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Chapter One

Three Years Later

If Port Royal was the crowning jewel of the Caribbean, a picture of serene paradise, the sea on its calmest, banal day, then Tortuga was the hurricane – chaotic, dark, and utterly deranged.

The streets were clogged with people and animals alike; cats chased rats into narrow, dirty alleys, dogs chased cats, and drunken men chased giggling women into teeming, heavily incensed brothels. Raucous laughter, angry shouts, and gunshots created a cacophony of noise, and the colorful silks, glowing lanterns, and cramped, dilapidated buildings were almost too much for the eyes to bear. It was pure madness, which about summed up Will's ideas over the last several days. Springing a pirate from prison and commandeering a ship of the royal fleet to chase after the woman he'd loved for a decade to save her from even more pirates… He might have thought he had dreamt it all were Jack Sparrow not at his shoulder, grinning at the pandemonium with a glint in his eye that Will did not like. The smell certainly confirmed it was no dream either.

He was forced to leap out of the way when a cart driven by a bleating donkey thundered past with a man tied to the end, screaming as he was dragged by his heels over the jumbled dirt and cobbled stones. The crowds lining the street roared with laughter as he passed and cheered with bottles of rum, spiced wine, and ale.

"Isn't there someone in charge here?" Will said, struggling to keep pace with Jack through the throngs of people. "A governor? A mayor?"

"There is a mayor," Jack said, appearing to be only half-listening; his eyes scanned the streets as if he could make any sort of sense out of them. "He just so happens to be a goat named Levy. But you mustn't call him that," Jack added when Will began to splutter. "He's rather delicate about it."

"I mustn't call the goat Levy or Mayor?"

"You mustn't call him a goat, William." Jack gave him a scandalized look that would have been better suited to one of the aristocratic magistrates' wives in Port Royal. "Horribly insensitive term. Have you no shame at all?"

Not for the first time, Will sorely wished he had left Jack to sulk in that cell before facing the gallows. But as much as he hated it, he knew he needed the pirate; Jack was perhaps the only living soul who knew where the Black Pearl made port, and wherever that was, that was where he would find Elizabeth. As for actually rescuing her and making it back to Port Royal without being killed… Well, he would figure that out. Eventually.

"You said we came here to find a crew," Will said. A man stumbled by him and promptly vomited in the street. More people cheered. "What, exactly, are we looking for?"

"Not what, William, who. Whom? Whomst?" Jack shook his head. "See, I myself have more important matters to tend to, one of which is procuring rum. The second is to then procure a salty wench to keep me occupied until the morn. And whilst I am doing those things, I will need someone to procure a crew in my name, and have that someone not be you, for where we're going, we don't need any more morally sound, heroically stupid lads with delicate features. You're enough on that front."

Will ignored the jab. "Then you must have someone else in mind if that's what we're looking for."

"For all that hot air in your skull, you catch on surprisingly quickly."

A pile of sheep dung looked particularly appealing to shove Jack into at that moment, but he forced himself not to rise to the bait. "And where are we going to find said person in all of this?"

He gestured to the debauchery around them, and Jack smirked. "With the pigs."

"Actual pigs, or is that just another horribly insensitive term?"

Jack only flapped a hand in response, which to Will could mean almost anything, but he had no choice but to follow as they turned down a side street oddly devoid of too many revelers. Eventually, they came upon a pen which held – to his relief – several grunting pigs, no metaphor in sight. They snuffed and pawed at an odd lump, and Will started when the lump snorted and rolled over. Whatever relief he felt before at some normalcy evaporated when he realized there was a man sleeping in the muck.

"You can't be serious," he said to Jack, who had begun filling pails with water from the pigs' trough. "This is who you had in mind to gather a crew for us? A drunk sleeping with pigs?"

"Better than a drunk sleeping with mutts and fleas, eh?" Jack shoved one of the pails into his arms. "In case the first doesn't wake him," he said to Will's addled look. He turned and dumped the water from his own pail on the sleeping man. "Oi! Wakey, wakey!"

The sleeping man woke with a startled yell, somewhat garbled from the water that had gone into his snoring mouth. He drew a dagger and sat up far quicker than Will would have expected, shouting curses and insults at whichever sorry bastard had awoken him. He was middle-aged and grizzled, though it was difficult to make out any discerning features beneath all the muck. However, his beady eyes widened in recognition when they alighted upon Jack.

"By Jove, is that you, Jack?" the man said. "What the hell d'you think you're doing?"

"Finding you better accommodations, mate." Jack jerked his chin. "What say we get you a drink, eh?"

The man stashed his dagger and got to his feet. Before he could exit the pen, Will doused him with his own water pail.

"Blast, boy, I'm already awake!" the man roared.

Will glanced at Jack, then at the man. "That was for the smell."

The man blinked a few times before grunting. "Aye, fair enough. Let's go get that drink."

Joshamee Gibbs was the man's name, Will learned, and he had been a sailor in the British Royal Navy before turning to a life of piracy for reasons Will didn't entirely understand. Then again, he had never understood anything to do with piracy, but Gibbs seemed a pleasant enough fellow when awake and plied with rum, so he decided to go along with it, which was how he found himself walking alongside him on a winding path up the hill of the port city.

Tortuga stretched out below, loud and crass and glowing with perpetual light, but the higher they climbed, the less the chaos bothered him. A fort lay beyond the hill on a taller peak, squatting and ugly, and he wondered if there was even anyone in it. Up here, at least, it seemed normal, with bigger, tidier houses and not so many people.

"Tortuga's overflowin' with trade," Gibbs said; he must have noticed Will's expression. "Some folk decide to profit from it rather than trying to steal it from each other."

"So, Jack wants a merchant for his crew? Why?"

Gibbs shook his head. "'S not the merchant he's after."

He chose not to elaborate, and Will followed him the rest of the way up the hill in silence. He wasn't stupid or naïve; he'd heard Jack and Gibbs speaking at the inn they'd just came from and Jack's plan to use Will as leverage against Captain Barbossa and his crew of the Black Pearl, and he had no intentions of letting that happen. But Gibbs, and certainly not Jack, couldn't know that, or else he might find himself in the brig until they found the pirates. All he had to do was play clueless and bide his time until he could make his own move.

Gibbs turned off the main path and onto another smaller one lined with lurid pink flowers Will had never seen before, in England or Port Royal. Behind a bend in the path, they came upon a small plaster cottage, and Will blinked in the sudden blazing light. Oil lanterns hung from every available space, and tall tiki torches burned in another path leading to the cottage's front door. Gibbs ignored the front door entirely and circled the cottage to the back, and Will followed in a slight daze, blinking rapidly against the overwhelming light.

A rhythmic thunk could be heard from the street, and Will rounded the corner to see a large, broad man standing amidst more torches. He raised an axe above his head and brought it down on a sizeable log, cleanly splitting the wood in two as if it were butter. Normally, Will would have questioned the safety of cutting wood in the middle of the night, but the copious light and the man's bulging arms stayed his judgment.

The man caught sight of them as he reached for another log, and he straightened instantly, his eyes narrowing. He was younger than Will had initially thought, perhaps a few years his senior, but still a head taller, and the ease in which he slung his axe over his shoulder made the rapier by Will's side feel like a toothpick.

"A little late to call upon us this time of night, Gibbs," the man said in a deep brogue, and Will blinked in surprise at the Scottish accent. "What do you want?" He sniffed, then frowned. "And why do you smell like a pigsty?"

"Evenin', Henry," Gibbs said. If he was intimidated by the giant Scotsman, he didn't show it. "I've a proposition for your mistress – urgent business. I think she'll want to hear it."

Henry's gaze traveled to Will. "Who's he?"

"Will Turner," Will said before Gibbs could answer for him. "We're here on behalf of Captain Jack Sparrow, looking for suitable men to join his crew."

"Are you now?" Henry smiled, and though his face was handsome, Will could not help but be unsettled by the expression. "Go on, then; get inside. The captain's making tea."

"Thank you," Will said, but stopped when Henry thrust out an arm the size of a tree trunk.

"No weapons allowed in the house," he said. "Leave them on the stoop, along with your shoes."

It was only after Will saw Gibbs unholstering his gun and unlacing his boots that he reluctantly removed his sword belt and shoes and placed them gently on the back stoop of the cottage. Henry set down his axe and gathered a bundle of chopped wood under his arm, then led Gibbs and Will into the cottage after taking off his own sandals.

The light seemed impossibly brighter inside; candles clung to sconces on walls and every flat surface within the cottage, and paper lanterns hung in each corner of the main room. Other strips of paper, inked with strange black symbols, were nailed to the ceiling beams and the mantle of the fireplace where Henry deposited the wood. Above the mantle were two swords of a likeness Will had never seen before, and he studied them in interest.

Long, slender, and curved in a peculiar style, they were still an aesthetic feat, the iron gleaming in the light. The grips were black and white leather wrapped in a beautiful diamond pattern, and though Will marveled at their craftsmanship, he wondered how such a large man as Henry could use such delicate weapons. Decorations, then, he assumed.

"Take a seat," Henry said. He disappeared behind a red curtain of silk, where the scent of tea wafted out to them. Will looked down and saw only cushions on the wooden floor, arranged around a peculiarly low table.

Gibbs settled himself on one of the cushions with a grunt, and Will followed suit, tucking his legs crisscross as if he were a child again. He studied the cottage while they waited for Henry, his mistress, and the mysterious captain he had mentioned.

Underneath all the lights and lanterns and strange strips of paper, the cottage was nothing special; the walls were water-stained and thatched over with what looked like clay at intervals, and the floor creaked with wear and age. Besides the swords over the fireplace, there were no other decorations. All the furniture was dark wood and bland, and the mismatched cushions were the only seats.

Henry pushed his way back into the small room and held the curtain open behind him. A woman appeared carrying a tray of teacups and a black kettle, and Will almost missed her behind Henry's breadth until she approached the low table. Upon seeing Gibbs, she stopped in her tracks and threw an accusatory glance at Henry.

"You failed to mention that our late-night visitors would be pirates," she hissed. Her accent was something Will had never heard before, but he bristled at her description.

"I'm not a pirate," he said before Henry could answer her.

She looked at him as if he were a nagging child. Her eyes were dark and almond-shaped, and her lip curled back slightly from her teeth when she met his gaze.

"No?" she said. "Well, your companion certainly is. If I did not want to be associated with pirates, I'd recommend finding better company to keep, Mr. …?"

"Turner," he said. "Will Turner."

"Captain," Henry broke in. "I think you'll find what Mr. Gibbs has to say will be of great interest to you."

He gave her a significant look while Will reeled. Captain? She finally sighed and set down the tea tray heavily on the table, taking a seat, and Henry copied her. Will looked to Gibbs as she set cups before them and began to pour the tea, but Gibbs only shook his head slightly, indicating that Will should leave the talking to him. Will glared into his steaming tea.

When she was done pouring, she set down the kettle and leaned back on her hands, studying Gibbs intently. The captain, as Henry had called her, couldn't have been much older than Will, but she stared down Gibbs as if she were the elder. Her hair was long and black, pulled back into a messy tangle like she had been asleep moments before their arrival, but her gaze was alert, and her posture tense.

"Go on, then," she said to Gibbs. "Try to impress me."

"We're putting together a crew," Gibbs said, nodding in Will's direction. "I know you don't sail anymore, Miss Jin, but we could use a man like Henry. With your leave, I'd like to ask you if you'd be willing to let him join up. He's still your first man per the Code; it's only right we come to some sort of agreement together."

"Who's the captain of your crew?" she asked. "You?" Her eyes slid to Will. "Or your non-pirate pirate?"

"Captain Jack Sparrow," Will snapped. First Jack telling him that his father was a pirate, and now this woman calling him one… It made his blood boil. "We sail after the Black Pearl. I'm assuming you've heard of it?"

The woman Gibbs had called Miss Jin froze, and Henry set down the teacup that had been halfway to his mouth slowly. Beside Will, Gibbs stifled a sigh.

"The Black Pearl?" Henry echoed. He shook his head. "Ah, lad, there's no catching that ship. And if you're thinking of trying to overpower her crew, you've got a death wish. Hell itself don't want those devils. They'll send you to the depths before you can mutter a prayer."

"I don't want the ship," Will said. "I don't want her crew or even her treasure." He took a breath and decided to throw caution to the wind. "But they took someone precious to me, and they have her. I want to get her back. The rest…" Will waved his hand toward Gibbs. "I leave that to everyone else. I only want to rescue the woman I love."

Gibbs chuckled uncomfortably in the stunned silence Will's declaration created. "The lad's a bit melodramatic, I'll admit, but he speaks true. Jack Sparrow's the only one who knows where the Pearl makes port. Mr. Turner may only be in it for his bonnie lass, but there's a great deal of profit to be made if we catch the Pearl unawares."

"But you still expect a fight," Miss Jin pointed out. "Why else would you consider Henry? You know he sails no more than I."

"Aye, I won't deny that," Gibbs said. "But Jack's wanting a crew brave, stupid, or mad enough to sail into Hell, and I reckon Mr. Muir here's one of those three still."

To Will's surprise, Henry laughed. "Always with the silver tongue, Gibbs. I'm surprised you haven't wrangled a crew of your own yet."

"And what are Sparrow's terms, hm?" Miss Jin leaned forward to sip from her tea. When she got closer to the light, Will noticed the deep shadows in the hollows of her eyes. "Surely, he has more to offer in compensation than empty promises of profit if you manage to catch the Black Pearl?"

Gibbs exchanged an uneasy glance with Will. As far as they knew, Jack's promises were empty, and they weren't snagging any buyers other than drunkards and desperate men so far.

Miss Jin smirked when their silence lengthened. "I thought as much." She kept her eyes on Gibbs as she drank, and he shifted under her stare. "Everyone on this island says that Jack Sparrow the man is the same as his stories – irreverent, embellished, and dubious. He has no business being a captain."

"And you?" Will asked, unable to help himself. She raised an eyebrow at him. "Henry called you his captain, but I see no ship nor crew of your own."

Her gaze darkened. Gibbs tugged on his sleeve warningly, but Will shook him off. He was tired of pirates and their petty, self-serving politics. He got to his feet abruptly, nearly upending the low table.

"This is pointless," he fumed. "I don't have time for bargaining."

"Lad—" Gibbs said.

"Those pirates have Elizabeth!" Will bellowed. "Every moment I waste here could be her last!"

He turned without waiting for a reply and stormed out of the cottage. He strode to the stump where Henry had been splitting wood and kicked it. The throb of pain curbed his anger somewhat, but he was still seething when the large Scotsman joined him in the yard.

"This lass of yours," he said quietly. "Fiancée?"

Will stared into the burning flames of the nearest torch. "No."

Henry hummed, crossing his arms. "But you'd go to the ends of the earth for her, clearly."

"And beyond." Will rubbed a hand over his face. "Jack Sparrow has his own reasons for chasing the Pearl, but Elizabeth is mine. I can't offer you anything in terms of profit or treasure, but I won't beg for your help, either. I'll go alone if I must."

"Ah, you won't be alone, laddie." Henry clapped him on the shoulder, and Will's knees nearly buckled under the force. "You'll have me."

Will turned, incredulous. "You're joining Jack's crew?"

"Aye." Henry shrugged. "I've always wanted to chase a ship crewed by the damned. Sounds exciting."

Will stared at him, unsure if he was joking or not. "What about your captain?"

"She'll come 'round. She listens to me. Usually."

Will looked back toward the cottage. "How did she become a pirate captain, anyway?"

"Why does anyone become a pirate?" Henry grinned. "Freedom, laddie."

That didn't answer Will's question at all, but he turned back to Henry. "We meet at the docks at dawn. Look for a ship called the Dauntless."

He held out his hand, and Henry shook it. "A pleasure, Mr. Turner. Until then."

Henry trudged back to the cottage, and Will stood alone amidst the blazing torches for a long time until Gibbs rejoined him, and they departed.

Izumi watched the two men leave from the open shutters in her kitchen, rubbing absently at a spot on her collarbone as she reflected on the night's events. Henry joined her, carrying the tray with the empty kettle and teacups before setting it down on the counter when he felt her eyes on him. "What?"

"You know what."

He sighed and began to rinse out the cups in the basin of dishwater next to him. "I told you what Gibbs had to say would interest you."

She turned back to the open window. Gibbs and Will Turner had disappeared from view. "I haven't set foot on the deck of a ship in nearly three years."

"Neither have I," he countered. "We're different. You and I were born and bred on the sea. She's a part of us. It'll come back."

"How do I face him?" she said quietly. She looked over her shoulder when Henry's scrubbing ceased and met his gaze. "How do I look that man in the face, call him Captain, and pretend that I don't want to put a bullet between his eyes?"

"Maybe you won't have to," Henry said. "If he does know where the Pearl is, there's a slim chance he'll survive the encounter. Let Captain Barbossa and his crew take care of him for us."

She sighed and tugged on the collar of her kimono. "There's a slim chance we'll survive that encounter too."

"As long as Davy Jones takes him first," said Henry solemnly. "The day we washed up on that beach, we swore we would take our revenge on Jack Sparrow, remember? Sparrow first, then that bastard Wolsey. We vowed we would die trying – for Jessamin, for Owen, for Jean-Philippe and Tao and all the others. We've no fortune finding Wolsey, but Sparrow's fallen into our laps by some miracle of God. Even if it's just him, I'll die a satisfied man."

He was right, Izumi knew, and her conviction was the same. As long as Jack Sparrow was dead, she could die happy. She'd wait in Hell for Wolsey and kill him twice over. But she had the opportunity to get her revenge on the man who'd cost her crew their lives, and she would not squander it.

She pulled the shutters closed and touched Henry's elbow gently when she made to walk past him out of the kitchen.

"For the Loyal Death," she murmured. "Get some rest. I'll see you in the morning."

He nodded. "Captain."

She padded down the short, narrow hall to her bedroom. It burned with light and incense, and she lit another candle that had gone out before she crossed to her small cot. There were no shadows in her room, no darkness, and after ensuring that the lamps had enough oil to burn until morning, she curled up on her side and watched the flames flicker and dance on the walls.

Come dawn, Captain Jack Sparrow was a dead man.