As he dipped the brush into the bucket he looked at the thick black liquid that enveloped every bristle. It made a sploosh as he pulled it out, and left thick black strings that seemed to braid together like the ends of a rope. That made him think of how he'd risen from the life of a simple ropemaker in London, to sailing with the infamous British royal navy; Even going so far as to be named admiral of His Majesty's Caribbean fleet. But that was a life half-forgotten now.
As he brought the brush to the thick oaken planks he stared into the bucket, the liquid now settled and so smooth he could see his reflection. It reminded him of the ropes he'd made in the quays on the River Thames to save enough money to buy his mother a birthday gift. A mirror, so she could behold her own beauty. As a boy, James had always admired his mother. He'd never known his father, and only found out after he joined the navy that he'd been a pirate. It was then that he'd swore to right the wrongs his father had done and began a lifelong hunt for the legendary pirates of the seven seas.
He'd tried his best, even having run-ins with the most infamous pirate who sailed the high seas, Davy jones, down to the lowly scum of the ocean bed, sea-slugs like Jack Sparrow, and Hector Barbossa. Men who would trade a life for as little as a bottle of rum; But in the end, it was the heartless scourge who captained the Dutchman who'd taken his life, and robbed him of the peace of death.
Would my father have been proud of me, he thought. Now that I've gone from captain to Commodore, Commodore to pirate, pirate to admiral, and serving a pirate in the locker, all within a year?
And what of his mother, she'd always said if he wasn't careful he'd end up with a worse fate than his father. It seemed to James there could be no worse punishment than he'd already endured for… he couldn't even remember how long he'd been in this godforsaken place. Every day was the same. Scrubbing the deck of a ship with black tar, already coated so thick it could hardly pass for the wood that once made it. A ship aptly named The Black Pearl.
James' mother had always told him that pearls were a gift from the sea; a gem no mine could yield. She'd said that every pearl held the soul of a man lost at sea. The bigger it was and the brighter it shone the more good that rested within the soul, but James had once come across a pearl as black as jet. It had come from a captain who'd been commissioned by the King to attack the coast of Spain. The man did not wish to part with the gold he'd acquired, and told James he did not care for the trinkets of a lady.
When James showed it to his mother she'd screamed in fear, and told him to take it away, and never to bring it back. She'd told him later that a black pearl was the soul of a pirate, fit only for hell, and would bring ill luck to any who possessed one. And here James was shining the deck of the largest Black Pearl he'd ever seen.
Just as he finished the upper deck and looked down to inspect his work, a boot came into view and stepped right where he'd just finished scrubbing. "You could have at least waited for the tar to dry, before putting your foot right in the middle of it." James Sneered glancing up to see who it was that had ruined hours of work with such a rude gesture.
"You'd be surprised how little yer time matters here in the locker" answered Hector Barbossa.
"I suppose so, but you of all people should know how utterly monotonous the locker can get." Said James
"Oh should I now?" Asked Barbossa, giving James a look that implied was talking as though he did not understand the irony in his own words.
"I should think so, of the three of us, you've been here longest. Last time I saw you we'd left your corpse on the Isla de Muerta, while I sailed away with our dear Captain as a captive of the Crown." Said James.
"Mr. Norrington-"
"That's Admiral to you Pirate"
"Not any more, not in the locker. So it stays, Mr. Norrington. What makes you believe that I would stay cooped up so long in a place such as this?"
"But you're standing right in front of me"
"Did you not listen when I told you that the locker is only a manifestation of your greatest fears. I believe yours is becoming your father."
"How do you know that!"
"Because, Mr Norrington, I'm only a shade of your memory, you could say an ephemeral visitation from my spirit as it were. Physically I've been absent from the locker for some time."
"Are you saying there's a way out?"
"There's a way out of any cage Mr. Norrington, if you have the key."
"And what key would that be?"
"Seems it's different for every person, I once had a map that I lost in a bet with a man from Singapore. Of course I'd stolen it from him not a fortnight before. This map could show the way to any destination. A clever thing it was, a set of rings, that when aligned in different ways could offer solutions to some of the sea's greatest treasures, and mysteries."
"So that's how you escaped the locker?"
"Have you heard nothing I've said boy. The map was useless if I didn't have it in the locker. I charmed Calypso into releasing my bonds, in promise I'd someday return the favour."
"Then why mention the map?"
"Afraid I can't answer that question boy, you'll need to ask the captain what purpose the map served in his adventures."
"I may do just that."
With that Barbossa turned and climbed the rigging to mend a rip in a sail.
When James had tarred the deck again, he went to the captain's quarters, and knocked on the door.
"Go away, unless you're a pretty woman!" a voice came from inside, reeling from a few too many drinks by the sound of it (though it always sounded like that), followed by silence, and finally, "are you a pretty woman?"
"Afraid not, and if I found one I wouldn't send her to you." James answered.
The door creaked open and into the frame stepped Jack Sparrow, "What do you want, my Pearl should be immaculate. Why aren't you working?"
"I heard you owned a map that could show the way out of the locker."
"Did you, now? I see our scraggly bearded friend has been telling secrets."
"If you have it, why haven't you used it yet?"
"What makes you believe I haven't?"
"Because the last time I saw you, you'd taken a jar of dirt which you thought held a heart, and according to the account from Elizabeth, by the time you realized your error, you were halfway down the throat of the Kraken."
"And I ask you again, what makes you think I haven't?"
"You mean…"
"It's all in yer head, mate."
"Does that mean I can think you away?"
"Well, no, the locker is made so that once your fears take form, much like meself here, they never leave you again. Some even say that they escaped the locker and still are haunted by that they hate most, and speaking from past experience I have to say that's true."
"That's just stories, and wives' tales."
"You might be surprised how many wives' tales are based on half-truths, once heard a wives tale that there was a woman sailing the Aegean Sea who could sing to your soul's content-."
"I don't care. Half-Truths are whole lies my mother once told me. And that still doesn't answer my question of where to find the key."
"Well I'd expect squidbeard to have the key to his own locker, savvy."
"That won't do me a lot of good when he's in the world of the living."
"You really haven't heard what's been going on up there have you."
I'm going to pick up this story again, I know it's been a while, but hopefully there will still be some interest. I've reworked the story and it will remain canon with "On Stranger Tides", so no needs to worry about that. Be sure to review and let me know what you think.