Chapter 13

Admiral Nathaniel Wilkins found himself truly disgusted at the town of Tortuga. The little town was immersed in madness, with brawls taking place both outside on the streets and inside almost every small building. People who weren't brawling however, were just resting on the sides of the street, pouring bottles of rum down their throats without stopping to take a breath; these people didn't seem to be concerned about appearances either, as the rum came down the fronts of their shirts sloppily.

The only reason Wilkins and his crew were here was to gain information on Jack Sparrow's current whereabouts, and they intended to leave the instant they had it. Suddenly, a man rolled on the ground in front of them from having been punched hard in the jaw. The attacker quickly chased after the rolling body, obviously stumbling with every step he took. Wilkins eyed the pair and rolled his eyes.

In order to avoid any unwanted trouble, Wilkins and the rest of his crew that had come ashore with him had conspicuously disguised themselves in civilian attire; the last thing they needed was an unnecessary outbreak of insanity on their hands. Soon, they came in front of the bar where almost every occupant of the village went to at night. Waters sized up the structure in one quick glance before inhaling deeply and entered, followed closely by his men.

The noise that filled the local bar could definitely not be described as merely a dull roar. The chatter and yelling in the room was almost deafening; Wilkins felt the urge to cover his ears, but decided against it. Wilkins pulled the hood of his cloak over his head while motioning for his men to do the same. Carefully weaving in and out of drunken pirates, Wilkins made his way toward the bar.

Noticing the new person, the bartender leaned in close to Wilkins. "Whadd'ya want," the bartender grumbled.

"Information," Wilkins replied cooly.

The bartender laughed condescendingly. "Information? Here, we serve rum, mate."

"Yes, I know. But me and my men crave something other than alcohol."

The bartender gave Wilkins a once-over before replying. "And what information exactly peaks your interest?"

Wilkins leaned in closer, as did the bartender. "Does anybody here happen to know Jack Sparrow's current location?"

The bartender shot Wilkins a suspicious look. "And who's askin'?"

Wilkins smirked. "Let's just say I'm a friend of his. Now, do you have an answer for me or not?"

The bartender leaned back a moment, clearly considering what to say to this total stranger. Finally, he leaned back in. "Yeah, I might know someone who's close with Sparrow."

"What's his name?"

"He just goes by "Smith." The man's a local inhabitant of Tortuga. Weird one, too."

"And where exactly can I find this...Smith?"

The bartender chuckled. "Not too certain about that, mate."

Wilkins gave the bartender a look that made it appear that he could see straight through him. "Are you sure about that?" His tone was deadly calm.

The bartender suddenly quivered, he guessed from how imposing this man suddenly appeared to be. "Uh...sorry. My mistake. Of course I know where he is. He usually goes back into the room back here to drink in peace." The bartender pointed with his thumb toward the door behind him.

Wilkins shot a quick glance at the door and nodded. "Thank you."

Wilkins and his men then made his way back towards the room. The bartender had the urge to protest, but decided to hold his tounge for his own safety. He could do nothing but watch in silence as the mysterious men opened the wooden door and entered the back room.

Once inside the small room behind the bar, Wilkins closed the door and turned to see a solitary man sitting at a table in the center of the room. The only source of light was the single candle situated beside him. The man looked up as he noticed the noise.

"Who are you all? And what exactly do you think you're doing here?"

"That's none of your concern," Wilkins said as he strutted up beside the man. "Smith, I presume?" Wilkins held out his hand.

Smith cautiously shook the man's hand, his curious eyes magnified by the giant spectacles sitting on his face. "Yes. And who are you?"

"Admiral Nathaniel Wilkins, from Port Royal." Wilkins gave Smith a polite smile.

"What can I do for you, Admiral?"

"Well it seems we share a common friend, perhaps you'll remember. Jack Sparrow."

The color immediately drained from Smith's face. "Alright, what has Jack done now?"

Wilkins hesitated slightly before answering. "It seems that Mr. Sparrow has kidnapped the daughter of the Governor of Port Royal along with her husband."

Smith inhaled then exhaled heavily. "Jack..." A question suddenly popped into Smith's head. "And what exactly does this have to do with me?"

"I've been told that you would probably know where Sparrow currently is. You see, that fact is of the utmost importance at the moment."

"And why exactly would I tell an Admiral the location of a known pirate? For all I know, you could be planning to execute him once you find him."

In one swift motion, Wilkins whipped his pistol, pulled the hammer back with his thumb, and aimed it at Smith. "That's exactly what I plan to do and believe me, I won't have any hesitation in putting a bullet through your skull as well."

Smith fearfully raised his arms. "Alright, alright. Jack is sailing to or most likely in the Bermuda Triangle at the moment."

Wilkins cocked his eyebrow. "The Bermuda Triangle? Why is he there?"

"He's looking for a legendary treasure. He more likely took the Governor's daughter because the presence of a woman is what's needed to sail into the triangle unscathed."

That was certainly more information than Wilkins was prepared to digest. His pistol lingered a few more moments until he was absolutely certain that Smith's confession was genuine. Finally, Wilkins lowered his pistol.

"Very well. Your help in this matter is very much appreciated. Now if I were you, I'd disassociate myself with Sparrow before your loyalty to him costs you your life."

Wilkins turned on his heel and quietly exited the room. Once every man had left and the door re-closed, Smith drained the rest of his drink.

"Bloody Navymen," he grunted.

Back inside the main tavern, Wilkins and his men efficiently made their way to the door. Their progress was impeded, however, by a man forcefully bumping into Waters' side. Upon instinct, Wilkins raised his pistol at the drunk.

"Watch where you're going, idiot," Wilkins spat.

Before he knew it, another drunk crept up behind Wilkins and forcefully wrestled the gun from his hands. Successful, the drunk landed a hard punch to Wilkins' cheek, causing the Admiral to stumble to the ground.

That one action was all it took. Immediately, the usual barroom brawl broke out. Other punches were landed, rum bottles were smashed over people's heads, and many bodies were flung from the staircase. Just as a crazed figure leapt off the balcony and started to swing like a monkey from the wooden chandelier, Wilkins picked himself up and along with his men, fled from the tavern and out to the ship just as a bottle of rum that was being gulped down by a pirate beside the door exploded from a bullet.

Good old Tortuga.