It was too damn early for a storm, and Parrish knew it. July in the Caribbean was a turbulent time to be sure; but the really deadly months were still to come and, God willing, by said time, the Black Pearl would be safely harbored for the duration. However, despite all evidence to the contrary, there was a devil of a tempest on their heels, snapping for all she was worth.

But the Pearl was a good lass and took advantage of the strong winds. With her sails full, she was long past stretching her legs and instead sprinted across the rising waves, with the tempest giving chase behind, scuding for all she was worth. Nay, it wasn't time to tie down just yet. Captain was the daring sort and Parrish believed Sparrow rightly enjoyed outrunning the storm. And while he trusted his Captain, and would do so 'til Kingdom come, he was growing mighty fearful as the dark thunderheads were slowly, but surely, closing the gap between storm and ship. With any luck, they'd find a nice place to tuck down soon.

"Bloody hell!" Young Nott cursed beside Parrish as he fought with the flying lines.

"Careful there, lad," Parrish said, creeping sideways to stand next to the boy, his bare feet sure on the wooden jackstay. "She's a runnin'" he stated as he gave Nott a helping hand. "She don't like this squall any more than we do."

"It's bleedin' useless," Nott growled, angrily tying down the flyaway ropes. "The wind just unties them anyways!"

Parrish knew the lad was right, the billowing sails stretched and pulled at the lines like a horse on a cart, but it was no use getting oneself in a tizzy over it and he told Nott so. The only thing a body could do was stand at the ready with quick hands. When a particularly harsh gust of wind threw them forward and near off their feet, Parrish grimaced as the rough lifeline burned his hands- calluses be damned.

"You all right, lad?" he asked, righting himself; but there was no time for an answer, for the ropes were flying in the breeze again and they scrambled to catch them back. Beside him, Nott grumbled wordlessly, but managed to secure his side once more. Suddenly, there was a great rip that resounded through the air despite the howling wind and the flying jib was loose, waving obscenely in the wind.

"Tie those lines down!" Anamaria bellowed from far below, dashing across the gangway and leaping over a crate in her haste to reach the torn sail.

Parrish was already moving. "Aye, ma'am!" he called, descending deftly hand over hand down a holding tie and jumping the last few feet to the deck. His bare feet slapped against the deck, nearly knocking a deckhand to the deck in his haste. Surprisingly, Parrish was the first to reach her side, though others were close behind.

"Grab that line!" she shouted at him, gesturing with her chin as she attempted to secure the mainstay.

Parrish did as told, crawling out onto the bowsprit grabbing for the length of rope that snapped in the force of the wind. He caught it nimbly, but hissed sharply when the winds tore it from his grasp, taking a goodly amount of skin with it. Another hand reached for it and Parrish shot a quick grin of thanks to George Thorn who was just behind and moved to the next, but soon discovered it to be useless endeavor. This rope was still bound to the ship, a visualization that made his stomach sink sickly. "The cringles are torn!" he shouted, reeling in the line.

She looked incredulous. "All of them?"

"No, but a goodly lot of them." Parrish looked pale and grave.

Sure enough, Anamaria could see the great rent in the midnight sail. "Curse it!" she howled, uselessly attempting to grab the torn cloth in empty air. "Curse it all to hell!" She stomped her foot in annoyance. It was bloody typical, that's what it was. "Tighten down the rest of them," she ordered, gaining her a nod from the two sailors.

As quick as a cat, Anamaria dashed aft, making for the windswept figure of Jack where he stood helm. Behind him, young Smith was at the rudder, looking green as a dog. "Lost a jib, have we?" Jack asked when she was near enough, his dark eyes unusually serious and his lips pressed into a thin line. She nodded, grimacing. "Not to worry," he said, gripping the wheel tightly when the tempest's winds would have driven them off course. "We haven't lost the outer jib- yet."

"Fat lot of good it does us," she said, scowling. "With pressure doubled, it's not going to last long in this," she said, gesturing the darkened clouds, which were suddenly not so far away.

Jack nodded absently and motioned her closer. "See that?" he asked when she was close enough to share his eye-line. "We'll find a nice inlet and lay in till this blasted storm passes us by."

"Grand Turk, Jack?" she questioned exasperatedly. "It's rather hard to miss," she said sarcastically. Indeed the hulking mass of the island was near enough for even the poorest sighted sailor to see the pale stretch of beach. "You can't possibly be planning-" she paused as realization sunk in. "For God's sake Jack!" she said suddenly, the words busting from her. "That's shallow water! The sand bars will run us aground! Are you out of your mind?"

Jack frowned at her tone. "Where's Gibbs?" he asked abruptly, scanning the busy crew for his portly quartermaster.

Anamaria ignored him. "This isn't sane," she said, gesturing wildly to island. "I can't believe-"

He paid no attention the slight woman. "Gibbs!" Jack shouted, the wind carrying his words.

The female pirate narrowed her eyes and glowered at him. "Mark my words, Jack Sparrow-"

"Ah, Gibbs," he said, interrupting her when the red-faced sailor finally wheezed his way up the companionway to the quarterdeck. "Have the men ready the long boats. While we're stopped, we might as well invite ourselves to dinner-" At Anamaria's audible gasp, Jack turned and gazed at her expectantly. "I'm sorry," he said innocently, "did you say something, love?"

She growled in a decisively unladylike manner and shoved Gibbs aside roughly. He looked vaguely affronted by her actions, but let it be in face of her ill-temper. Thrusting her chin out, Anamaria crossed her arms across her flat chest and held her ground. "That's my job, Captain," she said through a clenched jaw.

Jack raised an eyebrow. "Oh really?" The eyebrow rose higher, if such a physical impossibility could be believed. "So how's about you stop moaning about and get to it?" he said, trying to repress a cheeky grin and ultimately failing miserably.

Her eyes glinted angrily and she scowled, but Anamaria held her sharp tongue and turned on her heel sharply, screeching orders to the deck hands as she descended to the lower deck. "Ready the longboat!" she shouted, firmly holding onto her hat as the wind tried to nick it. "Ready the gig! Captain's orders!"

Jack watched her stomp about in a temper, sourly testing the secured lines and generally giving the lads a hard time, with a fond, twisted sort of smile on his face. "That girl's got more grit than half the men on this ship," he said absently. "Don't you think, mate?" Jack asked, turning to observe the other man.

"Aye," the older sailor agreed, running a thick hand through his unruly grey hair. "For the tiny, wiry thing that she is, that lass has got a set of lungs like an Irish banshee," he admitted, "and a scowl to match."

Jack's bark of laughter was loud enough for the woman in question to glare back at him, somehow uncannily knowing that his amusement was at her expense. "Aye, Gibbs," he said when his sudden laughter had faded, though his dark eyes danced with amusement. "I do believe you have an adequate hold on the situation."

"Captain?" Gibbs questioned hesitantly after a moment of mutely watching as Jack made a swift series of navigational corrections with the wheel. "Is there something ye needed of me?"

"No, mate," Jack said, fighting with the wheel, as the ship lurched sickly beneath them. The waves were becoming noticeably larger and, if the winds were any indication, fiercer as well. Behind them, young Smith was growing more green and his fingers were white knuckled as he clutched the wooden taffrail. If Jack noticed this, he made no mention. "But perhaps, you best get down there and help the lass out," he said, grimacing. "This is going to get rough."

The words were barely past his lips when a large swell knocked against the starboard side, giving the Pearl's deck its' first taste of seawater for the day. Gibbs quickly hurried away, intent of aiding the men that suddenly found themselves drenched. "Steady on, lads!" Jack shouted, smiling widely all the while. There was nothing in God's world that made a man feel more like a man than a storm at sea. It was so much more satisfying playing against the Almightily than playing against the Devil. Neither ever played fair, but somehow ol' Scratch never brought his blood to a boil like the other did. It might be madness, aye, but the challenge was thoroughly invigorating.

And Anamaria had been correct, it was near death to cruise this close to Grand Turk, but Jack was a good sailor and had a few cards up his sleeve. Several years back, during the near decade of being without his beloved Pearl, Jack had the fortune of meeting one Captain Francoise L'Olonnois. L'Olonnois was an arrogant man and only loved two things: his ego and his wine. As Providence would have it, the two men ended up sharing cups one night at the Maiden's Head and it was there that Jack learned the secret of entering Grand Turk.

Normally, in order to reach any of the Turks, ships had to lower anchor far from shore and row to land- a most tedious task. However, there was one place on the whole of the island to harbor close to shore, L'Olonnois had confided, his eyes bright and breath stinking of cheap wine. No one knew about it and only the best of captains could reach it (Jack had snorted into his run at that point and made a mental note to breach Grand Turk in the future, if only to shove that boast back up the frog's arse where it belonged.) There was a lane of deep water hidden amid the shallows and all one had to do was approach from the south and hug the Tail of Shoal until the islands of Brittle's Cay appeared. Careful now, L'Olonnois' memory whispered in Jack's mind as he spun the wheel, bare east and swing around Gun Island, momentarily heading north and following the trench like a sling shot back west- straight into the little sheltered cove.

From there, L'Olonnois had boasted of being the only pirate to plunder the rich little island. Apparently, there was a small road that led directly into Cockburn Town on the other side of the island, a near six miles. According to Captain L'Olonnois, it was there where all the well-to-do salt merchants of Salt Cay set up house.

Salt merchants, the words sent a thrill of anticipation down Jack's spine. Salt was white gold. A single barrel of salt was worth more than ten casks of rum, may the Devil strike him down for saying so, and Jack would easily wager that the houses of Cockburn Town were as ornate as any King's palace. Salt merchants; his eyes gleamed to imagine the spoils they would yield.

Much to his chagrin, Jack begrudgingly acknowledged that the insufferable Frenchman was right. Only a damn good sailor could follow the narrow route- even as it were, the Pearl butted against the sides of sand barriers more than once, drawing good many a wince from her Captain. It was only with copious amounts of luck and his able-bodied crew that they glided safely into the pitifully small cove with the screeching storm right behind them. But it would do, the land that surrounded them was tall and lush, making a most excellent barrier against the pushing mass of the tempest.

"Lay up!" Jack called out, forsaking the wheel and dashing down the companionway to the main deck. "Lose the canvas! She's coming in hard! " He clamped a tight hand on his hat, dreadlocks fluttering in the air. "Gibbs!"

"Aye, Captain?" the older man called, making his way larboard to Jack.

"Get me a party of men, I want to make landfall before this witch hits."

"Aye, Captain."

"Captain!" Anamaria called, scaling down the rigging deftly, despite the increasing winds. "Small boats at the ready; we're set to launch!"

"Excellent!" He beamed. "I believe it's time to do a bit of shopping. Don't you agree?"


06/15/05: This chapter has been edited and partially rewritten.