The ship beneath his feet rocked liltingly as he turned to face his crew.

"Captain, what are our bearings?" shouted the first mate over the smash of the water against the walls of the ship. They were in the upper middle Atlantic Ocean, and the weather was already too cold for many of the deckhands.

The captain pulled out his compass and watched it spin erratically until it came to a stop, pointing North-Northeast. He shouted his findings.

"England, Captain?"

"England, Gibbs."

That night, on the ship, the Captain addressed his crews' questions about their destination. "We are going to find what is described," He pulled a roll of parchment out from under his shirt, "on this map."

The entire crew leaned in, confused. "But Captain," One of them voiced, "That's in a whole other language."

Another spoke up, "Chinese, or something."

"What good does it do us if we can't read it?"

"Why are we going to England if it's from China?"

The Captain cleared his throat and the questions stopped. "We are going to find out how to read it."

"In England, sir?"

The Captain grinned. "No, France."

Captain Jack Sparrow stepped down the gangplank of the Black Pearl in front of his crew onto the foggy port in Dover, England. The weather was clammy, and many of the men, instead of coming out into England with the Captain chose to retreat to their hammocks and wrap themselves in a blanket or six.

Sparrow wandered to the nearest pub and kicked the door open. The entire pub went quiet for a moment as everyone turned to glare at him and the part of his crew that had joined him. He looked around uncomfortably.

Suddenly he growled a greeting, "Aye!"

The rest of the pub shouted a drunken, happy "Ey!" in return and went back to their brawling and drinking. Sparrow cackled loudly and walked inside.

The rest of the crew busied themselves with rum and whores. Jack, on the other hand, was focused. He unrolled a piece of parchment that he removed from its place, tucked beneath his shirt. His eyebrows furrowed in concentration.

He cursed. This map did nothing for him; it was in an alien language and the area was unrecognizable. Damn the whelp who gave him a map written in Japanese!

In all reality, he had forced said whelp, who had been a rather distraught guard in Governor Quixcompuex of New Orleans's map vault, to give it to him on pain of death at sword point. How Quixcompuex had gotten a hold on it was beyond Jack, and so here he was, on his way to finding out more.

All Jack Sparrow could find out was that Quixcompuex had recently come to New Orleans to govern with his wife and son from Calais, France, their hometown. Now, he was off to find Jeanette Fasset, who was the family's maid before they left the country. He had stopped in Dover for a quick restocking and release for the men; He didn't trust France to provide him with either once they arrived. In fact, Jack wanted his stay in France to be as short as humanly possible.

Sophie took off at a sprint. Her hair had slipped from her bandana just as she passed a mess of guards, and now they were after her. She ran down the docks, not willing to take the time and rip her clothing to reveal anything that may help her. The guards fell behind, but she didn't stop.

Jack, annoyed with the map and now concerned about operating in France with no knowledge of the language and little of the culture, stomped out of the pub and onto the dock. He paused in the middle of the way, as if contemplating his next move, when a body smashed into him roughly and they both collapsed to the ground.

"Bloody hell, mate! What do ye think yer doing?" He cursed, and then looked up. There, in boys clothes and a disgruntled expression, was the most French looking girl he had ever seen in his life.

"Help me!" She pleaded.

Jack looked at her, confused, and then noticed the commotion down the dock and the rifles propped on shoulders that belonged to the Royal Guard. His eyebrows shot up and he looked back to the begging girl, back to the Guard with uneasy expression, and once again back to the girl.

"Please!"

His uneasy expression not gone, he jumped to his feet and pulled the girl up and pointed her to his ship, but not before lifting her long hair, laying it, folded over, on top of her head, and taking the hat off of his own head and shoving it on hers.

He watched, still grimacing, as the girl ran up his gangplank and buried herself under the surplus anchor rope. The guard ran up, panting. One of them stood straight up and stopped, and looked at Jack.

"Did you see a girl with long black hair in boys clothes run by?"

Jack faked contemplation on the concept and nodded slowly.

"Yeah, yes, mmhmm, she ran into," He looked around, "That pub," said he, pointing the rowdy place he'd just come out of.

Without so much as a thank you, that officer ran off into the pub.

Jack grinned broadly as he heard the place go into an uproar. He walked towards his ship.

"Lass, where are ye?"

She didn't come out. Already tired of playing this game, he sighed and knocked over the top of the stacked rope. There sat the French girl, terrified out of her wits.

"Bloody hell, missy, what was that about?"

When she saw that it was only the man who'd helped her earlier, she relaxed.

"Well?"

"Oh, erm. . .They thought I stole a dress from a rich fat lady," She lied. Then she remembered the makeshift satchel below her.

"Did ye?"

"Uh, no."

"Liar. How much can ye fetch for it?"

Sophie's eyes widened. She looked around the ship. Somehow, she was reassured. This man was a pirate!

"Pirate!"

"Thief!"

"What?"

"Thief, I said," He repeated, annoyed.

"Oh. Wait, no, I'm not!"

"Then what are you sitting on?"

She blushed.

"I didn't steal a dress from a fat lady. I stole it from the Prince."

Jack shrugged. "And that's what they're after ye about?"

"Err, no. They're a little too, uh, preoccupied with the Prince missing an arm to worry about a dress."

Jack's eyes widened. "Ye cut the Prince's arm off?"

She grimaced.

"Who are ye, lass?"

She paused, and said carefully, "Sophie," the nickname her cousin Galvin had given her long ago. A pang for him hit her heart.

Jack nodded, contemplating the situation. The girl was French looking; she probably knew French and France itself, and she could be of great use in Calais, looking for Jeanette Fasset. He nodded.

"Ye're staying."