Marvel's character is Pearl Sparrow, notorious pirate and first mate to the infamous Jack Sparrow. I'll post chapters written by her occasionally. More about Pearl can be read in three amazing stories that Marvel has online here under her nickname: Pearl, Braving the Flames & The Oldest Story in the Book. I can only warmly recommend them to you.
Pendragginink's character is Maggie Norrington, wife of Commodore Norrington – and she frequently writes several other characters, too, hehe. She's rather good at doing the unexpected, so I don't know in advance who or what she will write. So far, she has been my fellow co-author and has shaped the storyline, and my character, just as well as I have, maybe even more.
My own character finally is Hal Sparrow, brother of Jack, pirate, privateer, samurai, tattooer, bodyguard, midwife or whatever else might be needed. He acts as the narrator of the story in most places.
The storyline follows a frame setting in Port Royal, with Hal awaiting his execution for murder – a murder that was quite different from all he committed before. There, he reflects on his life.
PrologueRain is pouring from grey clouds. Strands of rain, coming down like thin ropes of water from a sky of Damascus steel. The air is fresh. I stand next to the small window, my forehead resting against the rusty bars. My right hand reaching out into the cool breeze. I would like to feel the rain on the back of my hand. But it is too far, and so all I feel is a spray of rain that comes from drops hitting the branches of a nearby tree.
"It seems even God is weeping for Captain Hal Sparrow."
I don't turn around. No need to. I can see him standing there, Commodore Edward James Norrington, the splitting image of the pride of His Majesty's Royal Navy. I smile on that. No, God's not crying for me. No need for him.
"You call me a Captain. You are kind."
"I'm not kind. I'm following the protocol."
My smile broadens.
He clears his throat. "I trust your ... meal was suitable to your specifications."
He's not leaving, apparently. So I turn around and actually see him standing there, the Commodore, chin in the air, hands behind his back. And ever so uncomfortable. Poor man. I try not to smile at his discomfort, but I fail. And smile again on that.
"Well," I continue to smile because I want him to realize I am joking, "... the asparagus tips were a trifle stringy, and the hollandaise a bit bland, but on the whole, I would say you could call me reasonably satisfied."
Now what was that, Commodore? Are you biting your lips? Why so? Trying not to smile or trying to hide your anger at this unappreciative pirate?
"Is there any last request? One that I might be willing to grant, of course." Norrington has found his countenance again.
I nod, smirking. "Of course." I wonder, was he expecting me to ask for a pardon as my last wish? Or five Tortuga whores? Or, worse even, a respectable lady? No, none of that, Commodore. My last wish is an easy one, easy for you to grant at least. Hard for me to say, though.
"I would be very much in your debt, Commodore, if you refused to let Jack in here, ever." I feel the grin slowly fading from my face. "If you could be so kind. ...please?"
And please stop staring at me like that. If you can't handle me breaking into tears.
He nods, and turns to leave.
I watch him retreating, in good order as long as I can see him. Listening to the sound of his feet on the steps in the companion way. Suddenly he breaks into a run. I chuckle on that, but only a little. Wouldn't surprise me if he dashed all the way to his office, to hide behind the protocol. I, for my part, I retreat to the pile of fresh straw in the corner. He's a good man, the Commodore, good host. Fresh straw everyday, and water laced with rum for freshness. Maybe he thinks he owes that to me since I didn't kill him that day on the tea plantation. Oh my, tea plantation ... now how long is that past? And how did we ever get there?
My hand wanders to touch my eyebrow. The empty left socket is hidden beneath a patch of black leather. Jack has made that one for me, out of leather from his hat.
If Captain Corr hadn't caught us, if I hadn't lost my eye, if we weren't held prisoner on that Navy ship, if we hadn't been sold as slaves, ... if. If I hadn't been born ... . I smile. There's no end to this. Well ... but there will be an end soon, the end of a rope, forming a noose. Will this be the end?
No, no wondering about ends now, pirate. Will do you no good. Remember the good times. Good times ... when were the good times. Trying to find out about the good times, one of the first things coming to my mind is that one very bad time ... the time that lead us to Corr's brig, and from there, to some East Indian slave market, and on to the tea plantation