Pirates of the Caribbean: Quest for the Sands of Time
Summary: A Frenchwoman tracks her treasure-hunting husband with the help of Commodore Norrington. An ex-slave forms a reluctant alliance with Jack Sparrow and seeks the same treasure to prevent her sister's death.
Disclaimer: Don't own POTC or any other Disney franchise.
Author Notes: This takes place between the first two movies, but has spoilers for both. I will lavish all of my love to anyone who reviews.
Chapter Two: Setting Sail
Jack woke to the warm sensation of the sun on his face as it beamed in through the window. To his dismay, the sun was shining and the storm was already drying up the muddy puddles around Marie Rose's little settlement. The voodoo priestess was already awake and hastily packing odd implements for the trip. Rubbing the sleep out of his eyes he staggered out of the makeshift cot Marie Rose had pulled out from under her bed.
Her little hut was neater than Tia's, with surprisingly well made shelves lining the walls, supporting a myriad of strange objects, varying from human skulls to dried flowers and fruits. He watched her with interest as she threw what looked liked a jar of pickled alligator eggs into her rucksack.
"When I go on a voyage I make sure to bring my alligator eggs," Jack said sarcastically.
"It is foolish to go float on water wit'out a sacrifice for Clermeil," Marie Rose replied, digging out a Jolly Rogers flag and stuffing it into her pack.
"You do realize we have a multitude of those on the Black Pearl." Jack indicated the flag, which to Marie Rose represented a spirit of death.
She was getting annoyed at having Jack around, watching everything she did. She decided it was time to get him to leave.
"These are all important items that can save a man's life." She handed him a small jar of a foul looking concoction that he could smell through its tight lid. "Will wake a man drowned if you press it to his nose."
Jack quickly handed the jar back over and gently waved his now reeking hand a few times in an effort to dissipate the offending smell. "Which reminds me. My crew is awaiting its captain's orders. Row out to the Pearl before the tide drops and I'll personally assist you in getting on board."
"Be sure not to try to leave wit'out me, Jack Sparrow. I do not lift curse until I'm on the ship an' you will only waste time."
"Duly noted, love," he said, gesturing at nothing in particular. "Until then…" He took her hand in his, kissing it as Marie Rose rolled her eyes.
Captain Blackwell thought it was best to tell the crew that Olette was a married woman and that Norrington was her husband. He thought that this would establish claims not so easily disregarded (like an absentee husband or a protective lover).
He did not tell them of his plan until after she had paid him and they had boarded the Highwind. At first, she had thought it a wise and cautious maneuver, and Olette and Norrington had shared a good laugh (though hers was more of a giggle) as the Captain introduced them to the crew as Mr. and Mrs. Norrington. But then, they were led below deck, and a cabin boy showed them to their singular room. It was a cramped space with barely enough room for its single bed, and Norrington and Olette stood just outside the door looking in. Olette's emotion ricocheted around between shock and confusion.
"Clearly there must have been a mistake," Olette said as soon as the cabin boy left down the hall. "Blackwell knew we couldn't share a bed."
Norrington looked from the bed to Olette, assessing Olette's indignation and their options in terms of propriety. "Not to be rude, miss Pinon, but even if I offered to sleep on the floor there is obviously little room for that." There was no space on the floor except a little bit of standing room, and most of that was taken up by her trunk, which the strong-armed cabin boy had brought in.
Olette crossed her arms across her chest, "I suppose we could sleep in shifts, and its Mrs. Pinon," she reminded him.
"Actually it's Mrs. Norrington," he corrected her and looked around the hallway to see if any crewmembers had overheard. He pulled her into the small room with him and closed the door. "You might try and remember that." It was a bit claustrophobic and they were forced into awkward closeness. "How do you expect me to keep an eye on you if you are frolicking about whenever I am sleeping?"
"They are probably going to be warded off by your mere presence on this ship. I'm sure constant surveillance isn't necessary." Olette didn't understand the problem.
"Yes, because we all know what an expert you are with such matters." he remarked sarcastically. "You give these men far too much credit." He knew that her plan would never work. It would raise questions among the crew and leave her vulnerable half of the day.
"You expect me to go along with this? I'm a married woman!" Olette hated to make trouble, but she didn't want to betray Louis.
"That's precisely why this shouldn't be a problem. I would never ask you to be unfaithful to dear Louis and you would never initiate such a betrayal. What we will be doing in this bed is sleeping; nothing more," Norrington reached up to a shelf above the bed and pulled down several pillows. He placed them vertically down the bed, creating a pillow barrier that separated the two sides of the narrow bed. "There! Now I don't want to here any more from you on the matter," he said as he fell onto the half of the bed closer to the wall.
It was very early in the morning and Norrington wasn't needed for work until after noon. Norrington opened his eyes and looked at her, wondering whether she would go to sleep as he expected. "Well?"
Olette bit her lip and shrugged. She supposed she was being unreasonable and laid down tentatively on the other half. Louis would surely forgive her. It was his fault she was here anyway.
As she closed her eyes, she heard crewman shouting up on dock as they prepared to set sail.
Friar Jorge Dueñas Delgado sat alone in a study on the second story of his monastery in the hills surrounding Pico de Orizaba in New Spain. Meticulously, he penned into a book that lay open on his desk, peering at it through a large magnifying glass. Suddenly, he set down the pen and rubbed his eyes. He sighed, and stared out his window at the town of Orizaba sprawling in the valley below him.
Just then there was a knock at the door, and another friar entered the room. "Jorge," he said in a hushed but hurried tone. "I think you ought to come downstairs."
"What happened?" Delgado asked.
"We need someone who speaks French. There's a French man who has come to the monastery. He keeps saying 'time.' 'Time, time.' "
Delgado carefully rested a heavy straightedge over the book in order to keep it open before shuffling out of the room.
Once downstairs he could hear the French man echo through the building, alternately saying "time" in Spanish and small phrases in French. As soon as Delgado entered the room, the French man turned to him.
"Do you speak French?" he asked in French.
"Yes, I speak French." Delgado replied, dubious about the French man's intentions and already worried about his asking about time.
"Can you tell me," the French man said slowly, as if doubting his ability, "about the Sands of Time?"
Delgado smiled. "That's no way to make introductions," he said in perfectly fluent French. "Let us sit down for coffee and discuss the matter." He indicated the door behind him with a nod of his head before turning around and disappearing inside it.
The rest of the friars stood silently, so the French man strode into the adjoining room. With a crack, he fell to the floor just beyond the threshold. Delgado, holding a heavy book, leaned over to check the French's mans consciousness.
"I knew you were planning something," said the friar who had retrieved Delgado from his study. "We don't drink coffee here."
"Thank you for staying silent," Delgado said to the collected friars with an appreciative nod. "I need some help carrying this man downstairs."
"...Downstairs?" a friar asked.
"Downstairs."
Marie Rose finally reached the port side of the Black Pearl in her little boat. She already felt sweaty and salty but was excited to finally take the first step toward finding Las Arenas del Tiempo. With the boat secured unto the pulleys she climbed onto the ladder leading up on deck, Dom Petro watching her nervously.
"Welcome aboard the Black Pearl," Jack greeted as Marie Rose swung her legs over the railing of the ship, landing gracefully onto the deck.
A man Marie Rose recognized as Mr. Gibbs approached the Captain warily. "Captain, the crew, and by that I mean I included, was wondering where the lady's quarters would be, and by that I mean where would she sleep."
Sparrow almost looked shocked that the question had even come to his attention. "Isn't it obvious? The lady makes rest in my quarters." Jack gestured towards his doorway.
As the boat was raised, Marie Rose gently picked up the rattled Dom Petro and set him down on the deck. "I tink you're mistaken, Captain. Our agreement said not'ing about sharing your cabin."
"No, young lass, you are the one who is mistaken. I believe you'll remember that there is nothing in our agreement that says you won't be staying in my stateroom." Sparrow smiled, feeling quite clever. "Now may I help you with your luggage?"
"You need not make de effort. Much like you need not bot'er wit' making room in your cabin." Although the rucksack was quite large and bulging with her effects, Marie Rose could lift it with only a little difficulty.
"Am I to understand that you'd rather sleep with a bunch of unwashed, foul-mouthed pirates than with just one unwashed foul-mouthed pirate?"
"You are to understand that I shall have my own quarters."
Marie Rose started down below deck, Sparrow following close behind.
"I'm not such terrible company as you make me out to be. I beg you reconsider." Sparrow grinned bearing gold teeth, adjusting his belt. " 'Sides, where you going to sleep?"
Past the cots and hammocks belonging to the crew, and towards the bow of the ship stood a door leading to the galley. Inside was the ship's stove and cooking implements. There also was a large pantry with several shelves containing some jarred foodstuffs.
"Who prepares the crews' meals?" Marie Rose asked, looking around the room.
"The men take turns. Dining on the Pearl is very unextravagant."
"Den you shall have a proper cook. I'm to make dis my quarters, and you and your crew will have de finest meals one can have at sea."
"And your dark magics? What of those?" Jack wondered if he might persuade Marie Rose to use her voodoo powers to ensure good winds.
Marie Rose leaned in so close to Jack that she could feel his breath on her face. "Make it worth my while."
A slight tremor of pleasure ran through him and he opened and closed his mouth not knowing what to say. Jack was trying to think of something nasty or witty to throw back in her face, but nothing came.
"Jack?" Gibbs called from up above. The crew was ready to set sail. They just needed the captain's orders.
Sparrow waited a moment, face to face with Marie Rose, before responding. "I'll be out in a moment."
"Excuse me miss, I have a ship to captain," he told her before leaving the room.
Norrington thrust Olette into their small room below deck.
"What on earth were you thinking?" He demanded from her, outraged. "Are you trying to get me killed?"
"I was just dancing." Olette wanted to back away, but she was already up against the back wall.
"Just dancing?" The former Commodore scoffed. She was so naive. "You might as well have been begging them all the challenge me for your womanly affections. How many times do I have to tell you before it sinks into to that thick head of yours? Don't go up there."
Norrington didn't understand her. They had had this conversation a week ago. She had though it harmless fun to play cards with the seamen, by herself, and he had tried to explain to her that the more time she spent around the men, the more they would desire her, the more they were both in danger. It would be much better for all parties if she just stayed in her room.
"I'm sorry. I've finished all my books, and it just gets so terribly boring down here, and I heard the music…" Olette apologized, hoping he might understand her outright disobedience.
It was hard when Norrington was busy working. She lost the one person she was allowed to talk to. Norrington may be a bit abrasive, but at least he was interesting. He kept her entertained with stories of great sea battles and fearsome pirates, and slowly but surely he was beginning to reveal his mysterious past.
"Do you have to go back right now?" Olette sat on their shared bed, hopeful that she might get another story out of him.
Norrington rubbed his scruffy jaw, sighing. He was calming down, even though he still wanted to be angry with her. "No, I was just finishing up, when I heard your silly girlish laughter."
Olette scooted over and made room for him to lay down. He looked rather tired, either from work or dealing with her, as he fell back onto their pillow.
"It's alright if you just wanted to sleep." Olette snuffed out the candle and laid back as well. Then for what seemed like several minutes, she waited for a reply.
"Now, where were we?" Norrington asked, his baritone voice drifting up out of the darkness.
"You were about to get promoted."
"Ah yes. It was the eve of my promotion to Commodore and my anticipation was steadily growing. I've known Elizabeth Swann since accompanying her on the crossing from England as a girl and had the pleasure of watching her grow into a breathtaking young woman. For several months I had been looking forward to the day of my promotion ceremony as the day I would propose to Miss Swann."
Olette was sitting up straight, listening closely. "What did she look like?" She imagined her to be like some fairy tale princess as well as long-necked and graceful like a swan.
"Elizabeth is tall and shapely, with this long, thick hair that curls perfectly even after hours of being in the elements. She has these large eyes that watch you with an intensity I've never experienced before. She wasn't like the other girls at Port Royal—she was a woman not to be bound. For a long time I dreamed of making her my wife."
"So did you propose to her?" It seemed silly to Olette that a smart man like James would seek to bind such a restless spirit in marriage.
"I did, and she declared herself to be breathless, which I thought was an affirmation of her feelings. Sadly, I was very wrong."
"It was her corset, wasn't it?" Olette laughed, "I've seen the way English girls dress and those frightening London fashions." Norrington hated it whenever she disparaged English customs, and his displeased face was visible in the dark. Olette decided to make nice and change the subject. "I'm guessing she fainted?"
"Yes." Norrington paused, and Olette was afraid that he was still upset, but he suddenly started laughing, "Right off the cliff. Down into the ocean. Just barely missing the rocks. Only to be rescued by a pirate."
Olette found this development into the story exciting, but she didn't really understand why he was laughing. All of that must have been very distressing for him. Perhaps things had changed and there was some sort of irony in the situation. Or enough time had passed and he realized what a bizarre situation it had been.
Norrington's laughter was now so great that he was nearly in tears. It was infectious and Olette couldn't help but laughing herself.
Five Years Ago…
Annabelle and Marie Rose were in the storehouse, filling bottles with rum from the casks in which the liquor was aged. Annabelle was considerably younger than Marie Rose—she seemed to watch her older sister as she worked in an effort to do exactly as she.
"Who do you t'ink drinks dis stuff?" Annabelle wondered aloud as she held the glass bottle in her hands while her sister poured.
"A handsome prince," Marie Rose whispered, eyes wide. Annabelle listened eagerly. "He only drinks de finest rum—but he sacrifice as much what he drinks to any L'wha dat he wish to make merry with. All de spirits attend his parties because he lets dem drink as much rum as dey wish."
Annabelle made a face, amused by her sister's tale. "If dat were true he'd still have to drink a lot of dis awful stuff. Why do people like to drink it when it tastes so bad?"
"It makes the white men happy. Maybe when we're both women we'll find out for ourselves."
"Speak for yourself, Marie Rose. You are already a woman. The boys your age watch you with faraway looks on their faces."
"If by boys you mean Michel den you play a cruel joke on your sister. Michel is de only boy whose head is so empty he finds me attractive."
Annabelle giggled. "You say dat now, but in five years you will have tree of his chil'ren."
"Now look at de mouth on you," Marie Rose scolded. "You better hope I don't sew it shut while you sleep!"
Annabelle laughed again. She always so bold, always making Marie Rose laugh for strange reasons. There was something so free about the way she moved as if she never wore the irons for misbehaving, or spoke her mind as if she never got lashes for having a loose tongue. Annabelle was completely and utterly incapable of being anything else but Annabelle.
After a week of hearing Norrington's stories, Olette had come to the decision that Elizabeth Swann was a manipulative trollop who didn't deserve him. Norrington's head rested comfortably in her lap, and she absently combed through his stringy hair as she listened to him speak. His words grew more and more weak and unsure.
"She told me that she would marry me if I saved the blacksmith. The man was a fool but I would have done anything to show her that I loved her. I risked the lives of many of my men as well as my own to save Mr. Turner. Within the week the same man set free the pirate that had kidnapped her before—"
"You mean Jack Sparrow?" Barbossa was dead, so Olette assumed he met the other one.
"Yes, him. When my men had Turner and Sparrow before me, Elizabeth stood between us and made it clear to me that she could only love one man and that that man was Will Turner."
Olette was filled with righteous anger for the woman that broke her promise and betrayed the poor Commodore. "So what did you do? Send them all to the gallows?"
"I let her go. I let them all go. It was the biggest mistake of my entire life. I lost my love, my commission, and my reputation."
Olette felt great sympathy for Norrington. She grabbed a brush that was sitting atop her trunk and began pulling it through the tangled mess that she was having trouble with.
"Is that when you went through the hurricane trying to catch Sparrow?"
He didn't answer. Olette wasn't surprised. The hurricane seemed to be a very emotional topic and he had only mentioned it briefly.
"What are you doing?" He asked incredulous.
"What do you think I'm doing? I'm brushing your hair." Olette was gently brushing at the Commodores hair, like she was playing with a doll.
"Yes, but why?" He laughed half-heartedly. Part of his mind was still dwelling on Elizabeth and other past disasters. The other part was highly entertained by Olette's actions.
"It's a tangled mess. That's why." Olette proved her point by yanking it through a knot, and he grimaced up at her in return.
"Well if it is a mess, than it's your fault. You're the one who said not to cut it." Norrington didn't understand woman sometimes.
"I know. It's cause I think you look rather dashing with your scruffiness. But this is a little too messy." Olette teased, "I think it's starting to verge on unsanitary. Disgusting really"
"Very funny." He said, his voice dry with sarcasm.
Olette was gathering another section of his hair, and she accidentally brushed his neck with the tips of her fingers. The contact caused Norrington to tense for a moment, and he suddenly realized just how close they were. He wondered at how inappropriate their situation and behavior was, but he didn't make any movement to leave.
Olette began laughing suddenly, and Norrington wondered if she too had sensed the awkwardness.
"What?"
"I was just remembering the first time I saw you. You were so very scruffy then." Olette stopped brushing, and Norrington was forced to sit up as she got up and put the brush away.
Olette sat back down, beside him, and continued. "I thought you were such a rude drunk. I didn't like you at all."
They were both leaning back up against the wall, their shoulders touching.
"Well I did knock down the man you were speaking to. So I can't really blame you." Norrington said, fighting the urge to wrap his arm around her.
The Pearl made one quick stop at Tortuga for supplies since Jamaica, the last island before entering Spanish territory, was no longer a safe berth for pirates.
While the crewmembers granted shore leave mostly caroused at the bars and taverns, Marie Rose found herself taking her new job as cook seriously, buying enough vegetables to last the fist few weeks of the journey, some fresh fruit and some more to dry, several boxes of jarred goods that would last at least a few months, and a few barrels of salted meats. She hired a boy to help her bring her purchases back to the Pearl. The white kid seemed a little bewildered at being hired by a black woman but was eager to make a shilling or two.
As she waited for the crew to return, Marie Rose started a beef stew that could feed the crew for several days. She cut up some of the fresh celery, onion, potatoes, carrots, and cabbage and let it simmer in the stew with the beef until the crew started to pour in, freshly drunk but still able to work with relative efficiency.
As Marie Rose was setting the Captain's table, Jack watched with interest. "You're a table setting short."
Marie Rose looked from the table to Sparrow, confused. "Is dere a ghost in de room, Captain?"
"Why on earth would you have me dine all on my lonesome when I could enjoy pleasant company such as yourself?"
Marie Rose sighed, growing more than weary of Jack's failure to take a hint and leave her be. However she was tired of coming up with excuses to avoid him, and one dinner couldn't be too terrible, what with a whole table between them.
By the time the Pearl was at sea the stew was ready, and the off duty crew enjoyed the steaming stew as if it was the best meal they had in days. They were also served slices of fresh orange to ward off scurvy. Dom Petro was given some lesser cuts of the meat, which the cat ate with relish.
Jack seemed to enjoy the stew as well, taking three helpings and eating with relish until he was full. Marie Rose personally was not used to the salty taste of dried beef but knew that in a month's time she'd dream of that stew as the perfect meal.
"I wonder how a woman of your breeding becomes such a good cook," Jack said, rotating his wrist absent-mindedly. "Is that what your voodoo upbringing taught you?"
"To be honest, I did not grow up in the swamp like my sister priestesses. I grew up on a sugar cane plantation. My mot'er was de cook for Mr. Marcoix, de master of de plantation, and his family. I helped my mum in the kitchen until a few years after my sister was born."
"Why only until then?"
"Dat was when Mrs. Marcoix discovered dat Mr. Marcoix was de father of my sisters and me. She had us moved out of de house to the rum stills. "
Jack's eyes lit up at the mention of rum. He seemed to want to know more about the process of making rum, but unsure of how to ask. "I would guess that your mistress made life hard for you and your sister after that."
"Mrs. Marcoix was a severely jealous woman who blamed my mother instead of her husband. Just being in her sight was enough to earn one of us a whipping. Finally she convinced her husband to sell my sister and me. That was when we decided to escape."
Marie Rose grew silent, growing melancholy over her memories and embarrassed that she told someone besides her close friends about life on the plantation. Maybe she wanted Sparrow to know that the freedom that came so effortlessly to him had to come at a cost to many others.
"And here you are," Sparrow said finally, lifting his glass. "To Marie Rose and her new beginnings."
Marie Rose was taken aback. There was something different in the way Jack was looking at her something she couldn't place.
And then it hit her, like a cold wave from the depths of the sea. What was never present in all of Sparrow's grins and grimaces directed at her was one important element.
Respect.