Author's Notes: Hello, hello! This is my second Pirate's fic, for those of you who don't know me, and I really hope you all like it. Or the first chapter of it, anyway ;)

Disclaimer: I don't own Pirates of the Caribbean, its plot, characters, places, ect. Nor do I own the Caribbean (thought wouldn't that be nice…). I do, however, own all the original settings and characters you may stumble upon in this story. But that's all.

Read on!

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The Sighted

Chapter 1

Nightmares and Bad Luck

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Mabel shot up from her bed with a silent, strangled scream of terror.

She struggled weakly in the tangled confines of her sheets, ragged gasps tearing from her chapped lips. Her lungs, aching as though deprived for a lengthy time, expanded gratefully as copious amounts of air was forced down her windpipe and into her chest. Her fingers curled themselves tightly into the soft covers, muscles tensed. Her whole body heaved shakily, limbs weak and trembling profusely. A sheet of cold sweat coated her body like some repulsive second skin.

And it took her a moment to realize she was awake. What she had experience had been nothing but a dream, a nightmare. One she'd had many times before.

Slowly, she allowed her clammy, damp hands to unwind from the bed sheets, which remained twisted tightly about her body.

She must have been thrashing in her sleep, she conceded to herself, and ran her trembling fingers through her tangled hair. It had come loose from her bedtime braid and hung in damp curls about her shoulders and back. Her forehead was sticky from sweat.

The dream had been terribly vivid. So real that she'd nearly believed it herself, that she'd been drowning in an endless, churning maelstrom of water and darkness, until she'd awoken abruptly and been flung back into reality. Her father, a Lieutenant onboard a British Navy ship, had died in that exact way, pulled under dark waves until the surface was nowhere in sight.

Her heart was still racing as she sighed, falling back onto her pillows with a groan.

The bedroom was still.

Outside her bedroom window, she could faintly hear birds chirping out their morning song as they flitted from branch to branch. A large rosewood tree had been planted by her window long ago, and it provided perfect shelter for all manner of birds. Mabel awoke about this time every morning, when the birds broke into loud song, as if her body had set its own clock.

She'd grown used to cool mornings and the familiar sound of the early birds. It meant the sun had risen over the sea and the world was once again awake.

Mabel, resting her head into the softness of her pillows, sighed once more, this time in ease. Her heart had ceased its thumping race, so loud that for a moment she had almost believed a miniature horse had made its home in her chest and was clomping about excitedly.

The sweat dried on her skin, leaving her cool and wide-awake, laying upon her grand bed in nothing but a nightgown. The birds outside hadn't ceased their chirping. They sang as they hunted for stray worms. A light rain last night had pitter-pattered at her window, so there was bound to be plenty of the slimy creatures writhing around the damp grass.

At any moment, Mabel told herself, her maid, Lettice, would come knocking on her door as she did every morning, asking if she was up and about before opening the door and helping her ready herself for the day.

But until that happened, she was content to stretch the remnants of sleep from her limbs, eyes closed as she wiggled her toes loose. One last yawn escaped her lips as she stretched her back, earning several muffled pops from her stiff joints. Her weak and rubbery muscles told her she had been sleeping deeply until her horrid nightmare had woken her.

Mabel sat up and carefully swung her legs over the side of her bed, content to sit and wait.

And, just on cue, there came a sharp knock on her door, followed quickly by Lettice's voice.

"Miss, are you awake in there?"

"Yes! As always, Lettice," she called back with an absent-minded smile.

From outside, there was a muffled scratching at the floor, followed by a muted voice and several anxious sounding whimpers. Lettice's strained voice spoke up a moment later.

"Very good, because I'm afraid Royce may very well turn himself inside out if he's kept from you a moment longer!"

She heard the sound of the door opening, and no more than a second after there was a slight scuffle, the sound of Lettice's surprised "oof!" as she no doubt was bowled over by an eager 'Royce,' and a deep, resounding bark. Mabel was quick to open her arms as a large dog bounded up onto her lap, knocked her backward with his hefty weight, and pinned her to the bed. A pleasantly rough, wet tongue set about licking her face, while the dog sat his full weight on her.

The dog's tail was thumping happily. "Royce, I'm happy to see you too, but I'm afraid you'll have to get off!" she laughed slightly, jostling the dog, while attempting to wrestle him off as he continued to lick her face excitedly.

In the background, Lettice was clicking her tongue, hands on her hips, observing the picture the two made.

"Ooh, miss, you better get a better reign over that dog of yours! You know how much your mama don't like him bouncing about the house like he's been doing, not to mention attacking you in your bed!" she groused, only half-angry, for she knew the story that came with the large mutt.

And a mutt he was. Much of the Browning household remembered the day that Mabel (hardly past twentieth year) had gone missing during an outing to the local market in Port Royal's bustling centre. Newly liberated, she had wandered off to the docks without the company of her maids. She and had been drawn to a fisherman's net because of the strange noises that were coming from it. It had been an animal, and she'd convinced the elderly fisherman to haul the net up (or so she had said). Mabel had made her way back to the market several hours later sporting a smile as well as a small, scruffy puppy with floppy ears and a matted, fish-stinking coat. They'd barely managed to distinguish his brown fur from the thick mud caked in it. He resembled more of a drowned rat than a dog, but no one had the heart to tell Mabel that, for she was simply enthralled with the animal.

Many had been amazed that she had even made it home after spending a day down at the docks, knowing the folk that hung around there, and were even more shocked when she came with her new pet. Royce, she had named him lovingly.

Eleanor, Mabel's mother, had been terrified she'd lost her eldest daughter, and the girl's story, while impressing her two younger siblings, merely sent the Lady into a rage.

She'd been confined to the house for a whole week for her recklessness.

But the dog had stayed.

And grown.

And the result was a two and a half foot monster with the bark like a thunderclap, legs of a horse, and teeth of a shark, not to mention an inane habit of drooling all over Lady Browning's finest furniture. All in all though, the brown bundle of fur and feet had a rather kind heart and only became hostile towards tall men—ones with dark hair in particular. The ladies didn't seem to bother him.

Rolling her eyes at the woman and her dog, Lettice bustled around to open the windows, letting in fresh air and sunlight into the stuffy, dark room.

Mabel, having finally wrestled Royce to the floor, where he sat with his tail thumping from side to side, sighed happily upon smelling the fresh morning air.

"Thank you, Lettice, it was getting rather warm in here," she said, and she carefully reached out to stroke Royce's head. His normally soft fur was damp, as well as his nose. Frowning, she inquired, "I thought he smelt a bit funny. Has he fallen into the pond again?"

The young maid sighed, shaking her head. "If fell is what you want to call it, miss, but I rather prefer the term jump. Old Royce has gone after those darn birds again, and I rebuke! He is not a cat!" she cried, and shooed the woman from her bed, pulling the sheets and covers back into place. "The well water is going to be muddy for a week, I suspect!"

Smiling, Mabel relinquished her bed to the maid. Her feet hitting the cool floor was a bit of a shock, but she made her way over to the dressing screen nonetheless. Royce, by the sound of his short claws tapping against the wooden floor, was following her, panting as if he'd run a thousand leagues to get to her. And she didn't doubt that he would she thought to herself with barely contained smirk of mirth.

She could hear Lettice fumbling around in her wardrobe, having finished with the bed, muttering to herself over her search for a dress for the day. Mabel slipped her nightgown over her head just as the maid came back, dress and undergarments in hand.

"Get! Get!" Lettice nudged the dog away and set about aiding Mabel dress, who was chuckling silently to herself over the woman's antics.

"Blue, miss. I was thinking of this nice light blue dress for today. You've nothing special planned, have you?"

Mabel smiled to herself. "I had a walk planned for later today, actually. Mother has no clue, so I'd rather appreciate this information not reaching her. You know how she doesn't want me out along the paths, but daresay Royce needs his daily romps about lest he get fat!" she grinned.

Sighing in resignation, Lettice abandoned the corset she had been holding. There was simply no way to deter Mabel once she had it in her head to do something, even when it wasn't the brightest of things.

"Very well, miss, but just don't let Ruth catch you going out or the whole household'll be up in a riot!" she told her seriously.

"I daresay she won't!" Mabel replied convincingly, but a telltale smile ruined the effect.

The maid gave the laces of the undergarment a sound jerk in a silent warning.

"I'll fetch you the green dress, then."

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Jack Sparrow sighed wistfully, sitting upon a large rock protruding from the beach's sand, as he stared on at the wreckage that had once been his pride and joy. The Black Pearl was nearly no more. Her rudder was loose; her hull was near cracked in two, sporting large holes and gashes in the dark wood. Her proud black sails were ripped and torn, fluttering limply in the warm late-afternoon breeze. She was a mess, the rigging the only thing that seemed to hold her together in one piece and kept the masts from toppling over.

An unusual spout of bad luck had ended here, on a sheltered cove not far from Port Royal itself. Near against his will, he had been forced to drop anchor so close to the Royal Navy's base and his dear friend the Commodore (one of whose ships had attempted to apprehend him no later than a day before).

The large, dark ship bobbed tiredly in the shallow waters. The crew had managed to haul her up the beach and further out of sight, although Jack still felt wary.

Repairs had begun already, his men scouring the forest for suitable timber to replace the broken ones, saws steady at work.

He watched all this with a careful eye, mulling over the series of events that had landed him here on this particular day.

It had been several months ago when he'd gotten wind of a map, held by a man—a pirate, he'd never heard of. Hugh Vanderveer, a Dutch sailor by the sounds of him, had appeared from the fog of anonymity with a spectacular ship, the Hellstorm Saint (stolen from the Dutch navy, he'd boasted), and a map he said led to a great treasure. One rumoured to be hidden in the Caribbean.

Jack normally wouldn't have paid much attention to the man and his stories if word of his map hadn't spread through Tortuga like a wildfire in August. Hugh Vanderveer was all over the Tortuga bars boasting about this map of his. He'd said that once he had his ship properly supplied, he'd be the one to find the treasure, and he would be the richest man in the Caribbean.

And there had suddenly been no room for Captain Jack Sparrow's outlandish tales in the taverns. Everyone seemed to be flocking for Vanderveer.

So, Jack had stolen it. He'd stolen the bloody map from right under the man's nose. Because that's what pirate's did, steal.

Although, Jack hadn't counted on Vanderveer's temper…or his ship. He was chagrined to admit it, but it was fast. It was a fine ship, graceful and sleek, but captained by the wrong man. Every ship had a captain that was made for her. He had the Black Pearl, and Vanderveer wasn't the Hellstorm Saint's best pick.

As it went, the Black Pearl had been ambushed not a day from Tortuga. A squall had arisen without notice, and as the rain had tapered, a fog had settled around the ship. They hadn't been far from the Jamaican coastline when the Hellstorm Saint had come bursting through the fog like the devil's ship itself, and started firing without warning.

Of course, Jack wouldn't have expected any less, what with stealing the man's most prized possession and all…

But, the Pearl had sustained terrible damage, and Jack knew he was outgunned and outsmarted (though he'd never admit it!). There had been no other choice but to flee, and flee they did, even while limping horribly.

As luck would have it, or wouldn't have it, (it all depended on how one looked at things, of course) both pirate ships suddenly and unexpectedly stumbled upon a navy vessel. The HMS Intrepid, sister ship to the late and departed Interceptor. It was safe to say all three Captains of all three ships were equally surprised at this turn of events, but Jack had been the only one to turn it to his advantage.

He'd always been a master of swift and sneaky getaways, and he had known that then had been his only chance for escape.

So, as the Hellstorm Saint opened fire upon the navy vessel, clearly not pleased with having its hunt interrupted, the Black Pearl had made a quick exit and vanished into the fog, as Jack was so well at doing.

All was done and well, he'd escaped alive with few casualties, and the Hellstorm Saint and Intrepid proceeded to blast the bejesus out of each other with their cannons all the while.

That was, in essence, the story of how Captain Jack Sparrow once again found himself stranded in Jamaica, too near Port Royal for his liking, and with a ship that could hardly float herself, no less her crew!

Things couldn't possibly become worse.

He stood abruptly, swaying slightly with the firm ground beneath his boots. It was that bloody solid earth. It was safe to say Jack would never become accustomed to traipsing about on land.

However, there were things that needed to be done before he would allow himself to sleep peacefully that night. With one last glance at the sea's horizon, he noted the dying sun and set off towards his men. There was other work still to be finished.

Jack found Anamaria at the head of a party of crewmembers who looked to be in the midst of butchering a tree in preparation for use. They'd managed to gather all the available wood from onboard the Pearland around the small cove, and the whole crew was busy with repairs. Thankfully, the carpenter, Bernard, hadn't been injured during the battle that morning. Those who had fallen were recovering already, as John, the resident physician and healer, had managed to salvage a good deal of his supplies. Three lives had been lost, and they'd been put to rest that afternoon.

"Anamaria!" Jack barked, earning a start from the woman, who had been so busy shouting her own orders that she hadn't noticed him.

Whirling about, she sent a glare at her Captain. "Aye, what is it?"

"I'm organizing a scouting party of sorts. You wouldn't mind if I borrowed Master Peter for the rest of the day?" he asked pleasantly.

The man in question, looking no older than twenty years, thin and gangly as a string bean, halted from his work in sawing. Ears perked and eyes bright, he stared at Jack and Anamaria, expectant.

The mulatto woman sent the boy a stern look before nodding. "Fine. I suppose you'll need some young ears to make up for your own, eh?" she mused dryly, and turned away before Jack could respond, already belting out orders and encouraging the men to work faster.

"Marss, get 'way from that bloody saw before ya cut your hand off!"

Several minutes later, Jack had plucked two more men from their duties and told Gibbs to keep several watches around the perimeter of the camp. Again, their safe haven was too near Fort Charles for Jack's liking, which was exactly why he had decided to get a lay of the land. As far as he knew, there were no landowners so far from Port Royal's centre, but it was better to be sure.

Luke, a handsome black man with skin as dark as night and short curly hair streaked with aging white had been Jack's second pick. He'd only joined the Pearl's crew four months before, but Jack had known him for years in Tortuga. He was trustworthy and clever, a good combination.

And, just for appearances, a towering man named Henry, dark haired muscled (if not expanding in the waist area the slightest) was chosen. Jack figured he wasn't the most intelligent of men, but he was damn good with a musketoon and had been shot twelve times and managed to live, if that was any bonus.

Jack addressed the men seriously. "Now, its near dusk so I doubt anyone will be wandering about, and this seems like thick forest to me, but I want all of you to keep an eye out for anything unusual."

"Like footprints?" Peter piped up.

"Aye, footprints," Jack nodded. "As well, look for smoke. There could be houses nearby, and in that case, we don't to be seen."

"Aye," chorused the three.

Jack grinned. "Very good. Hopefully we'll be back before supper if all goes well," he said, and turned swiftly, headed for the woods. One last thing occurred to him, though, and he stopped just as quickly, turning sharply with a finger raised. "And, by chance, if we stumble upon some poor individual…please don't immediately start firing your weapons and hooting like madmen. It gives us all a bad reputation."