Author's Note: Yeah. I'm a bad person. I know it's been forever since I've updated, but school and college stuff is . . . Erk. Not fun. Thanks for your patience, though, I love getting feedback (the fact that it's positive is just a bonus).

Chapter Four

The apple bounced down the stairs towards Miranda and rolled through the shallow water until rocking to a stop. Miranda lunged for it, her fingertips just barely brushed the smooth skin. The ship swayed, and the fruit rolled away from her grasp.

It had been two days since she'd eaten anything. Several more apples bounced solidly down the stairs but came nowhere near Miranda's reach. She heaved a groan, crushing her arm through the bars of the cell. Something small and wooden floated by her palm. She snatched it up and brought it to her face. A glazed, brown iris stared back at her and she shrieked in alarm.

The lanky pirate came tumbling down the stairs, clutching an empty crate. He chased after the apples floating lazily in the water and threw them carelessly into the box. After he rounded up all the loose fruit he continued splashing around as if searching for something.

"Looking for this?" Miranda asked sweetly, pinching the sphere between her index finger and thumb. Ragetti whirled around and landed heavily on the floor. His one eye landed on her and he cocked his head to one side.

"You're still 'ere?"

"Naturally, half-wit," she barked, "how would I escape?"

"Righ'," Ragetti agreed, nodding. "Righ'." He scrambled awkwardly to his feet and approached her. "Thanks for findin' it." He reached forward but Miranda snapped her hand closed around the eye.

"Give me an apple, and we'll call it fair."

Ragetti looked taken aback. "You shouldn't barter wif pirates, miss," he began. "It could lead ta' trouble."

"I'm locked in a cell in the middle of the ocean," Miranda pointed out. "Now give me an apple." The pirate turned this statement over in his mind. Hoping he was weakening, Miranda opened her fist and rolled the sphere between her fingers as temptingly as a wooden eye can be displayed.

Ragetti's hand snaked through the bars and bit the orb out of her hand. He laughed jovially as he squelched it into his empty socket. He grabbed the crate of apples, and leapt up the stairs and out of sight.

Miranda dropped her head against the bars and clutched her stomach.

"Well, well, well," a rough voice called. "It seems we neglected our charming captive fer too long."

Miranda snarled up at Barbossa, her heart beating faster as she snapped, "No need to sugar your words. I know you forgot me."

Barbossa laughed and advanced towards her. "I do love how ye cut straight to the truth, Miss Farthin'."

"Consider it my most memorable attribute," she rebuked, looking away.

"Don' take it so personally, my dear," Barbossa growled. "Ye must realize a pirate of my standin' has so much teh deal with there is simply not enough time in the day to account fer every soul-"

"I'm half-starved!" Miranda argued. "Surely you had one moment in your day to remember food for your prisoner."

"Oh, Miss Farthin'," Barbossa let out a low chuckle that froze her insides. "I hadn't yet mentioned my thoughts from the night."

"And you're not going to," Miranda responded, clenching her teeth. The smile did not flicker from the captain's face as he withdrew an apple from his pocket. He tossed it genially at her.

"You foul, accursed . . . pirate," she spat, catching the fruit and curling her fingers around it. "What a horrifying day it will be when you meet your despicable equal."

"And what a truly fantastical day it will be when ye meet a man tolerant of yer presence," Barbossa countered smoothly. "Enjoy yer apple, my dear. It is most certain I will forget about ye fer several more days, and who knows if Ragetti will stumble upon ye before ye become a bundle of bones and fine fabric."

"Don't settle for anything less than ten pounds for this dress when you sell it from my bones," Miranda hissed to his back as the pirate ascended the stairs. "I'd hate to think of good cloth going to waste."

She couldn't tell if it was a cough or a laugh that greeted her statement as the door slammed behind him.

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Miranda woke feeling particularly discomforted. Something was wrong. She stood up and tried to discern why the world felt off and realized it was because everything was still. There was no gentle rocking, no tilt of the boards as the ship bobbed on the waves. She heard no footsteps overhead; all that greeted her ears was the sound of a lonely gull as it circled overhead.

Her legs felt wobbly as she tried to pace her cell. As she walked and accustomed herself to the sensation of not having he ground in constant motion, something stirred above her. Miranda froze, eyes fixed at the stairs. The door swung open and a little ball of fur propelled itself into the room, chattering and clanking something in its tiny fist.

Jack leapt onto the bars of her cell at head-height and stared at her. Miranda stared right back and then noticed the monkey was holding a ring of keys tightly with one foot.

"Hello there, sweetums," she cooed, "Where'd everybody go?"

The monkey chirped once, and never stopped staring at her. Miranda stepped forward towards the creature and continued, "Did those bad men leave my darling all alone? Oh, poor sweetums, don't worry, I'll take care of you."

Cautiously, she raised one hand up to the monkey and patted his head. Jack closed his eyes happily and she stroked his head and brought up her other hand towards the keys.

"Will you let me out, darling?" Miranda asked softly, rubbing the monkey's fur. Her other hand darted out and gripped the key ring. Jack's dark eyes snapped open, but he only chittered at her.

Wasting no more time with the creature, Miranda began trying all the keys in the lock as Jack began screeching in protest. Her fourth attempt proved successful and she shoved the door open. The monkey launched himself from the bars onto her back and yanked her hair angrily. Miranda paid no heed, and rushed up the stairs.

Once through the door, she was in the storage quarters of the ship. Weaving her way around barrels and sack, crates, and the occasional chicken, she located the spiral staircase. Up to the sleeping deck and onto the upper deck she flew, finally able to look at the blue sky above. Jack hung heavily from her hair and she finally wrestled him off. The monkey jumped to the railing and glared at her for a moment before disappearing into the rigging.

Miranda looked around and saw a tangled forest that turned into a white-sanded beach. The ocean, a flat and smooth horizon, looked inviting as it reached the wispy clouds.

The ground was not too far from the deck, Miranda reasoned. She jumped over the railing and landed heavily in the wet sand. She scrambled to her feet and ran for the shelter of the forest.

She didn't know where she was going; she didn't know what she expected to find, but getting away from the Black Pearl was her main priority. She plunged herself into the dark green light of the jungle and didn't stop running until she could hardly draw breath.

Sitting heavily on a mossy log, Miranda looked at her surroundings. Thick vines hung like tentacles from branches; the trees themselves were massive, their trunks pleated like a skirt as their roots wrapped around each other. Enormous leaves blotted out the sun and twisted the golden light into an emerald hue. As lush as the jungle was, however, Miranda heard no birds singing, no animals calling to their mate, no rustle as creatures scurried through the brush. What she thought had been the drumming of her heart changed rhythm and she realized somewhere on this island a massive drum was being beaten. The thought frightened and overcame her. She jumped to her feet and started running again, but no matter which way she ran, the drumming only got louder.

Branches whipped her face as she ran blindly on. In her ears she could hear only her heart and the drums as they beat a dissonant rhythm of horror.

She connected with something solid and flew off her feet and onto her back. Her brain registered a very human "Whoah!" as she tried to regain her breath. Coughing and gasping, she sat up with great effort and looked over to see the form of a man lying on his back, his chest heaving. In seconds he jumped to his feet and pulled out a tree branch, waving it wildly at her face.

"Who are you?" He asked, his eyes wide and glinting with a light of perhaps mania. He certainly looked like a madman. On the bridge of his nose was painted a blood-red beetle, and a set of black wings stretched under his eyes to his temples. Antennae ending with large eyes dominated his forehead, but it wasn't just the face paint that suggested his madness. Dark long hair, matted from dreadlocks and neglect escaped from under a dirty maroon rag tied around his head. His balloon-like tunic hung stained and unbuttoned to his waist. His tattered dark pants reached mid-calf, and he was barefoot.

"Not a threat," Miranda replied, finding her voice finally.

"Why are you running towards them, then?" the man persisted, still holding the branch to her face. "You're too dressed to be a spy. Why are you here?"

"I was trying to run away from-" Miranda responded, inching away from the stick.

"Ah, but you were running towards them," the man interrupted. "You're not making any sense at all, love."

Miranda gave up and asked simply, "Who are you?"

"Captain Jack Sparrow at your service, miss." As he bowed his branch swished dangerously close to her cheek. She dodged it and climbed to her feet.

"Why were you running?" Miranda asked, realizing this man had no problem answering question.

His wide eyes got a little wider. "Right!" he exclaimed, sheathing his tree branch. Without another word he sprinted passed her. Miranda whirled around to watch his retreating back.

"Wait!" she called. He paid no heed. Confused but intrigued, she raced after him back the way she'd come. His run was high-kneed and terribly inefficient. Within seconds Miranda had caught up to him. "What are they like?" she shouted through gasps.

"Hungry!" Jack yelped in reply, kicking his feet up higher as he ran. He veered to the right and started running serpentine. Miranda pursued, now too amused to be anything close to afraid or apprehensive.

Her mood was cut short as she saw Jack trip on something, and flip forward. As she neared him she heard an ominous creak and then before she could think a large, coarse net had swallowed them both and shot up in the air.

The ground sank beneath them as the net swung up higher, finally coming to a stop and swinging gently something like fifty feet from the ground.

"Oh, bullocks." Jack heaved a sigh and pressed his face against the rope. Miranda tried vainly to untangle her legs from his, but gravity and closeness proved it quite impossible.

"Don't worry about maidenly form, love," Jack commented, "I've grown accustomed to the effect I have on women."

Miranda snorted, and gave one final attempt to free her leg from between his. Jack struggled momentarily against the netting, but also accepted defeat at his endeavors.

"What's going to happen to us?" Miranda asked quietly.

"Us?" Jack repeated. "You'll eaten first, I imagine, and by the time you're done distracting them, I will have been able to escape."

"How vile of you," Miranda rebuked half-heartedly. She wondered how grandiose his gesture would have been as he replied simply, "Pirate," if his hand hadn't been wrapped so tightly in the rope.

"How is it that my luck brings me only to pirates?" Miranda thought aloud.

Jack flailed for a moment to face her, and a grin twisted half his face. "Don't know what you're complaining about, miss. We are a delightful breed."

Miranda didn't bother dignifying that answer with a response. Instead, she turned away and searched for signs of life to appeal to down below.

"It's just us until they arrive," Jack stated, reading her thoughts. He no longer sounded wary of the people as he had when she first met him.

Probably because he intends to use me as a distraction, Miranda thought glumly. The sound of the drums had stopped, and in the distance she heard unorganized shouting and trilling.

"Here they come," Jack narrated, and Miranda felt the urge to smack him.