The following morning, I awoke feeling better than I had in months. I looked to my left and found Dalma still curled against me. She was wrapped under a thin blanket that gripped her slender curves beautifully. I dipped my head to kiss her cheek and she woke at my touch.

"Ah, Jack. Good mornin'," she said, sleepily.

"A good morning indeed, love," I bent to kiss her mouth and she pushed me away.

"No, Jack, we must talk," she said, sitting up and holding the sheet over her.

I frowned. Nothing good ever came of talking, and I told her as much. She laughed at me.

"No, Jack, don't worry now," she began, tracing my jawline with her long index finger. I shivered at her touch. While her mother's caress made me feel warm and calm, Dalma's sizzled against my skin and it sent jolts to the pit of my stomach and points south. I grasped her hand and stroked her fingers as she spoke.

"You have much sadness about you," she began.

I looked down at her small hand in my large one and grinned, "No, my pet, I am the happiest man who ever sailed these seas," I remarked. When I looked back into her eyes, I knew she couldn't be fooled. She took her hand from my grasp and laid it over my heart.

"Your heart does not lie," she said. I looked down at her hand again, my grin faded. My pulse seemed to echo through the hut, beating a tattoo of secrets, memories, and failures.

I grinned boldly up at Dalma, then. "You can help with that, love," I started, reaching to kiss her long, smooth throat. She pushed me back and stood, fully nude and glorious. My eyes devoured every bit of the fine mocha flesh I couldn't see in the shadows the night before. But I didn't have long to look, for she quickly donned her gown and left me. I heard her in the larger space beyond her little nest, rummaging around and muttering.

Finally, she returned to me just as I'd pulled on my breeches. She pulled me back down into her makeshift bed and held out her hand to me. She held perhaps a dozen beads and baubles there. She held them to her lips and blew on them before dumping them into my hand.

I looked down at the colorful baubles, confused and rather disappointed, "Beads?" I asked.

"Yes, Jack. Beads," Dalma replied, proudly. I arched my eyebrows at her and she huffed at me, "Well, dey are not jus' beads, you see. Dey are Remembrances."

"Oh, Remembrances. That, uh, makes a difference then," I answered, looking more closely at them. They still looked like beads to me.

"Dey can hold your memories, Jack!" Dalma said sharply, thoroughly incensed that I didn't understand her gift. "You hold one and call to mind a clear memory. The Remembrance will take dat memory from your mind, clean it up, and you can have it anytime you wish, just as it happened."

I plucked a red, shiny glass bead from the bunch and peered at it. I thought of the previous night, and how Dalma had felt beneath me. The bead glowed for a moment, then replayed exactly the scene I had been thinking of in my mind. It was glorious. "Well, what do you know, it works!"

Dalma shook her head at me, "Well, of course it works! And don't you waste dem on me Jack! No, you have many more memories that need polishin' up and held on to for safekeepin'."

I nodded at her, "Well, Dalma, I'd like to keep one of you for all time," I grinned at her again and she blushed. The effect was striking and I leaned forward to kiss her again. She accepted this time, but when I tried to lay her back against the blankets, she fended me off.

"No, Jack, as much as it would please me, you mus' go wit' Cap'n Kensington now," she remarks, looked a little sad. I frowned again, but stood anyway. I offered her my hand and we went to the main part of the hut.

As if on cue, a knock came from beneath the floor and Kensington's crisp voice, "Jack, are you ready yet?"

"I'm coming, Captain," I replied. I looked at Dalma. I brought her fine hand to my lips again, "We will see one another soon, love."

"Not too soon, Jack Sparrow. But, you'll be back," she answered with a warm smile. I turned to leave, but she stayed me a moment more. "Jack, be careful. De Elixir you had last night, bot' in liquid and in da physical sense, it can make you reckless and forgetful. Don't go forgettin' your friend at de bottom of de sea."

"Who?" I asked. I was honestly confused.

Dalma shook her head. "You'll remember wit' time, Jack. An' when you do, be sure to make a Remembrance for him."

I smiled back at her, a little bewildered by who she meant was at the bottom of the sea, but then, much of what Dalma said confused me. Cary was utterly lost to me at that moment. Even later, when Kensington asked me what happened in the mermaid's lair, I didn't remember.

But, Dalma was right. I did remember with time. And the guilt was terrible. But, I hid it well from the crew. They welcomed me back with open arms that first day. I had a new confidence about me, and a few droughts of rum had me confiding in them what they'd already suspected. I was no longer an innocent. That earned me a few pats on the back and lot more rum.

She was right about another thing, as well. I became very reckless. The next two years sped by in a swirl of honest pirating, dishonest trading, and all around debauchery. I seemed unstoppable at the gaming tables at port, and I never went to bed sober or alone. On board the Atropos, I was mostly drunk, but still a good sailor. The crew thought my new confidence was a result of sharing Dalma's bed, but I knew it just stopped me from ruminating on Cary.

The Remembrance beads also helped me come to terms with my guilt. The night I arrived back on the ship, I thought long and hard. One memory that always soothed me was that of my mother's beautiful contralto voice when she practiced in the garret. I put that one in a golden bead. Another was the memory of first setting foot on the Atropos. That went into a long wooden bead. I put them in my hair so that I wouldn't lose them. Whenever I touched them, I felt calm. Over the years, I added more beads and more memories from my childhood. I even cut a hole in the coin Kensington had given me for luck and fastened that into my locks among the beads.

The crew teased me about my increasingly eccentric appearance, but I didn't care. They respected me because I was becoming an excellent pirate. Bailley even speculated one evening that Kensington would probably name me his heir to the Atropos when he decided to retire. I had been counting on it silently from the moment I'd met Kensington, but I never told any of the crew.

One night, all that changed.

We were at port on the green island of Montserrat. It was a beautiful place, but there weren't many placed that welcomed pirates. However, Kensington was warily respected by a few of the local merchants there, and we came to sell the plunder we'd taken from a merchant ship bound from the Colonies. After we'd sold the spices for a very elevated price (almost 200 pounds for one cask of rosemary! And almost twice that for the pepper and cloves! The islanders must have really liked to season their dishes!) and the Captain had returned to the ship, I found myself in the only tavern and brothel the small town had to offer called the Red Jill.

The crew spread out amongst the ruckus inside and I found myself at a gaming table. The game played was a dice game called Twelve Man. The object was to roll the two dice three times to get as close to thirty six as one could. Whichever player had the highest number of points won. If a player rolled a twelve, he automatically won, no matter how many times he'd rolled or how many points he had. If he rolled a four, he automatically lost. I was very good at this game, even though it was based on luck. I seemed to have an endless amount of that, anyway.

I was on a winning streak and had a whole stack of various coins from various countries stacked in front of me. I didn't even recognize some of the words or emblems, but I knew they all spent the same. I was planning on finding myself the best girl in the place for my night's lodging. I was already pretty deep into my bottle of rum by the time a scraggly-looking old man ran into the tavern and began shouting about some ship emerging from beneath the water. My mates and I laughed, but a hushed calm had fallen over the rest of the revelers.

I looked at the man seated to my left. He was a brawny looking chap who sported not a few scars on his face. He was as white as sheet. "What's all this about, then?" I asked.

"The Flying Dutchman, mate," he said somberly before crossing himself. The other players at the table followed suit. As did the rest of the people in the tavern, even the whores. I laughed again.

"A fairy tale, gents! Come on, on with the game, then!" I said, taking up my dice and shaking them. Scarface stared at me, his eyes fearful.

"S'not a tale, mate. Say, what's the date today?"

"I don't know," I remarked. I hadn't been doing a very good job of keeping a date book recently, so I had to do some quick mental calculations, "It had ought to be somewhere in about mid-April in about, oh, I don't know... 1704?"

My fellow table-mates gasped in unison. I glanced around, thinking it was time to leave as everyone had suddenly gone mad at once. I locked eyes with Cotton and nodded towards the door. He looked just as stunned as everyone else.

Then he rose from his chair and looked at me. In the silence, he spoke, "This be one tale I never got to the end of, Jack. It seems that every ten years, Davy Jones comes to the surface and can come to land."

"Davy Jones? Oh, Cotton, you and Bailley used to fool me with your stories when I was green, but I don't believe them anymore," I remarked. However, my assured grin had left my face, and my stomach had begun to feel a little sick. We weren't on the ship, and every face in the bar spoke of their belief in Davy Jones. Then, Cotton spoke again. Well, sang is more accurate.

"One year in ten,

Those what end in four,

The Dutchman can ascend

And come to light from the ocean floor.

Only in this year

Can her Captain come to land.

All sailors shall fear

His wicked gaze and terrible hand.

Beware Davy Jones' Locker.

Beware the temptation of life everlast

For the man who would be his mocker

Shall serve eternally before the mast!"

At the end of the song, the tavern door banged open again. There, outlined in the low light from the street lamps, stood a hulking man. At least, he looked like a man until he came into the light. His face looked slimy and he had a beard of tentacles. From beneath his octopus-like visage, peered two very intelligent, keen eyes. He was dressed much like me, in a tri-corn and coat, but he had one lobster claw as his left hand and his right leg looked like it belonged to a crab. His other hand was a tentacle wrapped around a walking stick. His coat was encrusted with barnacles and coral polyps, and he held a pipe between his teeth. I supposed he had teeth.

He pulled his pipe from his lips (at least, I guess you could call them lips) and cackled, "I see you've heard of me!" Davy Jones roared with laughter and it was echoed by the unsightly crew behind him.

"Oh, bugger," was all that escaped my lips.