"Come on!" The bearded pirate growls as we approach the bay. A rowboat is waiting for us. The pirates push me in and then pile in after me. Two pirates pick up the oars and begin rowing towards the black pirate ship. I'm running out of options. If Will understood what was happening to me, in the brief moment he saw me, maybe he had had enough sense to run for the Commodore.

The rowboat approaches the side of the ship. I stare up at its ragged, black sails. It's a ghostly, mysterious ship; one that sends shivers down my back. A dark, wooden figurehead heads the front of the ship. It's a woman. This can't be . . . the Black Pearl? I remember reading about it. If this is that ship, it will inflict merciless destruction upon my home. There must be a way I can negotiate for the pirates to leave Port Royal alone. Surely they will not consent easily. I must be able to give something in return. I finger the medallion around my neck.

The pirates suddenly set down their oars and begin to board the ship. As I climb up, I notice a figure standing above the stairs, the silhouette of a tall man with a large hat, standing resolute at the helm. A monkey swings onto his shoulder.

I swing over the rail onto the deck of the ship. A tall, bald pirate, with dark skin and small jewels around his eyes and neck, stands in front of me. When he speaks, I stare at his chipped teeth.

"I didn't know we was takin' on captives," he says to the pirates who hold me.

"She's invoked the right of parley with Cap'n Barbossa," one of them replies.

Breaking free of the pirates' grasps, I start to walk towards the tall pirate who likely is first mate.

"I am here to negotia—"

My cheek burns. I gasp. I've never been slapped before.

"You will speak when spoken to," the first mate snarls. Suddenly someone grabs my offender's still-raised wrist. It's the figure from the helm.

"And ye not lay a hand on those under the protection of parley," the pirate says. He has horrid scars across his bearded face, his skin rough and coarse like the wood of his ship. His eyes are tainted yellow. Surely, this can be none other than the dreaded pirate captain himself.

"Aye, sir," says the first mate, pulling his wrist away.

"My apologies, miss," the captain says, turning to me.

"Captain Barbossa," I say determinedly, "I am here to negotiate the cessation of hostilities against Port Royal."

"There are a lot of long words in there, miss; we're naught but humble pirates," he chuckles. "What is it that you want?"

"I want you to leave and never come back," I reply with as much venom as I can manage. The crew laughs.

"I'm disinclined to acquiesce your request," he replies. I stare at him. "Means no."

Fine. Have it your way.

"Very well," I say, ripping the medallion from my neck and walking to the side of the ship. "I'll drop it." I dangle the medallion dangerously over the ocean. The crew stirs.

"Me holds are burstin' with swag. That bit of shine matters to us?" Barbossa asks indifferently to his crew. He turns back to me. "Why?"

"It's what you been searching for. I recognized the ship. I saw it eight years ago on the crossing from England!" I say.

"Did 'ja now?" Barbossa indignantly.

He's pretending he cares nothing for the gold, but he's lying. I know he is.

"Fine," I say. "Well, I suppose if it is worthless then there's no point in me keeping it." I let the chain of the necklace lengthen a bit and the medallion inches closer to the depths below.

"No!" Barbossa exclaims and the crew moves in towards me.

I open my mouth in triumph.

This is the same ship I saw eight years ago. The one that almost killed Will. The Black Pearl.

Barbossa regains his composure and steps towards me, chuckling.

"You have a name, missy?"

"Elizabeth . . ." I blurt. Name . . . he can't know who I am! Name . . name, think of a name! "—Turner. I'm a maid in the governor's household."

Barbossa pauses.

"Miss Turner . . ?" He says to the crew, who mumble to each other.

"And how does a maid come to own a trinket such as that? Family heirloom, perhaps?" He asks suspiciously.

"I didn't steal it, if that's what you mean."

"Very well," he holds out his hand, "you hand it over and we'll put your town to our rudder and ne'er return."

I eye him indignantly before handing over the gold. The gold that laid in my bureau for the past eight years. The bargaining chip that would save Port Royal.

Barbossa takes the coin from me and instantaneously hands it to his pet monkey on his shoulder. The monkey gives a hoot and takes the medallion up into the sails. I look back at the Barbossa.

"Our bargain?" I say, fear quickly sinking back into my soul. Barbossa gives a nod to his first mate, who immediately begins to bark orders to the crew. The captain walks away.

"Wait!" I shout, running after him. "You have to take me to shore! According to the code of the brethren—"

"First," Barbossa snaps, rounding on me, "your return to shore was not a part of our negotiations nor our agreement so I must do nothing. And secondly, you must be a pirate for the pirate's code to apply and you're not. And thirdly, the code is more what you call 'guidelines' than actual rules. Welcome aboard the Black Pearl, Miss Turner!"

I back away in horror. I'm grabbed from behind and led me towards the back of the ship, where they thrust me into a cabin. They slam the doors behind me and I hear the click of a lock.

"No!" I yell through the door, but there is no reply. It's no use. I stare at the door in helplessness as my throat burns.

I back away slowly and turn around. I'm in some sort of makeshift lounge. The room is filled with candles, placed on the table bordering the windows as well as the chairs. The floor and furniture are covered in patterned carpets and blankets. I look around for some sort of latch on the windows, but I should have known better. This is the back of the ship. Even if I broke through one of the windows, the only fate that would await me is the dark water below.

I sit down on a chair, back straight, feet together and hands on my lap.

I wait.

Surely they will be coming for me, I think, imagining dreadful thoughts. However, a few minutes pass and I am left undisturbed. Why? Perhaps if I had told them who I really was they would merely hold me for ransom and then let me go. Perhaps I could request an audience with Barbossa.

I'm disinclined to acquiesce your request, a voice repeats in my head. How dare he, I think. We may never have negotiated my returning to shore, but he must have known that was part of his side of the bargain. He went back on his word on purpose.

I suppose this is what it means to be a pirate.

I can't believe I was ever fascinated by piracy! I wish I had nothing to do with it! I wish I was back home in my mansion, in my bed. What did I do to deserve this?

My back begins to ache from my posture. I look around. No one has come for me, and much time has passed. I disregard my habit of correct posture, curling my back and pulling my legs up to my chest. It's not cold in the cabin but I feel cold. And alone. With no way of escape.

Would anyone even notice that I had gone missing amidst the chaos of tonight? Will had seen me. He knows of my capture. Is he the only chance I have of rescue?

Of course Father would notice my disappearance. I hope he is alright. He's mortified when it comes to war, cannonfire, and pirates. His whole life he has carefully avoided getting tangled in bloodshed. I've always suspected that was why he had turned to politics, to protect himself and his family. And now his own daughter was carried away by pirates. He may well be on his deathbed out of fear for me.

I sniff.

No. Father will be fine. He will not forget me. And neither will Commodore. Perhaps that proposal was good for something, I think miserably. Funny how I should think of that while I'm confined here. Perhaps that is how I would feel in a marriage with Commodore. Confined.

I continue to sit and wait for someone to appear, but no one does. Not for the rest of the night. I do not allow myself any sleep, however, so as they don't pounce on me unawares. I must protect myself. I'm all I have.

The night is cold and starless. Clouds cover the sky and I watch the waves to pass the time. They fold over each other and pound against the ship. My eyelids grow heavy now and then, but each time I'm remind of where I am and what is at stake. I refuse to sleep.

At dawn the door opens, but I see only a gnarled, hairy hand shove in a chamber pot. I am, however, grateful. I was wondering if I would have to go in the corner.

Once that need is filled, I immediately feel another take its place. My stomach churns. I have not eaten since the evening before. If I am their captive they should at least feed me. I also feel odd that I'm in this room and not in the brig. I wish I was in the brig. Being in this room, with the candles and the yellow light. It makes me uncomfortable and dazey.

I sit on the table and lay my head against the window, staring through the filthy glass and out at the foaming ocean.

Commodore will find me. Father will not give up. And Will . . . My mind travels to what Estrella said the night before. That Will Turner. He's a fine man too. I push that thought away.

Father has brought me up my whole life to believe in the ways of society. With that comes very specific boundaries. If I were to merely suggest something like that to Father, he might very well drop dead with surprise or (the more likely) shame.

Why am I thinking about this? I wonder. I'm a captive on the Black Pearl, the most fearsome ship in the caribbean. Its crew is like demons and its captain is like the devil himself, so why in heaven's name am I thinking about marriage proposals? I think hysterically.

Perhaps because in times of fear and hopelessness, people tend to cling to the only things that will keep them sane: the idea of freedom.

Does that mean that my fondness for Will is freedom to me?
I shake my head. What a silly thing to be thinking about. I should be weeping or praying or jumping overboard. I should be haunted with dreams of Thomas being shot or the pirate with the wooden eye (who the crew calls Rigetti) being burned by the contents of my bedpan. Those memories should scare me. I suppose they did in the moment, but now I feel . . . nothing.

I look at the door, which has not been touched for some time. I wonder what the time is. I get tired of sitting and take to pacing. It calms me down, but only slightly. It gives the illusion that I'm doing something to better my situation. But of course, I'm not.

The morning sun rises in the gray sky. I pace and sit and pace again. I watch the sea fold and the clouds race. I see the sky turn blue before it turns black.

Another day has gone by.

My stomach churns with hunger and I pace. Back and forth. Back and forth.

Are they trying to starve me? Would it be better if I jumped overboard and left myself to the sharks for a quick death rather than give in to dying slowly?

I gulp. Death. Death is not an option. Father needs me. Commodore will not forget me.

And Will is surely going to be looking for me.

I feel a pinch of pain in my stomach which surprises me because, for the first time, is not out of hunger.

The sky darkens and I light the candles around me so as not to be plunged into darkness when the sun sets. I take to pacing the room again.

Suddenly the door opens.