Disclaimer: You look good, Jack.
A/N: Short and slightly filler-chapter-ish. I apologise. My muse is off sipping Pina Coladas with her boyfriend, the bitch. However, she did give me a lot of Kraken battle sequences before she nicked off. A shame there's another chapter or so before I can use any of it. Again, apologies. But! Thar be foreshadowing! See if you can spot them!
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The sun was warm and comforting, and melted across Squirrel's face and arms. The wind played games with her hair, pulling it forward over her shoulder and lifting it in jest. Squirrel lifted her face to the sun, smiling at and luxuriating in its warmth. The skies were clear, the water was crystal, and every trace of last night's darkness was all forgotten.
It was a beautiful day.
Squirrel sighed with happiness as she and her thoughts drifted. The sound of wind pulling at the black sails, the straining rigging, the clanking of pulleys all seemed to come together in a beautiful song, a song her soul was singing. Squirrel did a short spin, her feet light across the deck in a pirate's jig, then faced the sea again, breathless with joy.
She'd been silently in love for so long. Now she felt like shouting out loud, letting everyone know that she loved Jack Sparrow. Yet she settled for a smile that graced the horizon alone. She'd be silent for a little longer. But only a little longer. Once Jack was free from Davy Jones, there would be time enough for her dreams to come true.
Squirrel found herself reaching for her cards, the paper comfortingly fluttering through her hands as she shuffled them. As the wind gently pulled at her hair and the cards slipped through her fingers, Squirrel watched the horizon line, where the two shades of blue met and mingled.
Ahead lay the Isla Cruces. The place where Davy Jones' heart was hidden. Somewhere between the sky, the sea and the land, Davy Jones had hidden away his heart. Somewhere on that island ahead lay the key to Jack's freedom.
And there was only one way to find it.
The day suddenly seemed a little less bright. Yes, Elizabeth had the compass. Jack would be following her to find the heart. It would be thanks to Elizabeth that the chest of Davy Jones would be found. But… maybe, there could be some other way of finding the chest... without the compass. Maybe?
Squirrel looked at the cards in her hands, wondering. Could she maybe - maybe - look to the cards for an answer? Obviously, they were nothing more than pieces of paper, but maybe… She did have this strange gift for reading people, outcomes of games… why not outcomes of a treasure hunt? Tia Dalma had said that she and Squirrel were nearly the same.
The thought of the woman in the swamp brought Squirrel back to earth. Her lips twisted in disdain as the cards twisted and danced between her fingers. Absurd. Absolutely absurd. A card flipped free, fluttering in the breeze before falling-face down on the deck. Squirrel sighed. See what happens when you're distracted? You lose focus, you drop things. She knelt down, stilling the other 51 cards in her burned hand, and picked up the dropped card.
It was the Ace of Diamonds.
Squirrel stood up slowly, examining the card, curious and thoughtful. The Ace of Diamonds. That could mean a treasure, of sorts… perhaps the treasure chest they sought? The chest of Davy Jones? Maybe it was the sign of the crossroads… Isla Cruces was the 'island of crossings'. Maybe it meant the place where four paths crossed. Or… Something whole, formed by four separate things, or two pairs. The cardinal points: north, south, east and west. The four parts of a day, night, morning, afternoon and evening. A reef knot; something which binds everyone together. The sound of a heartbeat: thump-thump, thump-thump.
This is ridiculous.
Squirrel flushed, feeling foolish at herself. What was she thinking? Hadn't she just told herself that this was absurd superstition? Yet here she was, looking for meaning in a random card. Foolishness. Tia's insinuation that there was something magical about 'reading people' - let alone predicting the future - was total nonsense. There was nothing mystical or magic about it. It was all tricks. Tricks which relied on interpretation.
Tia's words in the hut seemed like a poignant enough example. You bear deh scars, chil'… Tia never said anything about burns - what she had said was 'you burn for him'. She had obviously seen Squirrel looking at Jack; a woman is always able to recognise the signs of heartache. It had been Squirrel who had clapped a hand to her burnt arm, it had been Squirrel who had taken Tia's words to be something they weren't. It had been Squirrel who had interpreted Tia's words to mean something else than what they were.
Cartomancy was no more an occult art than reading people was. All it required was a quick mind and a sharp pair of eyes. Whatever you saw, whatever card you drew, whatever shape the crab claws made when they fell… the meaning did not come from objects or the people reading the signs. It came from how such signs were interpreted. All the reader had to do was throw in a few vague phrases and an air of knowledge, and the listener left with a sense of awe at the reader's mystical powers. Nonsense and trash.
It was all whatever you wanted it to be. There was nothing mystical about it.
Squirrel shuffled the cards restlessly, angry at where her thoughts had led. Cards are nothing more than thick paper, she told herself. Paper cannot help people predict the future any more than the stars can. It's all foolish superstition. She closed up the deck, sliding it back into the pouch at her belt. She wasn't going to let a handful of paper pieces show her her 'destiny'. If she wanted to find the heart of Davy Jones, she'd follow that compass like everyone else.
Ah, but where did the compass come from? And how does it work?
Squirrel pushed the thought from her mind, and focused instead on the horizon. She was determined not to let her thoughts linger any longer on these foolish superstitions. She had more important things to think on.
Like Jack…
A fresh blush of colour swept across her face, and a smile parted her lips. Her fingers brushed at her cheek, where he'd kissed her, and she felt slightly dizzy once again. All those years, she'd watched him from up in the rafters and the rooftops, wishing and hoping, silently in love. And now… he'd kissed her. Squirrel closed her eyes and turned her face to the sun, laughter bubbling up inside her. She was in love like no other time before. Love, love, love….
But what does it mean?
Squirrel frowned, wondering where this sudden memory had come from. That was her own voice, but… to whom was she speaking? Even as she thought this, the rest of the memory rose into her mind. A beautiful woman dressed in white and blue.
It means love. The face of Rose Grey looked smilingly down at the young Squirrel, where she was nestled in her mother's lap. It's all about love, the beautiful woman said gently.
I don't understand it, Squirrel looked at the book held between them, feeling disheartened.
Rose Grey smiled at her daughter reassuringly. Here, she said, let me read it to you like this. Maybe it will make more sense. She shifted the heavy book between them, and placed an elegant finger under the words as she read. Squirrel's eyes trailed the words, but it was her mother's voice she followed more closely.
Love is patient, love is kind; never jealous, boastful, proud, or rude; love isn't selfish or quick-tempered; it keeps no record of wrongs and loves the truth; it is always supportive, loyal, hopeful and trusting. Love will never fail. Rose Grey looked down at her daughter, smiling fondly as she stroked the side of her daughter's face. I love you, my little squirrel. I love you.
"I love you too, mama," Squirrel echoed her memory as it faded away.
Squirrel smiled once more; a sad, distant smile this time. She stood in silence for a moment, letting it sink in. Another memory of her mother, another memory dredged from the darkness of amnesia. There were no tears in Squirrel's eyes, just hope and a smile. She would not cry for the loss of her mother - after all, Squirrel had not lost her, but regained a piece of what she once knew. She lifted her face to the sun once more.
"Thankyou," she whispered, then looked out over the sea. Love is patient, love is kind… Squirrel sighed with a smile as she remembered the verse once more. I love Jack Sparrow. I'll be patient, I'll be kind. I won't be jealous, boastful, proud or rude. I'll be selfless and calm, I won't keep a record of his faults, and I'll stay honest. I'll support him, be loyal to him, hope for him and trust him. I love Jack Sparrow.
The smiled, bolstered by the memory she'd received. She looked ahead, to where Isla Cruces came ever closer. They'd anchor soon, and go ashore. They'd find the heart, and then Jack would be free. And when he was free, Squirrel would tell him she loved him, and then they'd be happy together. Squirrel smiled, certain of the course ahead. She turned to go, her heart singing.
But the determination crumbled, and the song died, when her sharp eyes caught sight of the object of her affection.
The warmth of the sun suddenly seemed like ice on her skin, ice which made the blood in her veins slow. She heard the sound of her heartbeat in her ears, each beat painfully twisting her, crushing her, killing her.
Elizabeth and Jack, together; she had her head tilted back, and Jack was brushing aside her hair. They stood so close. So close. Their lips were closer, so close they could almost…
Squirrel turned her head, feeling sick, feeling betrayed. Betrayed by a kiss.
She reached for the hood of her cloak, to pull it down over her head and hide away in darkness. But she wasn't wearing her cloak anymore. Her face went as blank as a mask as she crossed the deck, her eyes deliberately avoiding the tableau she didn't want to ever see again, the image of which was burned - seared - into her memory. Pintel and Ragetti were talking amongst themselves as they emerged from below. They smiled when they saw her, and offered a smile and a salute each.
"Get a boat ready," Squirrel told them, her voice devoid of anything that might betray her. "We're going ashore."
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The longboat bobbed in the waves as Pintel and Ragetti settled into position with an oar each. Squirrel looked up at the Pearl, her eyes shaded against the harsh glare of the sun with one hand. The three of them were ready to go. All they needed were the captain's orders.
Squirrel swallowed the bitter taste that came into her mouth at the mere thought of Jack. And, when summoned as if by her thoughts, Jack appeared at the railing, Squirrel turned her face away, looking instead at her hands. The rope was rough in her palms, and was the only thing mooring this boat to the Pearl. She could let go, let the boat drift… but no, not yet.
Jack clambered down the ladder awkwardly, one arm wrapped around his precious jar of dirt. He was clutching that jar of dirt so tightly, as though if he dropped it his life would be forfeit. And, in a way, it was true. Squirrel turned away, and stared at the back of Ragetti's head rather than look up at Jack. The boat rocked as the captain set aboard, then rocked some more as he moved to the prow and sat next to Squirrel.
Flushing and determined not to even spare so much as a glance in his direction, Squirrel continued to stare away. Jack didn't even notice - he faced in the opposite direction, out to sea. He hugged his jar of dirt tighter to his chest, like a frightened child seeking comfort. Squirrel silently felt both relieved and pained.
He can't even look at me.
The boat bobbed once more as Elizabeth and Norrington came aboard. Squirrel frowned slightly as Norrington joined them, until she saw him set down two shovels under his and Elizabeth's feet. Ah. So you're the manual labourer then.
She looked up - over Jack's head - to where the men on deck held the lines. She released the length of rope she held, and called "Cast off," a little more brusquely than she'd intended. The line was freed, and the little boat moved away from the bulk of the ship. Pintel and Ragetti picked up their oars, and started dipping them into the ocean. Current and the motion of the oars took them away from the shade of the ship. They were on their way.
Isla Cruces - and the heart of Davy Jones - was before them. Or, in the case of Squirrel, who watched the Pearl shrink away, behind her.
As the longboat moved across the ocean, under the burning light of the noonday sun, there was a heavy silence from everyone aboard. The only noise came from the irregular chopping noise of the oars.
"You're rowin' too fast," Pintel grumbled.
"You ain't rowin' fast enough!" Ragetti shot back.
"We don't want the Kraken to catch us. I'm savin' me strength for when it comes. An' I don't think it's 'krack-en', anyways," Pintel muttered, spoiling for a fight, "I always heard it said 'kray-ken'."
"Wot, wiv a long 'a'?"
"Aye."
"Na-na-na-na-na no. 'Krock-en's how it's pronounced in its original Scandinavian, and 'krack-en's closer to that."
"Well, we ain't 'original Scandinavians', are we?" Pintel said disparagingly. "Kray-ken!"
"It's a mythological creature," Ragetti said, sounding insulted, "I can calls it what I wants."
Squirrel rested her head in her hand and gave a weary sigh. She looked up, and caught the eye of Norrington and Elizabeth, who both gave her equally nonplussed looks. Squirrel gave a miniscule shrug in return. Elizabeth made a small smile, meant to reassure.
Squirrel looked away, the bitter taste in her mouth returning with a vengeance.
"The sooner we get to the island," she told the backs of Pintel and Ragetti's heads, "The less we have to worry about it." Pintel harrumphed, and Ragetti spared a brief look over his shoulder, but the argument was ended. They rowed on in silence.
Squirrel's stomach protested quietly, and with a frown, Squirrel realised she was hungry. She pulled open the small linen bag at her belt and pulled out a handful of nuts. One by one, she shelled the nuts - almonds, peanuts, pistachios, cashews, hazelnuts, and more - and tossed the empty shells over the side. It wasn't Gibbs' thick meat stew, but it was something in her stomach. Still, she thought bitterly, it would have been nice to have something a little more substantial. She crunched away at her rations, quelling her stomach's complaints, and stared out to sea.
Beside her, Jack shifted in his seat, leaning somewhat against her. Squirrel moved slightly - almost imperceptibly - away from him.
You're a liar, Jack Sparrow, an inner voice snarled as Squirrel spared the captain a brief glance. You don't just lie with your words, but with everything you are. Something in Squirrel twisted painfully, and tears very nearly sprang to her eyes again. You don't really love me. I almost believed that you did, when you kissed me. But that kiss was a lie. If I hadn't turned away…
I might have believed that you loved me.
"Beautiful scenery… I happen to have no dress in my cabin… More than just a pretty face…" What were these but pretty words used to catch a woman's heart? He meant nothing by them. Nothing but a means to his end. And his end was the same of the men who frequented Tortuga's taverns. Jack was a skirt-chaser, and it didn't matter to him whose skirt it was he chased. It all depended on who was convenient at the time. Convienience was what he wanted, not the love that Squirrel was hoping for.
A tear spilled out of Squirrel's eye, and she wiped it away quickly, rubbing at her eye as though it were the fault of the sea spray, or the sun's glare, and not the man sitting next to her.
She'd done so much for Jack Sparrow. She'd left her home - such as it was - and taken to the seas, forsaking all she knew and all she held dear. She'd broken her promises, she'd gone against her conscience, she'd sinned time and time again. And for what? Love for a man who didn't love her back? Foolishness. Yet, who can tell the heart what it feels? Even if it leads to pain - even pain too great to bear - it's hard not to follow the path that the heart dictates.
I love him, but he keeps breaking my heart. I love him, but…
She closed her eyes and listened to the sound of her heart beating. It kept time with that slow sad song she'd heard in a dream. The song and the sound of her heart seemed perfectly matched, and words like poetry came singing to her. Waves shall rise, and waves shall fall… Over land and sea I'll call…
I love Jack Sparrow, she found herself thinking sadly with the lullaby. But he doesn't love me.
The sound of waves on the shore brought her back out of her thoughts. "We're here," Elizabeth said, her voice a bare whisper. Isla Cruces.
Both women remained in the boat, along with Jack - the other three crewmen leapt overboard to walk the longboat ashore. Squirrel listened to the sound of the boat's keel grinding against the sand as the water shallowed. When the boat was still, she rose, and stepped over the side, splashing ankle-deep in the waves. The boat was abandoned by all - Jack left his jar of dirt and took up a shovel, while Norrington took the other; Elizabeth was waiting on the shore, the compass in her hand. Pintel and Ragetti bickered amongst themselves as they pulled the boat further ashore.
Squirrel moved away from the party, walking further inland, her feet crunching over the coral white sands. She wanted time to herself, time to think and be alone.
Shading her eyes against the sun as she walked, she looked over the lay of the land. Isla Cruces. The crossings. Now, where would a man who cannot set foot on land hide a chest containing both his greatest treasure and his greatest curse? Squirrel looked out across the expanse of sand, shunning the wooded green mountains on the mainland. It would be somewhere on shore, somewhere where the land and the ocean crossed over. It would be somewhere Davy Jones could reach it when he felt like it, but not so close that he would be able to reach it easily. After all, if one cut out one's own heart, you wouldn't think he'd want a reminder of the fact. The fact he'd cut out his heart would only be a reminder of why. And why was for love. A love so great and painful that he'd rather face an eternity of suffering…
Jack and Elizabeth pushed into Squirrel's thoughts, the image of their lips inches from each others burned into her mind. Squirrel's heart gave two pairs of pained beats before she was able to shove the memory from her mind. She had to find the heart of Davy Jones. She had to find where it was hidden. She had to.
Squirrel found her hands straying again to the pouch that contained the cards and the dice.
Behind her, Squirrel heard Jack gave brusque orders to Pintel and Ragetti. "Watch the boat, mind the tide, and don't steal my dirt." Sounds of footsteps crunching through the sand told Squirrel that they were coming up behind her. Almost imperceptibly, she picked up her pace, walking with quick small steps over the sand and through the sea.
Her fingers closed around a small square of bone in the bottom of the pouch. One of the dice. With some self-loathing and a sense that perhaps nothing will come of it, she picked it out, and looked at the first number she saw.
Five. The shape of the diamond accused her with glee. Foolish superstition. And yet… Squirrel looked up, and redirected her feet. She didn't have the compass to guide her steps. Only her instinct. And instinct was pointing her towards a sandbar at the far end of the beach.
Deft fingers slipped the dice back into the pouch with its brother; eyes sharp and brown never left the horizon, the path ahead; a song sad and powerful played on in her head, and words fitted themselves into the melody. Wind and tide both take me far… Squirrel moved onward, sure in her course. But her stomach was churning and every beat of her heart was painful, and recalled the mutiny Jack had committed.
I love Jack Sparrow but he doesn't love me. She forced the tears away - she needed clear vision if she was to reach the heart of Davy Jones first. And she was going to reach it first. The rules had changed. Squirrel needed the trump card for a different reason now.
She left the others behind as she strode ahead.
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A/N: Once again, appo-logies. This chapter was remarkably hard to write. I may go back and edit it at some later date. The words Squirrel started singing are mine - I couldn't help but start singing them in the movie theatre, and it worked well as a poem, too. You'll get the song in its entirety later, okay? More soon. Reviews will get my muse's ass back in the country. And I know you're reading it - I have like fifty readers a chapter, and only two reviews. That's cruelty, people. Cru-el-ty.