A/N: So sorry for such the long delay; no, I haven't given up on this story, in case you were wondering. I've just been extremely busy lately and I haven't had much time to write. Well, I finally got the chance to do so; I would have had this up earlier, but I saw "Ghost Rider" recently, really liked it, and developed sort of a two-part sequel to write, that is, once I've completed this saga. That took up some time I may have devoted to ths, but anyhow, here's the next chapter.
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Chapter 2
Candles flickered, lighting the confined space of the quarters of the Black Pearl that was used to treat any serious injuries. The wounded stranger had been brought in here and he was currently lying upon a wooden table covered with a white sheet and had a pillow resting at the end of its left side, propping the man's head up slightly. His shirt had been ripped completely off, revealing large black bruises and deep bloody gashes, some with splintered pieces of wood jutting out from them, all over his chest and back. Crewmates were busy tenderly wiping away the blood that had dripped from the source of each wound, making sure not to accidentally rub against the gashes themselves.
As a crewmate began to gently dab at the man's forehead, the victim groggily coughed, a thin line of blood oozing out from the side of his mouth. The man then slowly opened his eyes and blankly gazed up into each crew member's face.
"Where...where am I?" he coughed out in a voice laced with pain.
"The Black Pearl," came a voice from the doorway. The people obstructing the man's view of the location immediately parted, allowing the sight of Captain Jack Sparrow to invade the man's eyes.
"Jack...Sparrow," the man breathed weakly.
"Actually, it's Captain Jack Sparrow. But who's complaining?" Jack cautiously stepped forward, as if fearful that this stranger would lash out any moment, despite his condition. "Now, might I inquire as to how you came to be floating all by your lonesome out in the middle of the sea?"
It took a moment for the man to fully comprehend Jack's words. All of a sudden, the man grabbed a piece of wood lodged in his side and pulled it out with one quick movement. After that, he sucked in air painfully.
"Better?" Jack asked plainly.
"Yes," the man said through gritted teeth. He then idly tossed the blood-stained wooden stick away, the piece clanging loudly with the floor. Jack took the opportunity to come closer to the man's side.
"Do you remember what happened to your ship before it was destroyed, I'm guessing?"
As the man held a cloth up to the open wound, he let his forehead fall into his open palm as he concentrated hard, trying to remember.
"I'm not sure. It's all a blur, really." He was visibly struggling to provide an answer, carefully probing his mind. Finally, he lifted his head back up. "The last thing I remember is some tremendous force overpowering me and my crew." He paused. "It might have been a tidal wave. I just remember all this water..."
Jack looked curious. "A tidal wave? Hmm, that's highly irregular to come across, especially out in open water."
"We weren't in open water," the man grunted. "At least, not ordinary water."
"Explain 'ordinary'."
The man glanced toward Jack and then motioned with his eyes down at the crumpled heap that was his jacket and shirt, still wet from the cold ocean.
"I think it'd be best if I let the papers in my clothes explain what I'm trying to say."
Jack walked over to the dripping pieces of clothing, scooped them up, and began searching every pocket or opening he came across. When he came to the last one, his fingers brushed up against something damp and crumpled. Jack pulled whatever it was out; two pieces of parchment that had been torn from their original size. Next, Jack carefully unfolded the two pieces until traces of slightly blotted ink were visible. Jack was able to make out the words on the first sheet, and confusion mixed with shock soon invaded his senses.
On the first damp piece of paper were two words, slightly obscured by the water that had washed over them and separated by a single comma. They were both in capital letters:
"AMULET, ATLANTIS."
Jack just stood there, feet rooted to the floor, reading the two words over and over again. He knew that this was not just a crazy coincidence, this was some sort of ill-timed fate. It now appeared that Jack wasn't the only person after the amulet.
Jack looked to Gibbs, who was in turn staring at Jack with an expression of unwavering interest, eager to learn what was on the paper.
"Mr. Gibbs," Jack summoned him over, "a word, if you please?"
"Of course, Cap'n." Gibbs came up to Jack's side. Without saying a word, Jack thrust the parchment in Gibbs' face. As Gibbs read the two words, his expression turned stony. Gibbs let his mouth hang agape for a moment before clearing his throat in an attempt to form a coherent response.
"This couldn't be some type of strange coincidence," he said.
"I agree," Jack nodded. "So, I'm curious as to the origin of our little carbuncler." He furtively looked over his shoulder at the drifter, who was currently occupying himself by taking in his surroundings; he appeared somewhat uneasy.
Gibbs indicated the second slip of paper under the first with the roughly scrawled words. "Maybe that other piece of parchment there can clue us in further on this man's identity and motives for uncovering the amulet?"
Jack eyed his first mate in his usual penetratingly curious fashion. After a few seconds, he nodded, sliding back the top slip and revealing the second. What was printed on the second slip of paper caught both Jack and Gibbs completely off-guard. There was an image imprinted in dark, flawless ink and under it were four words that Jack had come to loathe over his countless years as a pirate: East India Trading Company.
Immediately, Jack balled both pieces of paper into one ball and chucked it at the Trading Company agent's head. He looked at Jack.
"You've been in my presence for a few minutes, now, and yet you haven't done your duty of attempting to arrest me?"
"I'm sorry?"
"I saw you're papers. You're an agent of the East India Trading , and I'm one of you're most wanted fugitives. Seems a bit odd."
It took only a moment for realization to dawn upon the sailor. "Oh," was all he managed to get out at first. "You think I'm an agent of the East India Trading Company."
"Took the words right out of my mouth."
The man nodded. "Well, you see, I'm merely a privateer under the employ of the East India Company. A few days ago, an agent of theirs approached me in a tavern, placed a sack of gold in front of me, and...," he groaned painfully, "...told me this wild story of some...amulet with mystical powers. He said that if I were to find it, my crew and I would be rewarded beyond our wildest dreams."
"And you believed him? You actually trusted the word of an East India Company agent?"
The man nodded uncomfortably. "What else could I say?"
Jack contorted his face in agreement as Gibbs spoke up. "How was it that this stranger knew of the amulet?"
"He claimed that ever since some incident involving an object known as something like the...Dead Man's Chest ended in failure, the East India Trading Company has been looking back into history, if you will, in order to find ancient artifacts that would ensure complete control over the seven seas."
Gibbs faced Jack, giving him a dark look. "It seems the East India Company is relentless in their pursuit ta' gain power over the seas."
"Since it seems that piracy is slowly coming to an end, it does make sense that the East India Company would try to use that to their advantage. With the amulet in their possession, their dream of complete dominance would be realized much more quickly. And trust me, that is still a truly disquieting notion, mate."
"So, we have ta' find the amulet before the East India Trading Company does."
"Indeed. And we'll need all the help we can get."
Gibbs glanced curiously into Jack's eyes. "What exactly do you mean by that?"
"Since the East India Company has ships out there, just waiting for a pirate ship to blow out of the water, it'll be a considerable advantage to have someone like, say...the heir to the governor's 'throne' with us to get us past those security checkpoints."
"Somehow I think the Turners being in the company of Captain Jack Sparrow will convince them otherwise."
"Are you trying to be a hindrance?" Jack asked, giving Gibbs an annoyed expression. "Because let me tell you, it's rather perturbing. Honestly, ninny!"
"Also, I don't think it'll be quite that easy trying to get Will and Elizabeth, in addition to their son, to join us on our little 'mission'."
"Who said anything about them coming along willingly?"
"Jack," said Gibbs seriously, "tha's kidnappin'!"
Jack spread his arms defensively. "I'm a pirate, kidnapping is part of what we do."
"The Governor will surely send an entire fleet after us!"
Jack shook his head. "Such a pessimist. Once Will and Liz see the light, they won't be able to refuse."
"What 'light' are you referring to?"
"What are you talking about?" Jack mocked him with a devilish expression.
After a few moments of dead silence, Gibbs finally spoke up. "What do we do with the drifter?"
Both Jack and Gibbs turned simultaneously turned to face the person in question, only to make a grim realization. That realization being that the sailor was lying back down, the bloody wound on his flesh larger and wetter; he had bled to death out of his wound. His face seemed almost peaceful, as if this was the thing he was destined to do before he died.
"Nothing," Jack answered in a monotonous tone, "the stupid bloke's dead." He faced Gibbs once more. "Set sail for Port Royal immediately. We need to find the amulet before it takes the lives of every single pirate currently sailing the seas."
"Aye," said Gibbs, but rather begrudgingly.
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Many leagues away, another huge ship sailed soundlessly on top of the calm ocean. At the mast, the captain of the vessel gripped different wooden handles of the wheel, his eyes darting furiously in every which-way, the silence like that of those in nightmares. Every gust of wind, every splash of water against the keel seem amplified ten times in the captain's ears, making him jump slightly. There was something about tonight that the captain instinctively knew was wrong, yet he couldn't quite place his finger on it. However, within seconds, the captain would have his fears confirmed.
Out of an ominous haze of thick fog behind the ship, another, more ghastly vessel appeared. Cannons protruded from the ship's sides, signaling quite clearly what its intentions were. At the helm of this particular ship, a pale-white, ghastly looking man with sickening scars on every inch of visible flesh stared unblinkingly ahead, violence raging in his malicious eye. This figure was the ruthless Henry Morgan, legendary pirate with a thirst for blood. He was adorned in black and red captains' clothes and fear-inducing weapons stuffed into his massive belt. Over his left eye was a black patch, and the few people who were able to discover what exactly lay beneath that eye-patch never lived to tell the tale.
Morgan was rather muscular, his biceps bulging from his garments. These were the result of continuous work-outs and exercises designed to build a figure exactly like Morgan's.
As if in slow motion, Morgan raised his gloved hand and brought it down again, his fingers all pointing towards the ship ahead. Mystically, Morgan's vessel turned so that its right side was facing ahead, and the cannons fired with ear-splitting BANGS. The heavy balls decimated the other vessel to shards within seconds, surely leaving no survivors. In the moonlight, the remains of the ship slowly sank down into the depths of the ocean in an almost poetic way.