The Nagging Companions
Lucinda was terrified of turning twenty-four, an age she was fast approaching. She knew twenty-four was not old by any stretch of the imagination, but she often felt it. In her short years she had found love and lost it, learned how to live without it, lived on three different islands, and had buried both of her parents, a younger sibling, and a husband. Only twenty-three, and already she was an orphan and a widow.
Lucinda strove to keep her humor, to keep the bitterness at bay; after all, change and death were inescapable parts of life, and though her fortunes had been dismal up to this point it did not mean that they could not improve. Twenty-four could be a turning point in her life, she reflected, it could be the start of something wonderful.
But probability told her not to hope too much, and so she clutched at her coin purse and dreaded her upcoming birthday.
Or, rather, she clutched at Sparrow's coin purse. She'd managed to keep it all these years, though there had been several occasions in which she'd feared it had been lost forever. These days she usually kept it hidden in the folds of her dress and used it to hold her own coins. She liked having it close, liked being able to lightly run her fingers over the fraying material when life seemed to overwhelm her. It wasn't the same as if Sparrow had been there himself to give her his special mix of blunt and improper advice, but his memory always calmed her, always brought a smile to her face. She had long ago accepted the fact that she would never see him again—even if he had managed to survive the last eighteen years, she wouldn't have the first clue as to what sort of a man he had become or what he would look like—but the memory was enough to keep her content, to remind her that though parting was painful, it was never enough to outweigh the joy of the friendships.
"Miss Lucy?"
Lucinda startled, nearly dropping the coin purse. She had moved to the island of Nevis a year ago, living in one of her late husband's homes through the grace of his brother. The servants at the manor home were mostly cheery and kind, especially the maids who had taken to calling her Miss Lucy. In truth, she didn't mind the name, but she'd always connected it to Sparrow, and so every time she heard 'Lucy' it sent a nervous shudder down her spine.
She stuttered for a moment before she collected herself. "Yes?" she finally managed to respond to the young, wide-eyed maid standing in her doorway.
"Lady Whetherton is here," the girl said, a slight frown puckering her brow. "She said she wishes to discuss a matter most private with you."
Lucinda nearly groaned, but she didn't want to confuse the poor maid any further. Agatha Whetherton was a good friend, but she thought that being a few years Lucinda's senior meant she knew what was best for the young widow. Her latest plan to brighten Lucinda's life was a birthday celebration, which Lucinda wanted no part in. It was bad enough that she feared turning twenty-four, she did not need half the island witnessing her terror as well.
"See her into the parlor and tell her I'll be with her in a moment," she replied. She didn't really need the extra time, she reflected as the maid left, but it was hard to face Agatha when the woman was in a scheming mood, so she took the moment to collect herself.
"Raiding a town takes more knowledge than any of us currently have," Jack Sparrow told his crew bluntly. "It could very well take weeks of learning the layout of the island, the caliber of the inhabitants, and the quality of the possible loot."
"Barbossa done it!" one of the newer hands shouted impatiently. "Sailed right up to island after island and sacked each one with the devil's own speed!"
Jack felt one of his eyes twitch at the mention of his former first mate. "Aye," he agreed sourly, "but Barossa couldn't be killed at the time, could he?"
There was some nervous muttering among the gathered crewmembers—no one liked being reminded of the high mortality rates pirates 'enjoyed'.
"Look, has anyone ever been to Nevis?" Jack asked, though he already knew the answer. "No? Then listen to what your ol' Captain tells you." He paused a moment, swaying lightly as he savored the feel of his command. "We'll sail around to the leeward side of the island and drop anchor somewhere out of sight. Then a select few of you will row ashore and do your best to learn everything we need to know—special points of interest include where the nobility lives and if there are any celebrations or ceremonies coming up that we might be able to use as cover."
"Sometimes, Jack," Gibbs shook his head as the rest of the crew turned back to running the ship, "I think ye be sailing under a different sort of piracy than the rest of us."
Jack sighed and scanned the horizon, knowing they would be coming up on Nevis in a matter of days. "We're low on wealth, Mister Gibbs, among other things. The easier we can get treasure without losing any shipmates or supplies, the better."
That wasn't the only reason for his caution, though. Most of his crew assumed it was because he was afraid of damaging or losing the Black Pearl so soon after he had gotten her back, but the truth of the matter was that it was his compass that was causing the real concern. For ten years, the compass had pointed straight to Barbossa and the Black Pearl, had done nothing but lead him to the revenge that he had so desperately desired—then, nothing. After his revenge, the compass had spun around uselessly for a few weeks, not leading him anywhere, because he couldn't decide what it was he wanted now. Then, completely out of the blue, it had begun to point toward Nevis one morning and Jack couldn't figure out why. It wasn't as though Nevis was particularly richer than any other island in the Caribbean, or that it had some unique item he couldn't find anywhere else. In fact, the only benefit he could see in going to Nevis was that it was nicely far from Jamaica and, therefore, the stupidly persistent Commodore Norrington.
Agatha was a vision of beauty—a plump and rosy blonde wearing the finest dress money could buy. She was not especially tall or lithe, but the corset and delicate falls of fabric around her imparted her with all the grace she needed. Though she was not noble by birth, the delicate folds of pale blue taffeta dared anyone to call the occupant of her dress anything short of a Lady.
Lucinda felt a little miserable next to her friend. She hadn't gotten a new dress in ages and, though nothing in her wardrobe could be even close to considered shabby, she had never owned anything at the very height of fashion. Agatha's dresses always put hers to shame.
"What is it, Aggie?" Lucinda finally asked when her friend merely sipped demurely at the tea Henry had brought in.
Agatha ignored the nickname and gently set her cup down. "You know I'll wear you down on this party business eventually. I'm already putting the whole thing together, in any case." She leaned back in her seat and appraised the younger woman. "Why don't you just give in?"
"I don't care for parties," Lucinda sighed. "Especially not ones meant to celebrate something as morbid as my inevitably advancing age."
"Nonsense," Agatha waved the complaint away. "Everyone loves parties. Just think of it as an excuse to wear your prettiest dress and find a nice young man to dance the night away with."
The brunette started, nearly dropping her cup. Aggie had never tried to play matchmaker before. What had brought this on? "I know Alasdair has been dead for a couple of years," she said as delicately as possible, "but I'm really in no rush to replace him."
"You're only twenty-three, Lucinda—a bit young to be giving up on marriage," Agatha shook her head disbelievingly. "You don't want to stay a widow forever, do you?"
"It has its benefits," Lucinda shrugged. "I can stay within the realm of polite society while not having to play by all its rules: as a widow, I'm allowed to own some property, and I don't have to worry about anyone entering me into a marriage contract against my will. I didn't wish for my husband to die, but his absence has granted me a small measure of freedom; why should I give that up?"
The blonde beauty frowned. "Alasdair was a fine man, God rest his soul, but everyone knows you didn't love him—"
Lucinda cut her off, "As a Lady, Agatha, I am fairly well doomed to never love any man I might marry." She shook her head. "Love has nothing to do with it."
"Then what is it, Lucinda?" Agatha nearly snapped, clearly frustrated. "I don't understand you. Don't you want a man's protection? Don't you want a family of your own?" Her hand flew to her mouth at the end of her last question and her face grew pale. "Oh Lucinda, I'm sorry, I didn't mean it—" she trailed off uncomfortably.
The widow hid her smile. Rumors had flown around for years that one or both of the Maplethorpe's were sterile, for they had produced no children over the course of their five years of marriage. In truth, she'd never lain with Alasdair as a wife; he had been neither interested nor healthy enough for such an intimate act, and she wouldn't have willingly submitted to him, in any case. Lucinda had only loved her husband as a friend, and he had not only respected that, but returned the sentiment as well.
"Like I said," she soothed over her friend's mumbled apologies, "I'm simply not in any rush."
Agatha stilled, her blue eyes filled with a wistful sadness. "You're my friend," she replied quietly, "and I want to see you happy, but sometimes I feel like you're waiting for something that will never come."
Their conversation, inevitably, turned back to parties and merrymaking, but Aggie's observation left Lucinda filled with restlessness. Even long after her friend had left to see to details about the party that the younger woman still hadn't agreed to, the words continued to chased each other around her thoughts. What was she waiting for?
Her hand dove into the folds of her dress, curling instinctively around Sparrow's coin purse.
What indeed?
They weighed anchor just a mile offshore of Nevis, divided the crew into several groups, and decided that each group would row to the island in week-long shifts in search of whatever information they could find.
Jack couldn't figure out whether to stay or go. On the one hand, he didn't like the thought of leaving the Pearl solely in the keep of the crew; on the other hand, he hadn't been on dry land in weeks, and someone had to see to supplies if they were intending to stay for any length of time.
The decision was more or less taken out of his hands when Anamaria caught him gazing at the island. With her usual abrasive bluntness, she'd practically thrown Jack off his own ship, saying that he'd be no use to anyone if he was just going to "moon about." The woman was audacious to the core, but right, so he left without a fight, trusting the fearsome Anamaria to watch his beloved Peal.
He spent the better part of the day among the merchants, buying what he could afford and haggling for what he couldn't. Thieving and piracy were all well and good, but a man had to know his limits—he didn't want anyone wary of his or his crew's presence; the last thing they needed right now was to botch this raid. So he kept a low profile, using honest methods to procure some supplies and learn a little about the island.
Nevis was a tiny spit of land just a stone's throw away from St. Kitts and, unlike he had first thought, the small island held much of interest. There were rich sugar cane fields all around the island, and it seemed that it was a hub for the African slave trade in that part of the Caribbean. Indeed, there was much more money to be found on Nevis than he had originally assumed. If all went well, the raid of this one single harbor town would be enough to let the Pearl's crew live like kings for a couple of months.
By nightfall, Jack's good mood had given way to indecision again. He'd over thought his turn of good fortune and had realized that it didn't really add up. Sure, Nevis was a bright jewel waiting to be plucked, but he hadn't known that ahead of time, so why had the compass led him here? Had it merely sensed his desire for treasure and chosen the wealthiest island in the Caribbean for him, or was there something more to it? He hated not knowing but, at the same time, was wary about looking into his own desires too deeply—something about this job screamed personal where it shouldn't have, and that was simply a recipe for disaster. The longer he stayed on land, the greater his chances of discovering something that could put the entire raid in danger…
Yet he simply couldn't pull himself away. Somewhere on this island, a siren's song was being played just for him, and he'd be damned if he didn't figure out why.
Lucinda awoke to a general sense of dread. Agatha's talk of celebrations and husbands had gotten to her, giving her strange dreams.
With a sigh, she disengaged herself from her rumpled bedclothes, her lip curling in distaste when she realized she was covered in a sticky, uncomfortable sweat. Shaking her head, she turned to the terrace doors and opened them upon the midnight world. It was dark out, though the stars and the slim crescent moon did their best to give off some light, and despite the ever-present tropical humidity, the was a pleasantly cool breeze drifting up from the shore.
Quietly, Lucinda moved out into the cooler air and gazed unseeingly at the night-darkened land. On the whole her attention had been turned inward. Her dreams plagued her—unsettling dreams of love and loss, of pirates and beggar boys. She had dreamt of Sparrow many times since their parting, but tonight had been the first night she'd ever really entertained the thought of what might have become of him. He'd wanted to become a sailor, she knew that much, and she had guessed that his father was a pirate, so what if he had become a pirate himself?
One of her dreams came back to her with startling clarity:
Tamarind Bay was on fire—great plumes of smoke jutted into the sky, consuming every house, shop, and ship they could. The townsfolk ran amid the deadly fires, crying, panicked, looking for loved ones and safety. Here and there, a pirate ran by, causing chaos and cackling merrily as they plundered the abandoned buildings.
Lucinda shivered; the fires were ungodly hot and made the night as bright as day, but she was shaking from head to toe in fear. She was not usually a woman given easily to fright, but she couldn't shake the feeling that if ever Hell had existed on Earth, this was it. Unsteadily, her feet took her to a small hill, well away from the fires, where she could watch the town slowly die. It took her several moments to realize that the hill was not unoccupied.
There was a man standing not three feet behind her, and she knew, somehow, that this was her long-lost beggar boy. He had become a tall, unattractive man, with short, greasy hair cut to his ears, and grimy clothing that hung off his too-thin frame. Where once there had been a mischievous smile and a kind look in his eyes, there was now nothing but greed and cruelty. The humor and sweetness had gone from him, leaving a toughened, bitter man behind.
"I promised to come back, dinnit I?" he rasped in a gritty voice.
At which point Lucinda had woken up with a nagging sense of disquiet.
Thinking over the dream now, she couldn't help but shudder. She'd always thought it would be wonderful if life would grant her one more day with Sparrow, but she had never considered the possibility that he would be different. If the charming boy she'd known was no longer reflected in the man he'd become, then perhaps it was better for them never to reunite. She would much rather live with the bittersweet memory of the beggar boy than have that memory ruined by some twisted nightmare of a man.
Shaking herself, she turned her eyes back to the real world. For a brief moment, just before she went back into her room, Lucinda thought she saw someone in the street, but a cloud scuttled across the moon, making too dark to tell.
A/N: Just as a reminder, this story takes place after the events of CotBP, and while I will not be bringing in the plots of the other two movies, I will be bringing in an element or two—like the fact that Jack's compass points to the possessor's greatest desire.
Also, Nevis is a real island, though I admit I only did the barest amount of reading on it. The problem is that I'm not really sure what year CotBP was supposed to be set it, so I'm going with somewhere around 1710, which would have been about the middle of the golden age of piracy (also the middle of Queen Anne's reign). Anyway, this indecision about the year makes choosing islands a little difficult.
"And it was there, amid the flash and sparkle of chapter three, that the story finally moved away from its twin prologues and took on some semblance of plot."
Thank you many times over to everyone who reviewed the first two chapters—your encouragement and enthusiasm was greatly appreciated. I wanted to respond to everyone, but time has been prohibitive (but don't be surprised if you do eventually get a review response).
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Disclaimer: I own an assortment of side-characters and Lucinda, but I do not own Jack, Gibbs, Anamaria, the Black Pearl, Commodore Norrington, or anything else I might mention from the Pirates of the Caribbean movies. I mean no harm, and I am certainly not making any money off of Disney's wonderful characters.