Author's Note: Special quick thanks to all my reviewers. You guys inspire me, you really do. Thanks all for the lovely rave reviews!

Disclaimer: I don't own anything. It's awfully sad, actually, if you really pause to think about it. Tragic, really.

THE VIOLINIST

Chapter Three - The Rio Madrid

Despite the fact that the raid had been extremely successful and that he had made love with enough women that one night to last an entire lifetime, Jack Sparrow was, as usual, angry. No one dared venture into his cabin, not even Baby Fischer. They were terrified that the instant they did they would be shot.

What they should have known, though, was that although Jack was constantly in a bad mood and ready to kill someone, he would only do so if provoked. He did not believe he killed for no reason. In Jack's own mind, the people that he murdered had it coming to them the moment they would interrupt him or correct him or dare stand in his way.

Jack put a bandana round his head to keep his hair from spilling into his eyes. He had cut it shortly after her death, perhaps in an act of mourning, or an act of temporary insanity. His beard still remained in its little braids and his dark eyes rimmed with kohl, but people knew something inside the pirate had changed the moment they saw him. Jack hated them for it--that they could see inside him so easily.

"What kind of a man am I?" he hissed to himself. His mind answered him mockingly.

Man? it answered. You are no man, Jack.

"What am I, then?" Jack asked aloud. "A codfish, I suppose?"

The voice inside his mind laughed, a laugh that seemed strangely unfamiliar.

You are nothing, Jack.

Jack slammed his fist into his desk he was seated at. "Bullocks," he spat. The voice just laughed, and with a quick pang of fear Jack realized that it wasn't going away. He leaped to his feet and grabbed his pistol from his bedside table, holding it to his own head. "I'll blow you out of my head, mate," he threatened.

Go ahead, Captain, the voice sneered. You haven't the courage.

Jack stood there for a good while, a pistol pressed against his temple. He considered his options. Die, and make it go away? Or live, and prove it right?

Jack let out a roar and slammed his hands onto his table. The voice's laugh had dulled to a snicker.

"Go to hell," Jack snarled simply, tossing the pistol to his feet. He kicked his bedpost like a child. "I am not nothing," he muttered, pacing about his cabin. "I'm Jack Sparrow, you hear? I'm not nothing."

He slammed his fist into his wall. "I'm not nothing," he grumbled before returning to his seat and rubbing his fingers to his temple to make the voice disappear.

When they reached the next island, Jack gave the same less-than-motivating pep talk before he sent them out to pillage and plunder. The crew let out all their savage mannerisms as they were given their final instructions from their captain.

"Take no prisoners."

At these words they all gave a giant roar and stampeded into the village. Some stayed upon the Pearl, firing cannons here and there. The entire crew seemed to fall victim to barbarity as they ran out into the village that had fallen victim to a raid.

All except for a young man named Baby Fischer and his teenage companion, a boy called Venice, named after the city in which his mother had always wanted to have her wedding.

The two strode casually through the chaos, avoiding as much confrontation as they possibly could. While other crewmen were raping women or stealing valuables, the youngest men aboard the Pearl were talking casually, as if their surroundings weren't real to them. In truth, the two had gotten used to the horrible scene the Black Pearl created on raids.

"Do you reckon he's about?" Venice asked quietly. It took Baby quite a long while before he realized who the younger boy was speaking about.

"Jack?" he verified.

Venice nodded, his honey-brown eyes darting about despite his confident stride. Those eyes were the color of his mother's. His father had been blessed with darker eyes that had protected him from the harmful, screaming rays of the sunlight. His mother had often called those eyessmoldering, though Venice had not understood why until they were both years dead.

"I suppose so. We've been out here for nearly an hour, haven't we?" Baby was twirling a golden ring he had stolen in his right hand, the metal cold and unwelcoming to his touch.

Venice sighed. "It seems like such a longer time to me, Baby," he confided. His brown eyes met with Baby's blue, and the older could see a pleading look there. "I need to get out of this, mate," he hissed. "Out of the pirate life and far, far away from the Pearl."

Baby looked at him quizzically. "What the hell are you talking about, you blithering moron?" he accused. "Jack would kill you if you tried to sneak off."

"He wouldn't be able to find me."

"Yes, he would, Venice." Baby said this with such superiority that Venice snapped at him next, though not intentionally. For you see, Baby was the closest friend Venice had ever had in his entire life. He was terrified of losing that friendship, and tried to catch himself whenever he fell angry at him. But in this case, Venice was so full of desperation he could not catch himself.

"He wouldn't even care enough to search for me." He almost bit his tongue for being so outspoken as Baby shot him an icy glare.

"What do you mean by that?" he asked coolly.

Venice sighed. "Come on, Baby," he persisted. "You said it yourself--he don't care about nobody. Especially not me. He hates me--"

"He don't hate you, you idiot," Baby snarled.

"He does, and you know it," Venice hissed. He sighed andregained his composure, sliding his arm around Baby's shoulder in a brotherly embrace. "Look, I haven't the heart for this, mate," he confessed. Baby's harsh expression softened and Venice gave a sad little smile. "I can't serve under a man like Jack, Baby."

Baby blinked. "You know he's not all bad, Venice…" he began, but his friend cut him off.

"He killed my parents, Baby," he said sharply. "When I was just a kid, mate. Just five years old. You remember?"

Baby sighed. "Aye, I remember," he said reverently. It was a rather painful memory he rather cared to not relive. "But Venice, for God's sake, he had a wave of insanity there! He doesn't even remember doing it. Doesn't even know they're dead."

But the other boy would have none of it. "And he nearly killed me," Venice continued. "It's a miracle he hasn't." Venice looked into Baby's eyes pleadingly. "I need your help in getting out, mate."

Baby's eyes iced over. "You mean you need for me not to squeal," he said, almost accusingly. "I'm not a rat, Venice. You should know that by now."

Venice shook his head. "I want you to come with me," he added. Baby's icy expression faltered and he draw away from Venice's grasp.

"What the bloody hell are you talking about?" he hissed, completely confused.

"Come off it, Baby," Venice insisted. "You know neither of us is cut out for this life. We're both still young--let's get out of it as quickly as we can, while we still have our chance."

Baby stared at him and said nothing for a very long time.

Cannon shots and gunfire sounded all about them.

Women's screams tore through the air.

Baby finally cleared his throat. "You can leave if you wish, Venice," he said deliberately. "You leave and I swear upon my mother I shall never tell a soul. But I cannot come with you, my friend."

Venice's face fell. "Why the bloody hell not?" he nearly shouted.

Baby sighed again. "I can't leave him, mate," he admitted. "I still remember the way he was. Before he became...whatever the hell he is now. And I can't leave him. I can't leave him alone. Do you understand where I'm coming from?"

Venice stared, open-mouthed. "I absolutely do NOT understand," he started, but Baby cut him off in mid-sentence.

"D'you hear that?" Baby asked softly.

"Hear what?" Venice said impatiently, not understanding what Baby was being so stubborn about. As he looked about, he realized that the fighting was far behind them. They were nearing the beach, where only a few houses remained.

Baby hushed him and strained his ears. "It's a violin," he said softly. The music ensnared him and he bolted forwards, catching Venice off guard as he followed the noise.

"Where the hell are you going?" Venice roared.

Baby wouldn't hear him--he was honed in on finding the source of the music. Something in it was drawing him to it, luring him, reeling him in and making his head spin…

He finally found the source.

A run-down old barnyard had its doors open, inviting any pirate to just waltz in and take what they wanted. But if a pirate had come, he would never have found anything of value.

You see, pirates as a whole are materialistic. This, of course, is no secret, but the extent of their attachment to things is never described quite vividly enough. A pirate does not take in the beauty of a sunset or theatre.

Baby Fischer, however, was no ordinary pirate, and inside the barn he saw two things of extreme value.

Venice came running so quickly that he could not stop himself from colliding into Baby like in a two-man comedy act. The music immediately stopped as the two rolled to the ground and then back at their feet, brandishing their pistols.

In the barn was an old man sitting in a rocking chair at the far corner. He was over sixty, a remarkable age for a man of his fragile state of health. No one quite knew how he had survived so long. But most said it was because of the music his daughter made when she played her red violin.

Standing in the center of the barn was a girl. She was dirty and damp, obviously a peasant. Her skin was tan, and her eyes and hair were dark. From her hand dangled a blood-red violin and a bow. Baby pointed his pistol at the old man.

"Was it this girl making the music I just heard?" he asked in a rather demanding tone. The old man was shaking with fear.

Venice clicked the safety off of his pistol. "Yes or no, old man?" he snarled. The old man let out an odd sort of cry and shakily got to his feet. His robe was torn in several places and the linen shirt and trousers he wore underneathe were worn to a bare thread.

"Si," he answered, his voice quivering. "Sirs, that was my girl. She is my daughter." He paused and stepped forward. "Please, we have nothing to give."

Baby blinked from the man to the girl. Anger was seeping through her eyes, and though she was not speaking to him, Baby could tell she had already built a hatred for him.

"What do you think you're doing?" Venice asked the girl, his pirating instincts kicking in as his voice gained more malice. "There's a raid going on. Can't you hear, love?"

The girl still said nothing. Her father grasped her shoulder and held out his hand pleadingly. "Please, sirs," he pleaded. "We are but poor country folk. Surely you will not harm us, sirs?"

"I asked her a question," Venice said loudly.

The father glanced at his daughter and cleared his throat. "Begging your pardon, sirs, but she is a mute," he confessed. As Venice and Baby exchanged glances, the old beggar continued. "Please, sirs. I am old and weary. Surely you won't bother an old man?"

Baby licked his lips and swallowed a lump that had been building in his throat. "Make her play her violin," he instructed to the old man.

The elder blinked several times before nodding. He whispered something in Spanish in his daughter's ear and her eyes grew wide. She violently shook her head "no," but her father grasped her arm tightly.

"Mariana," he snapped and she immediately stopped moving. She reluctantly nodded and placed her violin to her chin. Before shooting the two pirates standing in the doorway the iciest of glares, she struck her first note.

As she played, the two young men found themselves completely and utterly entranced. There was something about the song she was playing…Or, no, it wasn't the song, it was the violin…Or, wait, maybe it was the girl herself…Neither had a single coherent thought to speak of.

And then, quickly, the song ended, far too abruptly.

Venice looked at the girl and her hands were clenched at her sides. "I suppose she doesn't like us, then?" he commented with a casual smirk. The father put his hands on his daughter's shoulders.

"Your crew is raiding our village," he said, stating the obvious. "My daughter and I are just peasants. We have nothing to offer you. Please, I beg of you to leave--"

"Your daughter is very talented," Baby remarked, ignoring his pleadings.

The old man faltered a bit before nodding. "Gracias, sirs."

Baby looked deep into the girl's eyes and started. She looked so uncannily familiar…but where could he have seen her before?

Nowhere, that's where.

Baby shook his head to clear his mind. "I request your daughter in exchange for the safety of your lives," he insisted.

The old man's eyes widened. "No, no, no, I couldn't…not my daughter, sirs," he begged, stuttering madly. "You wouldn't be so cruel…"

"It's that or death for the both of you, mate," Venice added, trying to persuade the man into embracing the preposterous idea.

The girl looked at her father, wide-eyed, and then as she realized his expression was the same she turned on the two pirates with a glare. She met Baby's eyes, obviously sensing he was in more power than the younger, meeker one. The girl held his gaze for a very long time, her dark brown eyes burning into his pale blue ones.

She must have seen in him that he was not going to be lenient, for she turned to her father and nodded. The old man let out an odd sort of strangled cry and shook his head vigorously. The girl grasped his shoulder and nodded once more.

"My child--"

The girl embraced her father in a hug and even Venice had to shift uncomfortably. Even such as he were unhappy to tear apart such a happy embrace. But when they broke apart he quickly regained his pirate composure and pointed his gun at the girl.

"What's her name?" he demanded.

The old man swallowed back tears as he grasped his daughter's dirty hand tightly. "Her name…" he said softly. "Her name is Mariana." He broke off and had to release her hand.

The girl bent her head low, violin and bow gripped in one hand, and walked forward until she was directly in front of Baby. The pirate looked down upon her, but she would not lift her head.

He rubbed the back of his neck as he put away his pistol. He looked up at the old man, whose knees were knocking together in the weakness that overcame him at seeing his daughter being taken away.

Babylooked uponhim with pity, and almost considered shooting him to put him out of his misery.

"Good Sir," he called insteadas Venice began to lead the girl out of the barn. The old man looked up, his eyes shining with unshed tears.

"Si?" he answered, his voice suddenly lacking its passion.

"I can assure you that no harm shall come to your daughter while I protect her," he reassured. "I swear it upon my very life, sir."

And in these words the old man saw comfort. For some reason or another, he began to trust the young pirate who stood in the doorway of the dilapidated old barn in which he resided. "Gracias," the father whispered.

With a tip of his hat Baby Fischer followed his younger companion back to the ship of the Black Pearl, along with araggedy but intriguinggirl carrying a violin who, oddly enough,refused to scream.

Closing Notes: Oh, dear, I'm afraid I made Venice out into more of a dick than he deserves. Also, did I make it too obvious who his parents were? I want it to be a surprise...BWAHAHAHA. Now you shall review and make me happy and maybe I'll update quicker. This chapter was quite difficult to write...quite difficult indeed...

Anyway, hope you like it!