1705
The fog followed them. It haunted them like they haunted these waters.
It was suffocatingly thick, the blanket of chimney smoke coloured mist forever wrapped around them, and all life outside of that opaque wall had been long forgotten.
Beauty which had once threatened to start wars, had turned so ugly it plagued the mind of any man to see it for eternity. Spirits which had once been so bright they burned like the sun in midsummer, were now damp and rotten, like the flesh of an old corpse.
Gone were the days of feeling the whip of the Caribbean breeze on their salt sprayed skin. Gone were the evenings spent tasting the sour red juice of the grapes. And in its place, was nothing, leaving a hollow pit in the body of each man where their soul should have been.
They were guided by their own ghostly tide. As the air around them remained unnaturally still, the charred hull pushed through the dark waters with unforgiving momentum. Their guiding figure, their dark angel, sliced through the fog, sending a wave of mist sweeping over the ebony deck before it seeped into the holds below.
But no amount of fog could hide their sails; those sheets of tattered black which hung from the burnt masts and gave more warning than any war bells could. 'No survivors' were the words those sails sung as soon as they appeared on the horizon or through the smoke of cannon fire. They pulled those words from the lips of any sailor unfortunate enough to lay eyes on them, even the most decorated of men, be them pirate or soldier.
Sometimes in the night, during a watch or after awakening from a half-drunk soldier, some men thought they saw those sails and even that was enough to make them hush until they had returned to land. Only once they were home, laid up cosy and warm in their beds, was when they could speak of it, inspiring the stories which haunted their nightmares.
They were the predators in these waters. These men were the ones the Devil himself feared; the cursed crew of the Black Pearl.
The waters were calm on this particular night. The rigging could be heard as it creaked loudly, and the hold below rumbled as cannons rolled. At the stern of the ship, lanterns squealed as they swayed in time with the ship's easy rolls.
The crew were resting, huddled together in the hold preparing for a fight, but the two regular figures stood upon the upper deck with their eyes trained on the uncertain waters ahead.
"Should we douse the lamps?." Her voice was honeyed, though not as much as it had once been; its pleasantness was fading with each passing day and all that kept it sounding sweet was the dulcet tones of a mediterranean accent. It laced every word, embellishing the husky threat and turning the simple suggestion into a colourful song for the Captain's ears.
Nicolette Barker peered over her shoulder only far enough to see the faint outline of her husband out the corner of her eye. Her brow was softly wrinkled with concern and, with the darkness veiling her questioning glances, she felt confident enough to express her anticipation.
"We are close..."
The Captain made no sign that he had heard either of her comments, nor did he give any sign that he cared, as he continued to watch over the deserted deck and waters. They were close. They could all feel it; every man aboard could feel their innards being twisted tighter like a coil with each mile they covered.
But minutes passed without a single word. It was only when she had been about to impatiently repeat herself, that Nicolette was silenced by a small nod, and then Captain Hector Barbossa gestured for the bosun to follow through with her suggestion.
"Sail!"
The call rained down upon them from the crows nest and Nicolette turned forward to watch the small light glowing on the edge of the horizon. It was just a flicker, a burning ember, but it was there and it caused her gaze to narrow.
The small dancing flames around her were slowly extinguished and it brought the view into focus as a cream cascade of moonlight broke through the thick barricade of fog.
The corroding bronze coins twisted into Nicolette's hair shone as brightly as they could these days, and the deathly pale white of her right pupil became illuminated. Her clothes sagged as she transformed, hanging onto nothing but bone, and the collage of jewels decorating her fingers threatened to slip from her hands.
She had prayed to any God listening when it had first happened; she had cried out, screaming, afraid to look and afraid to touch. She had begged for it to be a dream and then she had begged for it to be madness, and then in finally she had pleaded for death. But it didn't come, and it wouldn't no matter how hard they tried.
For what the moonlight showed, was them as they truly were; already dead but trapped among the living. A cruel punishment for their greed.
Nicolette heard her bones crunch as she coiled her hands into fists, and she refused to look anywhere else other than the ocean until she stepped back into the comfort of the shadows.
Behind her, Barbossa shifted; "Keep her on course."
The helm juttered as it was adjusted by one notch and her ears perked as his footsteps drew closer.
Hector was light on his feet, he could sneak up on her when he wanted to. A small benefit to the pet sitting balanced on her left shoulder, was that Jack's heartwarming chirps became more rapid from excitement when he was nearby.
Jack sat picking at the bronze beads and the peacock feathers tied into her hair, he passed the time by grooming knotted tats and pecking at her ear. It provided a small comfort in the circumstances such as that at present, when tensions were high and futures were uncertain.
After Barbossa came to stand alongside his wife, he took one look at the menacing smirk pulling at the thin corner of her lips and his eyes pooled with longing. The jagged scar drawn through her right eye was contorted by the expression; it made the pale puckered skin contrast harshly against her tanned olive skin and turned her smile crooked. Beginning an inch above her brow, the damage which had been caused by a small hand dagger, tore through her eyelid and down onto the apple of her cheek. She made smiling look painful these days, and so Hector pondered, it was perhaps for the best that she did not do it much anymore.
Nicolette Barker used to be beautiful; the beauty of the Caribbean, created from innocence.
Now however, her allure could only be appreciated by those who could be seduced by ways more dark or with a curiosity for the sinister. She was, after all, the one woman the devil himself couldn't resist.
"What's in your head girl?" Hector's voice was gently inquisitive, for he had grown cautious over her delicate temper in recent months.
Nicolette's rare smile stretched into a grin as her pupils slipped into darkness. The emerald shine disappeared from her left eye and it was replaced with soot black.
Other men who saw that sight, the conflicting stare made of black and white, as her daggers were brought down upon their chests, they would argue she had tempted the devil into her so fiercely, that he had never left her being.
"We're close. Can you not hear it?"
For too many months he had wished to look upon her face and see the look it held in that moment. It was the same she once expressed while admiring sun kissed sandy isles and shallow waters painted with coral. Hector wanted so badly to watch her hold her breath with anxiousness and to stand up on the tips of her toes like she once had when the chase commenced.
But it never came, for lately, a brief flash of fire behind her eyes was the only show of excitement he ever got to observe. And as soon as it was extinguished, Hector traced her line of sight towards the growing light and noticed the limp white sails could be seen more clearly now. They would be on them within the hour.
"We can't be sure the medallion will be on that ship."
Had there been any chance of witnessing what little girlish glee survived within her, it diminished the moment Hector uttered those words. It was the first step of the dance he did every time now; his weak and tiring attempt to prepare her for the worst.
Nicolette had grown to despise it, and by god, so had he. However, neither Hector nor the crew had the patience to suffer through another one of her hot headed breakdowns should things turn sour.
"We best be keeping a level head until we are sure, my love." Barbossa lifted his hand and reached through the curtain of moonlight parting them. The flesh faded to bone before his fingers gently grazed the soft skin of the cheek untainted by pain.
The tide rocked the ship and Nicolette's smile dripped with sarcasm as she allowed Hector to tilt her chin up. "I'll try my best."
Jack jumped from her shoulder to Hector's as he scoffed; a sound of sorrow filled amusement. "You truly are a sight to behold when your mood is bright. When we have left this behind..." But Barbossa allowed his words to trail off, taking his own advice to not allow them to get ahead of themselves.
Nicolette couldn't meet his eye, and she swallowed hard before she forcibly relaxed into his ghostly touch.
She knew what he would do just to feel the womanly softness of her skin once more. She knew what he was willing to sacrifice just to be allowed to feel the harsh ridges of her imperfections under his fingertips.
But with each day that came and went with Hector able to feel nothing more than a phantom's tickle, his frustrations grew and he was starting to take them out on her.
"Two years..." Upon hearing his words, Nicolette's smile dissolved into a one of great sadness, her lips quivered and Hector lowered his face to hers ever so slightly. "Two years without so much as the warm touch of a hand."
Gone may be the sensation, but not the temptation, and Nicolette Barker was still as addictive as she had been the day he had met her as he poured he and his crew mates rum at their table.
"It cannot be for much longer." His eyes were the only remaining warmth and they reminded her of honey, the warm rich kind she would spread on thick slices of stale bread as a child. From beneath the brim of his hat, they shone and called to her sometimes as strongly as the gold did.
"Captain!"
Nicolette returned to her dutiful stance, but turned to glare at the gimp with the wooden eye and his podgy moronic friend first. Barbossa however had a much less subtle reaction to the interruption and he growled under his breath, before he turned on the two trembling imbeciles who had shattered the hopes of a rare moment with his wife.
"Gentlemen..." They both shook on the spot, inaudibly fighting over who had to speak through a series of shrugs and nudges. This irrational behaviour went on for a good minute or so, which surprised Nicolette to no end. She assumed Hector must have been feeling patient; "Well, what it'd be?"
"Should we ready the cannons?" Hector let the silence settle and allowed the foolish men to sweat.
Nicolette had spent the best part of two years trying to work out just how they had been left with such a motley crew. In the end, she concluded the standards of their previous Captain had been overwhelmingly pathetic.
"Go below." Hector finally mumbled, though he addressed his wife rather than the crew. "No mistakes." He nodded down towards the main deck, towards the small hatch leading down to the darker depths of hell.
"Aye Captain." Nicolette's stern, stone faced expression returned, mending the cracks the emotions had briefly been allowed to shine through. She pushed her way between the two crewmen while barking at them to move, and mutterings of how they would have been better suited to the circus were whispered under her breath as she fled below.
The awkward, ill timed responses sputtered from their mouths as they moved to follow her; "Yes Mrs Barbossa" and "Sorry, Mrs Barbossa.".
'Shine your boots Mrs Barbossa? Here's your wine Mrs Barbossa.'
Their thickly laid on brown nosing made her sick to the very pit of her stomach. At first it had been flattering, but that was when she had been too naive and stupid to know any better. She would become startled like a deer in the forest, wide eyed and fear stricken at hearing her new name being respected, and then blush and turn away like a timid little girl playing dress up in her mother's clothes.
The only women she had known in her life who were addressed the way her crew addressed her these days, were the high born ladies her mother once worked for. It didn't sit right with her and only after she started to notice the hateful glares they would throw as her back turned, did she realise it wasn't because they respected her, it was because they respected her husband as much as they feared him.
Nevertheless, she enjoyed the way they scuttled around like beetles in her presence, and hopped about the deck like toads when she threw an order out from behind the helm. Nikki enjoyed being allowed to turn her temper upon them now, instead of it being her who had to sit through their torment.
Nicolette was their Captain's wife. Nicolette was their First Mate. They weren't to lay a finger on her no matter how much they wanted to…and she knew just how many of them wanted to.
"All men to their stations! Ready the guns!" The deck came to life in an instant, bodies were rushing down the steps to the gun deck like rats fleeing a flood. But they were still not acting quick enough and with the spirited wind, they did not have time to dawdle.
"With urgency! Master Twigg, see to the armoury, prepare to lead the men aboard."
"Aye Ma'am." The thin man resembling a sack of bones nodded obediently and climbed up to the deck above.
The waters started to grow rough as the gap between themselves and the merchant vessel they chased started to close. They were beginning to sail into the waves left in its wake and it forced the crew to become unsteady on their feet, but the men pushed on.
Some carried cannonballs from the hold below, others rolled the barrels of gunpowder to their friends and the rest stuffed the powder into the touch holes and readied the linstock. A few of them moved slowly, but they were efficient as Nicolette watched over them, hanging onto an overhead beam as the Pearl rocked.
It wasn't long before the gun ports were thrown open, and then the calls for aid started to seal into the hold. They were desperate, panic soaked screams and they skipped across the surface of the ocean like pebbles until they hit the Pearl.
The men slowly gathered in groups by their cannons as Nikki watched the stern of the merchant ship come into range. Her view was restricted, but her mind was focused. Her breathing fell silent, her shoulders hunched forward and she crouched down to level of the gun ports.
"Hold your fire." Calmness and silence was what they needed now.
With the grace of a cat, Nicolette swung down to hover by the first cannon and get a better view. She gave Koehler a side glance to remain patient as he anxiously fidgeted with the fuse and sighed.
From appearance, the ship was no more than a small trading sloop. But they weren't looking for a certain type of ship; it just had to carry the right cargo.
"Mrs Barbossa?" Pintel stared at the hull of their neighbour nervously as they came side by side with the ship.
"Hush." The snap was harsh enough to remove all eyes from her and a moment later, she saw the bow finally peek into sight, confirming their range. "All canons open fire."
"Open fire!" Her quiet snarl was repeated once, twice and then over and over again until it swept through the ship like a wave. The men were screaming and it sounded like an explosion all of its own.
It didn't take much to bring the enemy down. A couple of cannons, a couple of ropes and they had brought out their flag of truce, raising it high on the mast in innocent surrender.
They heard their Captain board the ship, they heard him spare a moment to praise the men for their bravery and their intelligence for allowing this whole scenario to go about in a calm manner. And then they heard him give the order to spare no quarter; men were easier to search when they were dead.
Nicolette left Koehler in charge of the gun deck and returned to the deck to watch. Hector was already back on the Pearl, overseeing the devastation as it grew into a scene from a nightmare.
"Man the helm. Be ready to get us on our way." Barbossa gave the order without so much as glancing her way, too preoccupied with the crew and the way they messily dug through the pockets of corpses.
The true honour would have been Hector allowing her to go in search of the treasure, alongside the men. What she would give to be the first to hold that trinket in her hands and shackle up the boy who had been the cause of all their troubles. But like always Hector always kept her close for what did not fall behind could not be left behind.
At least from the helm, Nicolette was able to watch their men as they cut down all of those in their path no matter whether they were armed or begging. Throats were cut without them even being questioned, and then those deemed 'clean' were thrown into the corner, piled up like diseased livestock.
But the longer she watched, the more apprehensive she became to hear the gleeful cries of success. Until apprehension turned to desperation, as one by one men started to return to the ship empty handed.
"Nothing Captain." The voice of Twigg captured her attention and Nicolette's eyes were drawn back to her husband. "It was nothing but a fishing boat." He must have felt her gaze because Hector looked up to her with a hard, frustrated stare.
Nicolette was the first to look away, seconds before Barbossa started giving the orders to dispose of the ship, to set it and its remaining crew ablaze, and to cut them loose so they could be on their way.
His footsteps sounded like thunder amongst the heavy silence of the broken crew. The sodden wood stretched and moaned under Hector's weight, and before he appeared by her side, she turned to him. She tried not to look weak, she put all the strength and mind she had left to spare into standing tall but the disappointment was too evident. It was too difficult to hide and, if she was honest with herself, she was far too tired to carry on trying.
Hector took a breath, to bide his time, and then he spoke in such a hushed whisper it almost became lost in the wind. "My love…" His arm curled around her slim waist tightly bound in a delicately patterned black and burgundy corset, to try to draw her into him. "We must be close."
Caught between pulling away to retire to their cabin and allowing Hector to paw at her, Nicolette chose the easier, and undoubtedly more peaceful, option. She allowed her head to fall upon his shoulder and one shaking hand weakened around the helm's spoke in the process.
Nicolette wasn't weak: no longer was she the little girl who would go crying to the Captain when she scuffed her knee or nicked herself during sword practice. She was not beaten and she was certainly not defeated, but she was exhausted.
"It called to us. The gold called to us." She repeated the words, chanting them like a priestess practised a ritual. Hector himself had spoken those words years ago, back when finding the coins had been easy and when it had still been a chase they enjoyed. "I had to have been there..."
Hector hushed her by placing a single finger against her cold, dry lips with a featherlight touch. "We will get our hands on it soon, you have my word." He ran his hand over her cheek before pushing it through her hair, thinning in the moonlight, and pressed his lips to her temple in a soft kiss. "Damn him to the depths who-"
"You already damned him yourself! Or did you forget?" Nicolette snapped when she allowed her temper to get the best of her. But she was instantly filled with guilt because it wasn't fair for her unconscious to still harbour such soft feelings for a man who had made them lose so much.
And because Barbossa noticed that guilt rolling into her eyes like Caribbean storm clouds, he didn't scold her in retaliation. He didn't correct her like he was normally so quick to do, instead his chest rumbled with amusement and he turned her in his hold to look at her at arm's length.
His eyes drank her figure in, appreciating what his senses were unable to enjoy and feed on. From the smooth line of her jaw, to the soft curve of her waist, to
"Aye…I did." He chuckled, low and deep, but the sound faded when she failed to join him in his amusement. "Go to the cabin, take a rest."
Behind him, the wreckage was beginning to burn brighter. The flames were rising higher as more of the ship was claimed, turning it into nothing but ash and cloth.
They should have been able to feel the heat on their faces, it should have burnt them and urged them to sail away quicker. But there was none of that. They could not smell the intense scent of burning flesh, to do so would have been heavenly. Nicolette would rejoice to feel so much as her stomach churn as she turned sick from the stench. Anything, anything at all, would be better than numbness.
Her eyes swept across the ocean's surface over Hector's shoulder and her mismatched pupils scanned the wreckage as she put the very last of her energy into imagining what it would have felt like if she were mortal.
That's when she saw it.
Camouflaged amongst the illuminated fog, were sails. White sails, and a hull so dark it was indistinguishable against the darkened waters. The traits of a military vessel.
It was a inverted shadow to the Pearl and for a moment, Nicolette believed that's all it was; a ghostly reflection of their own ship, created by her mind to dilute the disappointment.
But then the Pearl turned away and she took in the finer details; the lamps on board alight with life and the Union Jack flying in the breeze. Even her mind would not think of painting such fine details on a hallucination.
"Over there." Nicolette jerked out of Hector's grip and climbed the rail. Her torso hung over the side of the ship as she held onto the rigging but her eyes never left that spot...at least she didn't think they had. "There's a ship…another ship!" Some of the crew paused and gathered on the main deck to watch her, some leaned over the side of the Pearl to get a look. But no matter how wide she searched the same waters, there was no trace. There was not even a ripple in the waves.
Nicolette frowned, then laughed, then shook her head. In the time it had taken for her to blink it had vanished.
"There was a ship…there were sails over there! We need to turn around!" Her feet reunited with the deck with an attention grabbing thump, but as she reached for the helm, Hector held out an arm and blocked her path.
"Nicolette?" His voice made her halt. Hector was calm but he watched her with a level of sympathy she did not like as he stepped towards her. "There's nothing there." He took her chin, pinching the bone between his fingers, and then forced their eyes to meet. "It's in your mind, my love."
Was it? Was she starting to lose her mind?
Her heart ached and it fell into her non existing stomach and rolled around making what was already hollow feel like an abyss. Nic forced herself to smile, but it fooled no one, especially as her shoulders sagged and she pulled out of Barbossa's reach.
"I need to rest." A lie, a one she was stupid to think he thought to be true. They didn't need rest, no one needed sleep when they were dead.
"Nicolette…" Hector called for her, but she had already turned her back on him. She did however halt and glance, ever so timidly, back over her shoulder. "We're close."
"Close." Nikki repeated, scoffing coldly, and then without another word, she silently walked away.
If she had known. Right then in that moment, if she had known what lay ahead of them, she would have truly laughed. Nicolette would have laughed godly, and loudly, as she cracked them all over the head with an oar.
But she didn't know. None of them knew that the daily encounters with hope would dwindle into fortnightly chances. They didn't know they would then turn into annual hunts. They didn't know and were too naive to even consider that after a couple more years those hunts would only be for sport, not for gold.
For the gold stopped calling and those years ripped apart her body and soul until she didn't recognise herself anymore. Even her name was stripped from her as she became unpredictable, with a wildly changing temper and violent impatience, and the stories about which spread wider.
People stopped talking about Nicolette Barker, the woman of the Black Pearl. The only thing they called her was The Devil's Temptress.