Chapter 4: Lost at Sea

An Island Somewhere in the Caribbean

Louis was starting to think that the Arenas del Tiempo was more work than it was worth. The passage over the Atlantic hadn't been so bad but it was terrible when he had been thrown into a dungeon as soon as he had found that monastery. He had received vicious rope burn when he untangled himself from the friar's makeshift restraints. Finding the magic hourglass was easy enough; the hard part was stealing a horse from a monastery and galloping full tilt down the mountain trails without breaking the horse's ankles.

It had taken a full day's journey from Orizaba to arrive at the port city of Vera Cruz, where he hurriedly pawned the horse for money to barter passage to Spain. He had thought he was free and clear on the Spanish merchant ship until he spotted a small ship approaching from a distance. He decided at once it must be the monks in pursuit of the ancient treasure entrusted to them.

He had decided at once to steal a longboat and flee to the nearby island, figuring that another ship would pick him up if he got their attention as they passed. He would rather take his chances waiting for rescue than be recaptured by the fearsome monk who had tortured him.

He now sat on the beach, tentatively touching his wounds, wishing he had stayed in La Rochelle with Olette. At home, if he hurt himself, his loving wife would gently dress the wound and kiss him sympathetically until he forgot about his pain. His stomach growled, and he wished he were eating her fruit crépes or her heavenly pot-au-feu. He'd even settle for the awful duck that she had left in the oven too long for last year's Christmas dinner.

He thought that things couldn't get any worse, but the sky started to darken and lightning struck repeatedly in the distance. Light showers gave way to pouring rain, and the sea appeared to be bringing a dilapidated ship in toward his island.

Louis rose from the wet sand to his feet and brought a hand to his brow as he squinted at the approaching vessel.

Several Years in the Past at the Marcoix Estate in Hispaniola

Marie Rose was walking to the cabin with Annabelle when the groundskeeper, Monsieur Chevallier stopped them.

"Go to the Colbert Estate and deliver this letter. Do not leave until they have read it," he told Marie Rose while handing her an envelope with Marcoix's seal on it.

It was sundown and she was expected to help with dinner but Monsieur Chevallier's orders were never to be met with question. "Yes sir."

She headed down the drive and looked over her shoulder at Annabelle, who was following Monsieur Chevallier into the barn. The sight inexplicably gave her a strange feeling but she had no choice but to deliver the letter as quickly as possible and return home. Marie Rose hurried to make the distance to the neighboring plantation before dinner was served. She had to work the field that day and was exhausted from the effort of reaping the sugar cane and all she wanted was to eat a hot meal with Momma and Annabelle and then go straight to bed. She tried to hide her impatience as she waited for Monsieur Colbert to finish his reply to the letter. When he at last handed her the sealed envelope, she quickly bowed and left the room.

Momma and the other slaves were setting out dinner by the time Marie Rose returned. Momma put a hand on her hip, clearly annoyed.

"What makes you girls think you can just come in any time you want?" Momma's eyes widened when she saw Annabelle wasn't with her. "Where is that sister of yours? Get her or she'll have to eat cold food."

Marie Rose nodded, now becoming worried about Annabelle. She thought about how she had seen Monsieur Chevallier bring her sister to the barn and wondered why she had felt so unnerved when it had happened. Chevallier may have just needed assistance with the pregnant cow that was due to give birth.

Marie Rose approached the bar, hoping to retrieve her sister. She listened for the sounds of a moaning calf or a birthing mother but instead heard the sporadic grunting of a man hard at work. When she reached the closed doors of the barn she could make out a young woman's choked sobs.

Thinking Annabelle was hurt, Marie Rose threw open the barn door and was met with the sight of her sister bent over a crate with Chevallier behind her, pushing up her skirt. Annabelle looked up and met Marie Rose's eyes with a helpless, pleading look. Chevallier was too busy reaching down into Annabelle's shirt to notice Marie Rose standing at the doorway.

Marie Rose apprehensively took a step backward out of the barn. Biting back her own tears, she gently closed the doors.

There was nothing she could do for her sister. Annabelle and Marie Rose were slaves; their bodies belonged to their master and any attempt to stop Chevallier would incur his wrath. Chevallier was known to give whippings for less serious infractions in his career as the overseer of the slaves.

In her rush to get away from the barn, Marie Rose tripped on an exposed tree root and fell into the tall grass, scraping her knee.

Marie Rose jolted awake. She immediately grabbed her knee, wincing at the very real pain. There was a blistering burn on her knee, most likely caused during her spiritual possession.

Marie Rose was still disoriented from her emotional dream, but as she gathered her bearings, she found herself in Sparrow's bed. She felt like the weight of the entire ocean was bearing down on her. She was sticky with sweat and blood and her hair was starting to bear resemblance to Jack's clumpy, matted hair. Her clothes were so tattered that she may as well have been naked.

By all rights she should have been dead. Last night flames covered her hands and yet they were not burned. Even terrible feats like sliding a knife across her own throat did not create the gash that should have killed her quickly. It was unbelievable that the violent Ogoun had found her worthy enough to be spared.

"I did it," she whispered to herself; she was genuinely amazed that she had succeeded.

Sparrow staggered in from the shadows looking even grimier than usual. A rather wicked wound on his cheek looked like it had stopped bleeding only moments before. It looked as though he hadn't stopped working in order to clean it.

"Why yes, you did succeed in destroying the ship East India Trading Company." He sat down on the side of the bed, exhausted. "Unfortunately, the storm you created has us shipwrecked at some spit of land in the middle of who knows where."

Marie Rose's spirits fell. She had hoped that since she lived through the possession that the Black Pearl had as well. "Dat was not my intention. Can it be fixed?"

Jack brushed a hand over his forehead. "It will take quite some time, but I believe the Pearl will sail again. The crew is scared to death of you; I practically had to stop them from burning you at the stake."

Marie Rose wasn't surprised to hear that. The crewmembers on the Black Pearl seemed to have reserved judgment before, as if waiting for her to prove her evilness on her own before they lashed out at her.

"De men fear what dey do not know," she said, mostly to herself. She met Jack's dark eyes. "I t'ank you for keeping me safe."

Smiling despite all of his discomfort, he laid back onto the bed right beside her. He looked like he had been up all night commanding the crew and was about to pass out. The way he stared up at ceiling, being still for the first time in Marie Rose's experience, was enough to tell her that something was weighing heavily on the Captain's mind.

"You look like you need sleep," she whispered as she reached out and gingerly touched his cheek. Blood, dirt, and sweat stuck to her fingers.

"I'll be fine, love. It's but a scratch." Jack's grimaced when she touched it, belying the true pain the gash was causing him.

Marie Rose rolled over onto her side, also grimacing at the stiff pain her muscles gave her as she moved. She draped a bloodstained arm around his chest. "I'm afraid," she admitted. "I don' tink I'll survive."

Jack frowned, feeling uncomfortable with the task of calming her when his nerves were so rattled as well. His mouth hung open lamely as he tried to think of something to say. He at last looked down at her, meeting her eyes. For once she didn't stare back at him with defiance or disgust; Marie Rose was searching for the good man inside him.

"Marie Rose, you are the strongest woman I have ever met. You know what you want and you go for it, instead of waiting for a maid or a man to bring it to you. If anyone can face the open seas and all its dangers, it is you."

"But—"she was about to protest when Jack kissed her, pressing his dry lips to hers. His moustache tickled her mouth. Neither of them had breath suitable for kissing, but Marie Rose found herself deepening the kiss and clutching onto him like a lifeline.

A rapping at the door jolted them both out of the kiss. "Bugger!" Sparrow groaned but sat up anyway, crossing his legs at the ankles. "Come in," he called, waving his hand in a lazy beckoning motion.

Gibbs entered, nervously glancing at Marie Rose. "Captain, sir. We've found a man on the island, a French man to be exact, who says he'll join the crew if you take him a ways toward France."

"I guess you would like to take me to him," Sparrow grumbled. He climbed out of the bed and followed to the doorway. On his way out he turned to Marie Rose and pointed at her with a mildly limp wrist. "Hold that thought, love."

The Frenchman's English was terrible and heavily accented. Jack watched him attempt to tell his story in broken English, squinting and leaning in every now and then, but he was unable to decipher much of anything the man said. In fact his accent was so strong that Sparrow ultimately gave up, interrupting the man mid- sentence with an up-pointed finger.

"I'm sorry mate, I didn't realize I needed a translator."

He swaggered back into the ship and into his quarters, leaving behind the bewildered man and the rest of his bemused crew. To his surprise, Marie Rose was nowhere to be found. He went into the galley and found her standing in the doorway, staring blankly at the destruction that she had caused. Jack placed a hand tentatively on her back.

"It seems our new friend only speaks French," he told her quietly. He seemed to expect her to go translate for him.

Marie Rose appeared snap out of a trance. At last she turned to Jack. "I will talk to him after I clean up."

Jack looked her up and down. She was actually a frightening sight with her tattered dress with all of its stains from blood and soot. Blood was caked into her fingernails and had turned them brown.

"I'd offer to help…" Jack started, holding up a finger. Marie Rose's stern look stopped him. "I'd better leave you to that."

Aboard the Highwind

Olette crossed herself and knelt beside their bed. Norrington no longer resided there (he had been moved to a cell), but she still thought of it as theirs.

Olette prayed fervently, asking God, Mary, and the Saints to intervene and save the poor Commodore's life, but no deus ex machina came. No magical rescue. He remained behind bars in the dark of the ship, waiting to die.

She imagined him there all alone and she wanted to comfort him, to embrace him and give him words of hope. Lord Cutler Beckett was currently preventing her from seeing James Norrington, but Olette was confident that she could wear him down and persuade him to let her see her "husband."

After completing several Hail Mary's and an Our Father, Olette crossed herself again and pulled herself into bed. She had grown so accustomed to Norrington's warm body next to hers that the narrow bed felt very cold and oversized without him. She tossed about, languishing in the change.

Frustrated by her inability to sleep, Olette's eyes snapped open and she stared at the dark ceiling. Aside from feeling lonely, there was something akin to rage in her. She felt as if she was reading Louis' letter all over again. Except this time, she couldn't blame Norrington for leaving her like she could blame her husband. It was the circumstances she was angry with. Life had dealt her and the Commodore unfair cards.

The ship creaked and the wind blew against the ship, but these low murmurs weren't enough to fill the silence. Olette longed to hear Norrington's voice again. He didn't have to tell her one of his stories. Norrington could just read from a book of maritime law, and she would still be riveted. There was something she loved about the way he spoke.

Olette's eyes slowly fell, and her thoughts about Norrington's voice carried over into her dream.

"Would you like to hear another story, my love?" Norrington said. He spoke in beautifully spoken French, but Olette didn't notice anything odd about that.

The two of them laid together on their backs in a meadow. The sky was unnaturally blue and the grass unnaturally green, and Norrington was dressed in full brigade and wore his powdered wig. His attire wasn't entirely accurate, but Olette was imagining it purely based upon description.

"No, I want to hear about what you plan to do with the treasure when we find it," Olette said softly, resting her head against his.

"Again?"

"Oui."

An Island Somewhere in the Caribbean

After some time Marie Rose emerged from below deck, looking cleaner. An unsoiled dress replaced the destroyed one; her face, as well as any exposed skin, was washed. Her hair, though still slightly nappy in appearance, was a solid improvement from before. She also seemed to have composed herself; the wide-eyed, helpless little animal look was gone.

She walked up to the Frenchman and greeted him in French.

"Nice to meet you," the man replied, taking her hand and kissing the top of it. "I am Louis Pinon."

"Ask him why he's here," Jack told her.

"My Captain wishes to know more about you. If you live in France than why are you stranded on this island?"

He seemed prepared for their questions. "I am a merchant trader. On my way home from New Spain, my ship sank and this was the closest land in sight."

She relayed this information back to Jack, who squinted suspiciously at the man. "Is he the only survivor?"

Marie Rose asked Louis the same question.

He looked sincerely saddened. "Yes, unfortunately."

"Does he know how many days journey New Spain is from this island?" Jack asked.

"Not too many. Is New Spain your destination?"

"Yes, Vera Cruz." Marie Rose was growing excited. All they needed to do was fix the Black Pearl and they could be off again.

Louis seemed hesitant to divulge the information. "…We are about four days journey from the city of Vera Cruz."

"Four days," Marie Rose told Jack before continuing with Louis. "We are on our way there, and you are welcome to join us, and if you are willing to wait while we conduct business, we can take you as far as Tortuga. From there you can find passage back to France. In exchange for passage, you must be a faithful member of our crew. As you can see, our ship needs to have some repairs made. We need as many hands patching the leaks as possible."

"Of course." Louis said, bowing his head once in thanks."Thank you, mademoiselle"

Aboard the Highwind

Olette woke early the next morning and resolved to try again with Beckett. She arrived on deck before him and waited outside the entrance to the Captain's Quarters, which Beckett had commandeered from Captain Blackwell.

Lord Cutler Beckett stepped outside to drink his tea in the fresh sea air and was immediately bombarded by the Frenchwoman's begging and pleading.

"Please, monsieur, I'm not going to try and convince you to free my husband anymore. But if he is to be hanged, let me at least see him before you take him from me." Olette prostrated herself at Beckett's feet. "Milord, I beg of you."

Beckett rolled his eyes; he was beginning to tire of this woman's incessant whining. He looked down at Olette, who stared at him with pleading eyes. She was a weak fragile thing with a heaving bosom, and Beckett was persuaded. He supposed that she wasn't a threat and incapable of staging a rescue.

"Perhaps, I was too hasty in my decree. I will allow you to see the criminal, accompanied by a guard of course, but you must allow me to search your persons for weapons." He saw that she didn't follow his intention, and he tried to explain, "You must understand, I can't allow Norrington to escape again. You might secretly supply him with a means of escape."

He had shut her up for good. If she still wanted to see Norrington, Beckett would get a little pleasure out of it, and if she didn't want to see her husband anymore, than all the better.

Olette stood, meekly asking, "Where do you want to conduct this search?" She looked around the deck, and Beckett gestured back into the Captain's quarters with a smug smile.

Beckett followed behind Olette as she entered his quarters. Refusing to look at him, she raised her arms and waited for Beckett to get it over and done with. He chuckled and poured himself a glass of port, making her wait a little longer in the foolish position before he began the touching and groping. He started at her feet and moved up her legs, underneath her petticoat, until he reached her hips. Then he moved out from under her skirt and slowly felt across her arms and corset.

He was taking his sweet time with all of it, lingering in all the wrong places. Olette gagged, and Beckett chuckled at her discomfort.

An Island Somewhere in the Caribbean

Marie Rose was the only one who could understand Louis, and as a result he visited with her more often than Sparrow would have liked. Marie Rose welcomed a chance to speak in her first language. French rolled off her tongue effortlessly while English made her feel clumsy and awkward. Marie Rose and Louis would muse at the difference between Louis' proper European French and Marie Rose's strange Caribbean French.

After supper, Louis and Marie Rose sat alone on the beach while the rest of the crew drank and gambled. Louis was unusually sullen that night and was not the spirited conversationalist that he normally was.

"What has you so low, monsieur?"

"I was thinking about my home."

"I've always wondered what France is like. Tell me about it."

"I wouldn't know where to begin. France is such a large country; each city conducts a different trade and has a certain charm. My home, La Rochelle, is a beautiful seaport seated on white limestone cliffs. It is well known for its crab bisque and other seafood dishes. The winters are colder than any you could imagine, and when the town is covered in snow, it looks like a white frosted cake… But what I miss most about La Rochelle is waking up next to mon belle chéri."

Marie Rose was surprised that Louis had a woman waiting for him back home. It didn't occur to her that seamen could be devoted to women far away from them. Perhaps Jack was a bad example of the fidelity of sailors.

"You're married?"

"Her name's Olette." Louis nodded, and laughed to himself. "I was just thinking about the first time we met, the first time I met her, I mean."

He enjoyed telling the story, and he began telling it without being asked, "She was working in her father's library, and I was a merchant sailor, always traveling, never at land more than a few weeks. I came into their shop one day. I think I was trying to sell her father some rare manuscript that I had acquired during my travels, but he wasn't there."

"And you romanced her?"

"Well, I tried. But she wasn't having any of it. I don't think she understood what I was doing." He remembered her putting books away, trying to ignore him, and the memory made him smile.

"She was completely oblivious, and I was in love. I told her that much. I told her I loved her and I asked her to marry me, but she didn't believe me and tried to get rid of me. I came back every day that week, armed with sonnets and flowers, but she was immune to my charms. She'd heard of my reputation and was very distrustful, but by the end of the month, I'd proved my consistency and wore her down."

"So much work."

"But it was worth it. I don't think I've ever met anyone quite like my Olette… never met anyone so faithful and true."

Jack observed Louis and Marie Rose from afar, and the two appeared to be very comfortable with each other now. He scowled at this development. Sparrow was starting to resent the Frenchman's good rapport with Marie Rose. He pretended not to watch while they would chatter in French with one another. He made special arrangements to ensure that Louis was on duty during the hours he would normally visit with her, and continuously requested her presence at meals.

Aboard the Highwind

Olette traveled down to the brig, shuddering as she went. She felt defiled, like his cold little hands were still all over her body. His cruel smile imprinted in her memory. One of Beckett's men followed her, with a knowing sneer on his face. Olette was beginning to regret what she had just allowed to happen, but when she saw Norrington, it all became worth it.

Norrington looked so defeated, so greatly in need of hope. He was sitting pitifully in the corner of his cell and resting his head against the bars, his long hair covering his face. His head turned slowly, without much conviction, to see who had entered the brig. Perhaps, he thought, it was Beckett, come to laugh and insult him some more.

"James," a teary-eyed Olette rushed to the bars near him. Her small hands and arms reached through to embrace him, to touch his troubled face and ask him how he was doing. "I've been so worried about you. Beckett only just let me come see you. Are they feeding you properly? Does it get cold down here? Do you need me to bring you anything? Don't worry, I'm going to do everything in my power to get you out of here."

The sudden explosion of contact and dialogue was startling to Norrington but not unpleasing. Nothing from Olette could be unpleasing to him. Norrington smiled half-heartedly and took her hand from his check and kissed the palm, thanking her for her concern and love. The action was highly improper, but both of them had been teetering on the edge of propriety for so long, that the tender action went unnoticed, seeming natural, by both parties.

"I appreciate you coming, but you really need not have bothered." Norrington said, releasing Olette's hand. He noticed the guard watching them and added with false cheer, "My lovely wife."

"What do you mean? Why do you say that?" Olette asked; her face fell.

"Olette, you're a married woman, and I am a man condemned to die. And our time together on this ship is coming to an end." Norrington explained, careful not to say anything too obvious in front on their dim-witted observer. "What would it matter if you could save me? We have no future." Norrington hated to tell Olette the painful truth and dash all her hopes, but someone needed to wake her from her fanciful dreams.

"You don't know that. Louis might be dead." Olette clasped her mouth. She had spoken of her husband's death with such hope, and she was horrified by her manner. She paused for a moment before continuing, and when she spoke again she was careful not to appear so pleased at the thought, "What if Louis is dead?"

"Then, I think you could find a better second husband than a fugitive of the law, that's assuming I managed to escape execution."

"That's not your decision to make. It's mine." Olette scowled. Norrington didn't get to decide her future for her.

"Oh? So you would marry me without my consent?" Norrington laughed deliriously, drunk with tiredness. Given his present situation, her silly musings were diverting.

"You would refuse consent?" Olette smiled. It made her happy to see Norrington laughing.

"No, I would not." He said quietly, in a withdrawn manner, and things were suddenly very serious again. "But it doesn't matter what I would or would not do. Louis is most likely alive and trying desperately to get back to you, and I am fated to die. It is best to not speculate and think of things that cannot be."

"So you suggest I give up all hope and make peace with your impending death?" Olette said loudly, appalled by the idea. "No! I'm afraid your negativity and hopelessness has not yet spread to me, and I will not accept that. I will not just resign myself to your approaching execution… even if you have no future with me. Because—" Olette paused, knowing she shouldn't continue. "I love you." She repeated it again softly, even though it hurt them both for her to say it. It pained her because she knew she shouldn't, and it pained him because she belonged to another.

"Please do not say that." Norrington's voice broke and wavered from the pain. I cannot bear it."

An Island Somewhere in the Caribbean

Marie Rose feared that she was becoming too fond of the pirate captain. She kept herself busy most of the time to avoid spending time with Jack. She took it upon herself to repair the galley's floor where it had burned, and when that was finished, she dug out some old sandpaper and refinished the Black Pearl's figurehead. She also collected fruit from the dense jungle daily and performed rites for the spirits near the pool she had bathed in when they first were shipwrecked. Her biggest project was patching the sails with old sheets and tablecloths, which she worked on daily.

Sparrow, even as busy as he was with managing the repairs, would invariably seek out Marie Rose.

She had come to the conclusion that people like Sparrow were special due to their willingness to accept other people and their cultures. He treated her as an equal and required that his crew did the same; something that she had never expected from a European. However, he was a pirate all the same, and not to be trusted. She already made the mistake of telling him about the Las Arenas del Tiempo.

It was becoming increasingly clear to Marie Rose that her actions in these months of searching for Las Arenas del Tiempo weren't necessarily permanent. Temptation was at the back of her mind at all times.

That is why Marie Rose had walked deep into the jungle with bedroll and a few necessities in order to evade Jack, who had taken to knocking on the galley door until she finally gave in and let him in.

In her experience, European men feared untamed wilderness so she figured the jungle would keep him away, at least at night. She found a clearing where she could see the stars and began making her bed.

They hadn't kissed again since the time in his cabin—at least not on the lips. Jack kissed her on the check, forehead, and even her neck. Marie Rose suppressed any reaction to these advances, even though Jack grinned at her as if he knew that she wanted nothing more than wrap him up in arms and return each and every kiss he gave her.

As soon as she was settled in her makeshift campsite, she heard the sound of someone traipsing through the jungle and soon enough Sparrow appeared with a bottle of rum. He swaggered up to where Marie Rose lay, holding the bottle like it was some prize he won. She sat up, watching his approach, chagrinned.

"Don't ask me how or why, but our dear Louis is teaching the men to sing a French drinking song," Jack said. Marie Rose wondered if he was already drunk but she had no way to tell.

Marie Rose chuckled at the mental image of pirates singing as Jack sat down beside her. He uncorked the bottle of rum and took a swig, and handed it to Marie Rose, who took a sip and passed it back before lying back down.

"This island isn't half bad to be shipwrecked on, eh? There's fresh water, lots of fruit on the trees," Sparrow gave Marie Rose a meaningful look, "and quite lovely scenery."

Marie Rose smiled, shaking her head. "You always have to be de scoundrel, don' you?"

He fingered his braided goatee, raising his eyebrows. "I wouldn't have it any other way." His arm snaked itself around her. "And neither would you, I imagine."

Marie Rose's pulse started to speed up. Being this close to Jack was simultaneously comforting and unnerving. To be honest, she found his perpetual light-heartedness attractive while his dishonesty repulsed her. She always found herself telling him her secrets—secrets that he could very easily use against her.

"You're rather the quiet one when you're not insulting me," he remarked, fixing her with a crooked expression.

With a smirk on her face, she snatched the rum from him and took a gulp. "If I wanted company I'd visit you in your cabin."

Jack laughed, as if he was amused by the idea of Marie Rose finally showing up at his door. "I'd quite enjoy that, really."

Marie Rose watched him as took the rum from her hand and drank deeply, licking his lips after swallowing. He shifted his weight slowly until his upper half was above her, his arms on either side of her.

"But this commander of the spirits is too shy to call upon a gentleman in such a forward manner," he whispered, his face inches from hers. She could feel him start to shift his lower half so he was lying on top off her. "So instead she mends his sails and cooks his meals and no doubt performs complicated Voodoo rituals to make him desire her."

"So you noticed the extra oysters in your dinner, then?" she joked in an effort to make his claims seem ridiculous.

Sparrow closed the distance between them and kissed her with a different kind of passion than any of his other advances. She found herself kissing him back with equal enthusiasm, tasting the sweet rum on his lips and in his mouth. He broke from the kiss only to bring his lips to her pulse point on the neck, quickening her heart rate even further.

He brought his kisses down her neck to her collarbone and even lower until was leaving light kisses on her bosom. Marie Rose had to catch her breath when he halted his tirade of kissing in order to remove her dress.

Everything was moving so very fast, but Marie Rose was so completely swept up in the moment that she didn't care.