A/N: Finally! Another chapter. Heehee. I am very sorry for the wait, so without delay I introduce you to the remembrances of Captain Jack Sparrow.
Pirate's tales are almost always of the tall variety. As they lean back in taverns, swigging from their mugs and speaking of exploits with cursed treasure, angry natives, magical talismans, and even Davy Jones himself, their mates laugh, and wallop them on the back, and tell them that they've had one to many beers.
Of course, Captain Jack Sparrow knows that almost all of those tales of pirate adventures are absolutely true. And often these tales come with the promise of rum, bought by the storyteller and drunk by the listener. Who is he to pass up such an offer?
Such being the case, he has heard many of these tales in his time, late at night in the bunk room, or while lounging about in Tortuga. And he has soaked them all in, along with the rum, because you never know.
And so before Jack had gone to borrow that little drawing from Davy Jones he had found out everything he could about the infamous captain. There weren't many people who had been willing to talk. Mostly he heard old legends, tall tales that every sailor worth his salt knew. Some men told him he'd be better off minding his own business. But every once in a while he struck gold -- someone who was willing to give him at least a muttered sentence or two. And whenever anyone spoke of Davy Jones there was one subject that inevitably arose -- the Kraken. Men spoke of it with huge, wild eyes, or with their eyes firmly shut, their hands shaking, flying through the air, or balled into tight fists, knuckles going white.
"He's a killer." One man had told him, his voice shaking. "Huge mouth. Rings of teeth. And he's at the beck and call of the moodiest man above the sea or below it." The word Kraken and the name Davy Jones were both left unspoken. Anything to avoid incurring the wrath of either.
Another man had simply shook his head when asked about Davy Jones, but just as Jack was turning to go he called out in a hoarse whisper. "Leave him alone, if you know what's good for you." Jack had sighed and turned again, but the man had again stopped him. "I know you've heard it before. 'Stay away from Davy Jones, he'll kill you as soon as look at you.' But I'm telling you something else. Stay way from Davy Jones, because the Kraken answers to Jones and Jones alone. And if you upset the great Davy Jones, the Kraken..." There was a pause, and then the man finished his sentence. "...comes for you."
Under any other circumstances this would have simply been silly. Superstitious. But Jack Sparrow had met cursed pirates and he had seen exactly where disbelief in superstition could get a man. He took the man's words with a grain of salt. Of course, he would still go after the key. He wouldn't be Captain Jack Sparrow if he didn't.
One man had taken a deep, shuddering breath, looked at Jack, and looked away again. He shook his head. "Some fool's quest, it'll be." He said, as though speaking to himself. "For treasure. Fame. Glory. Rags to riches, that'll be it."
Jack waited impatiently, tapping his fingers on the hilt of his sword.
"The Kraken?" The man asked, and burst into a sudden fit of hysterical laughter. Just as suddenly, a few moments later, the laughter died. The man stared at Jack. Then all in a low, whispered rush, he said, "The Kraken is what you'll be up against and make no mistake you'll be dead before you can say "Bob's your uncle." No second chances. No try, try again. And if you did manage, somehow, to stay alive 'til the Kraken berthed, then you'd see the treasure. Or the treasure would see you. Eat you alive, wouldn't it? Leave you nothing. Yes, yes, that's sure to be it, isn't it?"
When a few minutes of silence had passed Jack had left, annoyed, but vaguely uneasy. He had learned long ago to listen to crazy men. They were almost unfailingly correct.
Now, sitting with his back against the damp wall of a cave, his unease was growing. Something very, very odd was going on here, something he was beginning to suspect he wanted nothing to do with.
And yet in the back of his mind, he knew already that he wasn't going to leave -- not even if he got the chance. He was Captain Jack Sparrow, and there was treasure, vast amounts, just a few caves away. Adventure. Danger. And lots of money. What was there not to like?
Now all he needed was a plan.
Halfway around the world Davy Jones was plotting the acquisition of a very different kind of treasure.
The Flying Dutchman had anchored underwater just a few miles down the coast from Port Royale. Davy Jones raised one eyebrow expectantly, his tentacles clicking and writhing about. His first mate waited attentively for orders, his eyes fixed firmly on the weathered planks beneath his feet.
"Bring me my heart."
That night, under the cover of a brewing storm, a lone figure emerged from the inky black waters and began to make its way towards Port Royale.
A/N: Whoo! It's been a while hasn't it? I really am sorry. Real life became rather busy. Anyway, I hope this chapter was okay. We're looking at what will hopefully be a surprise next chapter, so stay tuned! And please remember to review. :)