Disclaimer: I own nothing. Zip. Zero.
Captain Jack Sparrow stood at the helm of the Black Pearl, his many beads and trinkets clinking in the wind. Dark clouds were gathering on the horizon, highlighted by flashes of lightening and heralded by peals of sullen thunder. The last thing Jack wanted was to be trapped in a sea squall. The ship was near enough to Tortuga to just about make it, so the captain steered toward it with all sails spread. Gibbs stumbled up to the poop deck, grabbing the rail as a vicious breaker slapped against the bow. "We'll never make it into Tortuga. The bloody wind's changin' to the wrong direction," he shouted, rubbing a bruised shoulder.
"Drop canvas and heave to, you half-brained clods. Make ready for a storm," ordered Jack, relinquishing the helm to Anamaria. Suddenly a huge bolt of lightening erupted from the sky and struck the main mast with a resounding crack. It was just at that moment that Jack had his hand on the mast. He let out a cry and flipped over the side of the ship into the crashing waves.
Jack painfully regained consciousness halfway in the water and halfway on a beach. He pulled himself out of the water and lay a hand on his aching head. He stumbled wearily into the shade of a palm and removed his jacket, spreading it out to dry. Glancing around, he beheld a sprawling settlement and a heavily guarded fort. Lucky for him the sun had not risen yet. A few ships were anchored in the bay, but there was no other sign of movement anywhere as far as he could tell. The place bore a striking resemblance to Port Royal, but there were some crucial differences that made Jack doubt that was where he was. For one thing, there were quite fewer houses. Also, the Dauntless was nowhere to be seen. Jack scratched his head in bewilderment, swiveling around to get his bearings. He decided on creeping around to see if he could ask anyone some questions.
Jack put his coat back on and struggled through the thick vegetation until he reached the outskirts of the town. There was still no sign of wakeful life, so he sneaked through the streets back to the beach. The first rosy fingers of dawn were spreading through the sky, staining the clouds into shades of pastel pink. Jack suddenly spotted a small figure moving down the shoreline. The pirate ducked behind a tree to observe the newcomer.
It was a young boy, no older than ten or eleven. His hair was a rich mahogany with light sun-bleached streaks. He was dressed in simple breeches and jacket, but he had an upper class air about him. His head was bare and his hat hung from his hand. He looked so familiar to Jack that the pirate squinted and studied the boy's face. Finally Captain Sparrow left his hiding place and approached the youngster.
"I say, junior, what's your name?" he asked. The child glanced up in surprise. A flash of familiarity came over Jack again at the sight of the lad's eyes. They were a sharp pale blue, the color of the Caribbean shallows.
"Norrington," answered the boy, folding his arms. "James Norrington."
"You don't happen to be related to a Commodore Norrington, do ye?" pressed Jack, his heart skipping a few beats.
James looked at him with one eyebrow raised. "No, sir, not a commodore. But my father is an admiral."
"I say, what's the date, lad?" asked Sparrow, a sudden terrible idea coming into his head.
The boy looked at him as one would a madman. "It is May 8, 1705."
Jack froze, staring blankly into empty space. "Did you just say 1705?"
"That's right. We're in Port Royal, 1705."
Captain Sparrow was in his most interesting adventure yet.
