𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐊 𝐀𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐎𝐂𝐄𝐀𝐍 ─── jack sparrow

𝟏𝟎. A Ghostly Scene

"PUTS A CHILL in the bones, how many honest sailors have been claimed by this passage."

Marion's fingers tightened around her coat, savouring the little warmth it gave her. After being traumatised by the storm, the crew had been allowed a respite from their usual chores. Half of them had been moaning about headaches and sore muscles all morning. It made Marion pleased that she wasn't one of them.

She had barely made it to sunrise when the waves had dulled and the water leaked from the scuppers back into the sea. Will had remained, albeit disgruntled, within the cabin through the night, resting his injured ankle. When Marion had returned to him, so exhausted that she could scarcely stand upright, the swelling had lessened. The bruising was still there but, fortunately, it didn't look like a grievous sprain. By her reckoning, it would only take a week or two to heal.

But it wasn't time they could spare.

Now, as the Interceptor glided through the murky dawn fog, Marion and Will sat on the deck, staring out into the strangely calm waters. Gibbs had joined them, not looking remotely tired or rattled. Below them, the boughs of an underwater cemetery twisted up like contorted bones. Its veneer was shrouded in mist but Marion could still distinguish the skeletons and decaying sails that were mutilated by the reef.

Something writhed in her chest as she realised every vessel in this graveyard hadn't survived the journey to the Isla de Muerta. A low screech groaned below them—a sunken mast scraping against the hull.

Up ahead, Jack was manning the wheel, and much like his first mate, he seemed unfazed by the tempest. She supposed he would've seen his fair share of ghastly weather in his life.

He checked his compass, tilting it from left to right, then altered his course slightly. It seemed there wasn't a moment when it wasn't with him. She did wonder why. It was broken, wasn't it?

"How is it that Jack came by that compass?" asked Will, having followed her gaze.

"Not a lot's known about Jack Sparrow 'fore he showed up in Tortuga with a mind to go after the treasure of Isla de Muerta," explained Gibbs, chugging down a mouthful of stale rum. "That was before I'd met him, back when he was captain of the Black Pearl."

"What?"

Even as she said it, something clicked in the back of her mind. The answer to the riddle of Jack's presence became clear. Of course he'd been the captain. It made so much sense that it was foolish for her not to have realised it sooner.

"He failed to mention that," said Will.

Gibbs, having registered that perhaps there'd been a reason why Jack hadn't told them, took another swig from his flask. "Well, he plays things close to the vest now. And a hard learned lesson it was. See three days out on the venture, the first mate comes to him and says everything's an equal share—that should mean the location of the treasure, too. So, Jack gives up the bearings."

"That doesn't sound like him," Marion commented, glancing up at said pirate. "I thought being a selfish bastard was what he did best."

If Gibbs was offended, he didn't show it. Perhaps he was used to people calling his captain names.

"He was younger back then, more trusting. Not that it did him much good. That night, there was mutiny." His voice was a whisper now, so Will and Marion leaned in closer. "They marooned Jack on an island and left him to die. But not before he'd gone mad with the heat."

"Ah, so that's the reason for all the..."

Gibbs glared at Will as he rather dubiously imitated Jack's drunken tendencies. "Reason's got nothing to do with it. Now, when a pirate's marooned, he's given a pistol with a single shot. One shot, well that won't do much good hunting, or to be rescued. But after three weeks of a starving belly and thirst—that pistol start to look real friendly." Marion winced as Gibbs mimed a gun to the head. "But Jack—he escaped the island. And he still has that single shot. Oh, but he won't use it, though, save on one man. His mutinous first mate."