Chapter 3: The Captain's Daughter

As usual, the tavern The Captain's Daughter was raucous with evening debauchery. It was a haven for those who made a living relieving the rich of their riches, either by land or by sea. If there was a place in London where she would hear news of Jack, this was it.

There was music and drinking and laughter, a din that fell upon Elizabeth with the strange sense of returning home. Though she recognized no familiar faces, she felt she knew these men and women. She considered them her own, even if perhaps the same feeling would not be reciprocated in kind.

She ordered a tankard and hunkered down in a dark corner, watching the goings by with her tricorn hat pulled low over her eyes. Like a stone she sat, hoping for a glimpse of long dreds kissed golden by the sun, or a flash of kohl-darkened eyes.

No such luck.

A man played the mandola, singing a sailor's tune of a lass who loved a sailor. It was usually a melancholy shanty of longing, a woman left ashore by her sea-faring lover, but the man somehow managed to transform it into a fast and joyful tune.

Still, the words struck Elizabeth as flung knives, all too close to home.

After a while a sailor emerged from the back room with a happy shout of, "Lads, I'm sailin' with Sparrow! Who'll buy a sailor a drink?"

Elizabeth's spine straightened like a rod, as though she'd been struck by a lightning bolt.

Jack was here?

Her long legs carried her of their own accord, making her way through weaving drunkards and stepping over a sailor sprawled passed out on the dirty floor. No one made to stop her progress, the man at the door assuming she too wished an audience with the legendary Captain Jack Sparrow. Trembling with excitement, she pushed at the portal, revealing a dimly lit store room. A barbecue pit smoldered in the center of the room, lending a hellish glow to the massive barrels of wine and hogsheads of rum.

A silhouette appeared on the far side of the room, hands on hips.

For a moment she could not breathe, so enchanted was she by the sight of that jaunty tricorn and mass of wild dark hair.

Yet as she looked closer her elation quickly passed, her heart plummeting like a stone.

She realized it was but a vague facsimile of that rogue she knew so well. A tall figure in the appropriate garb, yet still, too short, too slender.

Not Jack in the least.

Immediately Elizabeth's heart fell with disappointment.

"What's your name, sailor?" asked the shadow gruffly. The inquiry pulled a smile from Elizabeth's lips, but not a nice one.

"I might ask you the same," she replied coolly, the sound of her sword freeing from its scabbard ringing clear as a threat through the room. "For it certainly is not Jack Sparrow."

For a moment the dark figure froze, clearly taken aback.

Had this fool really met with sailors all night, taking names for the roster, and not a one the wiser?

Elizabeth advanced, her sword pointed towards this imposter.

Quickly, the shade drew its own sword, backpedaling around the fire pit.

"I asked you a question." Gone was her trepidation, Elizabeth so incensed that someone would attempt to copy Jack, and so badly.

"I am Jack Sparrow," insisted the shade. "Who the bloody hell are you?"

Cutting off the imposter's retreat, Elizabeth lowered herself into an opening stance, her honey-colored eyes sparking in the firelight. "Me? I'm the Pirate King."

"Like hell."

"You should know. You elected me, Jack."

For a moment Elizabeth beheld the imposter's expression: panic.

Elizabeth toyed with the shadow like a cat with a mouse, cutting off his every attempt at making for the door. There was something odd about his voice.

Then Elizabeth realized that he was actually most likely a she.

What the devil was going on?

"Remove your hat."

"Bugger off!" Swords clanged, and with teeth bared in a snarl Elizabeth happily engaged. The familiar fire of battle surged in her blood, a happy madness she embraced all too readily. Her opponent was not bad, though she lacked the grace of a traditionally tutored fencer. She was tricky though, and attempted to trip Elizabeth several times with ropes and small barrels, and even tried to burn Elizabeth with a poker from the fire, in a way that very much reminded Elizabeth of Jack.

Had Elizabeth not been so familiar with that pirate's methods it may have worked.

With a well-aimed swipe Elizabeth knocked the tricorn from her opponent's head, the leather hat skewered upon her blade then flung across the room. It revealed a pretty face, fine boned, a woman probably of Latin heritage. The lower half was obscured by an absurd false beard.

"Your costume is ridiculous," Elizabeth taunted with venom. "How has anyone actually fallen for this?"

"Everyone fell for it until now," her opponent insisted haughtily, her voice now heavy with a Spanish accent.

"Show me your face."

"Vete al diablo," the fake Jack hotly replied.

"You can take it off, or I will cut it off. Choice is yours." Elizabeth found she was so angry for having been cheated of the true Jack that she almost meant it, rejoicing in the idea of spilling a little blood in the name of vengeance.

The duel raged on.

Both women were so caught up in the battle, enthusiastically exchanging insults and blows, that neither noticed a newcomer to the storeroom: a man who watched amusedly with eyes lined dark with kohl.