, his tanned fist tightened around the torn scrap of parchment in his hand, and he muttered a soft oath as the pyrotechnics finally blew her apart.
As the roar of the explosion died away, the only sound to be heard was the comparatively quiet squealing of the bilge rats as they paddled from the wreck in their dozens; 'paddling to where?' Jack thought cynically.
"Captain!"
Jack didn't break his eye contact as a stout, stocky man with grey sideburns and a handerkerchief tied about his neck came wheezing to the bow, sweat glistening on his brow.
"No souls could've survived tha', sir." He panted. "There'll be none left livin', now."
The swarthy Captain took a deep pull of the smokey air. No, he hadn't intended for it to end this way. Pirate Captain though he was, scurvy cur though he might have been, innocent lives were not expenditures he made willingly; the gunpowder had been an accident. A costly one.
"No souls, you say?" He asked.
"Aye, Cap'n - no souls." Gibbs replied grimly.
Jack could feel the eyes of the crew on his back, and he exhaled heavily down his nose.
"Hoist the sails!" He ordered at last, turning from the helm. "We've got what we came for."
"You heard 'im!" Gibbs bellowed as the crew hesitated. "Git t'work!"
Jack stepped down from the bow, and made his way back along the deck, the roll of parchment still clasped firmly in his calloused hand.
"Bill..." The Captain muttered with a small smile as he strode with his back to the floating inferno behind him. "If only you could see this..."
-~*~-
Elizabeth woke with a start when she found she couldn't breath.
A hand was clamped firmly over her nose and mouth, and she struggled beneath the bed clothes as instinctive panic took over.
"Not a sound, missy."
The girl's thrashing stilled at the sound of a woman's sea-brogue speaking softly from the darkness beside her.
"It's no skin off my nose whether ye can breathe or not, savvy?"
Elizabeth, now desperate for air, nodded fervently against her captor's hand. The woman had pinched her nostrils closed, and while she could still suck in air through her covered mouth, it wasn't nearly enough.
"That's better." The voice continued, speaking at a painfully slow pace. "Now, when I let go in a moment, I want ye to do exactly as I say, with no noise and no fuss. If ye want to survive this night, yer chances be much better if ye comply."
It was all Elizabeth could do to keep herself from whimpering with the discomfort of her empty lungs as she tried to listen.
"Do we have an accord, missy?" Prompted the voice.
Beneath her captor's hand, the young woman nodded eagerly.
'Anything!' She thought desperately.
The woman carefully loosened her hold, and Elizabeth's chest heaved as she gasped in a deep lung-full of air.
"Parler!" She gasped as soon as she had recovered her breath.
There was an amused silence.
"That won't do ye much good, m'darlin'." The voice said. "I am the Cap'n."
Elizabeth stared up into the darkness.
"Now." Said the voice, still so close that the girl could feel the heat of breath on her face. "Impulse actions of any sort on yer behalf won't suit my purpose much, and I have a pistol right here in my hand," Out of the darkness came the click of a pistol being cocked to emphasise the point. "So don't try anythin' foolhardy, savvy?"
"Yes." Elizabeth agreed quietly.
"Good girl. Right: put on that dressin' robe of yers - it'll be chilly out at sea, and ye'll not be of much use to us if ye be ill."
Elizabeth paused at these words as she pulled on the robe, two things having occurred to her. The first was her surprise at this implication of, albeit, slight concern for her welfare. The second, she voiced aloud.
"Well, if I'm not going to be of much use to you ill, I certainly won't be of much use to you dead."
There was a brief moment of quiet, and Elizabeth smiled as she listened to her adversary's silence.
"A fair point, missy." Came the reply. "But that would only be if we were on the ship, and we're not. I can quite easily leave ye lyin' here with a bullet in your heart and be an ocean away by the time they find ye."
The smile faded from Elizabeth's face, and she glared into the darkness at the hidden speaker as she finished donning her dressing robe with a final, defiant shrug.
"I know how trying this must be on your patience, m'darlin', but bear with me." The seafaring accent was laced with amusement as it came softly out of the shadows. "Now tell me, how fare ye with heights?"
"I beg your pardon?" Elizabeth asked archly.
"I wouldn't ask," The voice was now on the brink of outright mirth. "But I'll be wantin' ye to climb out of that window next."
-~*~-
The five marines advanced on the moored ship, muskets raised at the ready, and their white and crimson uniforms gleaming under the Caribbean moon.
A solitary figure stood alone at the bow, one foot resting on the helm.
Her slender figure was garbed entirely in black, from her loose shirt, tight, cloth corset and sash to her knee-high leather boots. Her dark hair rippled down past her shoulders in thick, silky waves, and her tawny, cat-like eyes gazed calmly from her pale face.
In her hands, she held two long-barrelled pistols, crossed over her chest with their nozzles touching lightly against her shoulders, their silver flashing in the firelight of the ship's torches.
"Tell me, gentlemen." She said in a low, smooth voice. "Which one of you is going to shoot me first?"
There was an uncomfortable silence.
Then, very suddenly, three things happened in the same heartbeat: a defeaning crack like breaking bones cleaved the quiet, followed immediately by a second before the snapping echo of the first had even died, and those marines at the fore leapt backwards as orange sparks showered out of what appeared to be thin air.
One of the shots had been fired from the musket of a redcoat.
The second from the pistol in the woman's left hand.
Taking a cautious step forward, and peering down at the ground, an officer's eyes widened as he saw, glinting in the firelight, two bullets melded together by the sheer speed at which they had collided.
"She deflected the shot with her own bloody gun!" He breathed.
Another awed silence followed, before a daring marine fired a second shot; it was blocked with just as much ease as the first.
The dark woman raised an eyebrow.
"Third time lucky, perhaps?" She mused.
It was a young soldier - a new recruit - that fired the final shot. It was a good shot, and the sparks showered from just infront of the ship's helm, but She evaded it, nonetheless.
"And you're the King's Navy?" The woman asked softly, fixing each of them in turn with her dark eyes. "I'm certain, of course, that our beloved King George sleeps soundly in that knowledge."
She paused, savouring the indignant mutterings that simmered amongst the men before her with light satisfaction.
"Well, I have no time for idle games, gentlemen." She said then, recapturing their attention. "If you will excuse me, I'll take my leave, and bid you a pleasant evening."
And with that, she turned, her pistols still smoking in her hands, and disappeared silently from the helm.
-~*~-
The guard grunted into wakefulness as he heard the deadened thuds coming from the wooden door.
The bayonets on the muskets glimmered, and reflected the dying light of the bracket-held torches on the armoury walls, and the countless sheathed sabres suspended in their racks cast long, finger-like shadows across the flagstone floor.
The marine nervously tugged his tricorn hat, which had been perched precariously atop his white wig, back into place as he rose from his chair and snatched up his musket.
Glancing momentarily down at the shiny toes of his black boots, he noticed the seam of blue, outdoor light at the foot of the door had been all together eclipsed, and as he did so, he heard a low, feral growl on the other side.
A second later, the door had been forced open so violently that it was twisted right off its hinges, and the marine's toes hovered inches above the ground as a hugely muscled animal of a man lifted him into the air by his neck.
Choking as he was, it was all the marine could do to try and shut out the putrid stench of raw meat on the man's breath, and the fear that stirred in him at the sight of the primeval, frenzied gleam burning in the brute's black eyes.
"Khale." Came a young voice from the doorway. "Put him down."
Khale curled back his lips in a snarl that revealed two rows of rotting teeth, and the guard remained conscious just long enough to see a small, wiry figure step into the dim light of the chamber before one final blast of Khale's rancid breath knocked him out.
-~*~-
As Elizabeth's feet touched the ground, she cried out in surprise as she felt strong hands grab her arms from behind, only to have another placed over her mouth.
"Keep it quiet, little sister." Came a broad Caribbean accent in her ear.
Elizabeth looked up as the woman who had woken her slid down the rope and, on touching the ground, turned to speak to her accomplice.
She had a thick mane of dark-blonde hair, stray strands snaking in the warm breeze, and her grey eyes smouldered with a spirited light. Her high cheekbones and the bridge of her nose were touched with a few light freckles, and the gold hoops in her ears glinted as she spoke.
"Where are Khale and Grapple?" She asked.
Elizabeth stared at the woman as she realised she had suddenly disposed of her broad seafaring brogue.
"Went to the armoury, I think." Came the reply from Elizabeth's shoulder.
The blonde woman gave an uneasy nod, and then glanced past them down to the harbour.
"Kate's still watchin' the Horse, is she?" She asked.
"Aye, Captain."
"Right." The woman turned her zestful grey eyes back to Elizabeth. "Let's be goin' then."
Elizabeth felt herself firmly guided and steered along by the Captain's accomplice as they made their silent way down the dusty drive to the gates, which stood slightly ajar.
"Take a good last look at that house, missy." The woman said in her affected accent as they stepped out onto the road. "Ye might not be seein' it again for a few months."
-~*~-