Katherine had heard some legends of the sea, but nothing could explain what she had just seen. Or what she thought she had seen. Maybe this wasn't real - maybe it was a figment of the imagination of a bright young woman tired of the prison that was her life. Maybe this was all a bad dream, and she would wake up any minute, safely in the cabin of the ship with Mrs. Lucas sleeping soundly beside her. Please let this be a dream. Please let me wake up . . .

But she didn't wake up. She was still holding on to the wood, drifting in the middle of the ocean. Using all of her strength, she slowly and carefully pulled herself on top of the wood. At least now she wasn't in the water.

The sun was setting, making a fantastic rainbow of color. It was almost as if some artist from above had spilled his paints into the sky, streaking it with vibrant violets, reds, and oranges. Normally, this sight would have taken Katherine's breath away, but tonight she just watched it numbly.

When all was dark, she finally let herself cry. She wept for all the things she had lost, for all the lives that had been so abruptly and unjustly ended. For the meaningless superficial life she led that would amount to nothing. For her mother.

Katherine had been taught that crying was a weakness, that it just showed woman's fragility and inability to think rationally. She had always been ashamed of her tears. Maybe that was why she waited until nighttime to cry. The gentle darkness had never judged her or ridiculed her, and it always allowed her to drain out all of her emotions so she could put on a mask of contented happiness in the morning. So many nights she had cried herself to sleep. And this night proved to be like any other. With the steady rhythm of the sea rocking her like a baby, she fell into a deep dreamless slumber. The trails of tears down her pale cheeks were still visible, shining in the moonlight.

He watched the sun rise over the open ocean, casting the first rays of dawn onto the deep blue water. He had always been an early riser, but lately it seemed like he just couldn't sleep. Memories and faces from the past haunted his dreams. And the heart . . . But he couldn't think about that now. He had chosen his path and now he had to follow it.

"Ah, Mr. Norrington, you're an early riser too, I see," a menacing voice hissed into his ear, making him jump. Norrington didn't turn, and continued to look out over the ocean. "Are you sure this is where you last saw the Black Pearl?" the voice continued. "Some might think you were lying, trying to cover something up."

Norrington turned now and faced the man speaking to him. "Over there is the Isla Cruces where I last saw the ship, Mr. Mercer." And Elizabeth, his conscience added. "I swore to you on my honor that this was the place where I last saw the Black Pearl and its crew." With that he walked away.

"You don't have any honor," Mercer said, just loud enough that Norrington could hear him. Mercer's mouth curved into a devilish grin. He would find a way to break this man, and make him bow before the East India Trading Company before he was through with him. When Norrington had first been found in the ocean with the letters of marque, Mercer didn't know what to do with him. But now he was beginning to think that Lord Beckett would find a use for former Commodore Norrington after all.

With wind in its sails, the ship moved at a good pace over the smooth Caribbean sea. The sound of the chatter of the crewmen and the whisper of the water against the ship filled the air. It was music to a sailor's ears.

Norrington moved back to the side of the ship, caressing the smooth wood of it with his hand. He looked back out over the sea, scanning the horizon, breathing in the fresh sea air. He paused. There was something in the water. A closed parasol. A parasol bobbing in the middle of the ocean? He moved quickly to the bow of the ship to get a better view of the water. The last time he had seen objects floating in the sea like this had been nearly ten years ago, when he had first come from England to Port Royal. That had been the day they had found a young William Turner . . .

Once he was at the bow, he looked at the open ocean in front of him. The water was dotted with debris: pieces of rigging, crates, and barrels. Floating in the middle of the debris was what looked like a large chunk of the hull of the unfortunate ship that had met its end here. Norrington looked closer. On the wood lay a young woman, curled up as if she was sleeping, he dress fanning out around her.

"Man overboard!" Norrington yelled. The calm rhythm of the sailors stopped. At once, the crew ran to the sides of the ship to peer over the water. As they spotted the girl various cries of "Look, a lady in the water" were audible. Norrington looked around for some sailor preparing to rescue the poor girl. No one was moving, just staring at the water.

"What heroes," he said scornfully. Removing his coat, hat, and boots, he picked up a rope and tossed it to the nearest sailor, who looked at him stupidly. "Hold onto the rope, and pull me out of the water when I reach the girl." Then, wrapping one end of the rope around his hand, he walked to the side of the ship. The girl was beginning to stir, evidently his shout had roused her. Taking a deep breath, Norrington dived into the water below him.

Katherine opened her eyes slowly. Something had pulled her out of her deep sleep. She shifted slightly on the floating wood, the sharp pain in her ribs reminding her that she was still wearing her corset. But what had made her wake up? She thought it sounded like the shout of a man, but she couldn't see how a man would be yelling, not when she was alone in the middle of the ocean.

There was a great splash a few meters from her. Katherine was shocked to see a man swimming towards her! How could this be, she thought. She lifted her eyes and something that made her heart jump with joy. There was a giant ship looming in the distance, not a stones throw away. Oh, I'm saved! But then she noticed that wasn't flying any colors. Pirates.

The man finally reached her. She looked at him, fear clawing at the back of her mind. He reached for her, but she moved away from his hand, making the wood she was on sway dangerously.

"It's all right," the man murmured. "I'm not going to hurt you." She could tell by his accent that this man was of a higher class than the average sailor. A gentleman in the ocean, saving her? But she let him wrap him arm around her and ease her into the water. She dug her fingers into the cloth of his shirt as they rose slowly out of the water. Squeezing her eyes shut, she held her breath, afraid that they would fall back into the sea that had proved to be so deadly.

"Miss, you must let go of me." Katherine opened her eyes to see that they were safely on the ship. Her rescuer set her down gently on the deck. She tried to say "thank you" but the words caught in her parched throat, and she uttered an unladylike wheeze instead.

"Fetch the lady some water," the man said. A sailor gave her a cup which she put to her lips. Nothing had ever felt so good as the water rushing over her dry, tacky tongue and down her throat. She drank greedily, but the man stopped her before she could finish the glass. "It will make you sick if you drink too much," he said simply.

"Thank you," a meek, small voice said. For a moment, her ears didn't even recognize the timid voice as her own.

"And who might you be?" a man with a tough weathered face and malicious eyes asked her.