Pirates of the Caribbean: Barbossa and the King's Messenger (Book 1)

Marooned

"Ah! Well, there you are, then! Clearly, said scoundrel's mad about you!" he said with a smirk, knowing precisely how to goad my temper.

I ignored his attempt at provocation. "I want my things back. I want him to pay for this. I've done with suffering at the hands of blackguards and rascals. I don't care how long it takes, or what I must do – I will not let this cutthroat be victorious over the field."

"Hear, hear! Spoken like your father, love," Jack replied, lifting the bottle once more. "As for me, I may have only one shot in this damp and squibby pistol, but I'm saving it for him. I'll dry it out, and keep looking for him and the Pearl, and one day . . . I'll get square with Barbossa for this, I do solemnly promise you." He thought for a moment. "Perhaps we should visit Tia Dalma when we get off this pig of an island."

"Who is that?" I asked.

"So your father never told you . . . Those Messengers don't half keep secrets, do they," he remarked, and I could see that he was weighing how much to say. "Never mind, then, darlin', the critical point is that she's someone who might help you get what you want. Got anything to barter?" I shook my head.

Jack considered this obstacle. "Still," he decided, "You might not need it – if she decides to help you. And she might do."

Staring at the fire, his conversation drifted to our childhood days together. "Not as nice as the fires at the gypsy camp, eh? I remember you and the other girls in the firelight, laughin' and dancin', all the jingly gold belts and such."

"Yes; it was a fine and lovely time, wasn't it?" I replied, thinking that even Jack did not know all that had happened to me since then.

"Did you know you was born in a camp much like that one? Not in Cornwall – it was in the Carpathians. Your father was on the King's errand, and your mum went with him and had her first little 'un in a gypsy camp, of all places. Never told you that either, did he?" My shocked look confirmed that he had not.

"Well, things took an unexpected turn, and you were brought back on the Misty Lady. Your mum made it back as well, but . . ." he shook his head. "It was left to Captain Harry to raise you."

"It seems there's much I don't know about my family," I said, thinking of the villainous uncle whose existence had also been unknown to me. "Can't you tell me more?"

He was silent for awhile before replying. "Nah, love; you can't be troubled by what you never knew. Don't go lookin'."

Jack rubbed his finger in a circle on my shoulder as we lounged in the sand. "By the way, don't worry about the next level. Can't blame me for tryin', eh, mouse?"

I laughed. "It's been many a year since I heard you call me by that name," I told him.

"Least it gave you a laugh," he replied with a grin.

He lay on his back and continued. "The point I was makin' is this: Norrington ain't for you, and never was. You never really told him the wild, free way you was brought up; what do you think he'd have made of it, once he found out? Roamin' the world, gypsies, pirates, and weapons – no, love, Norrington would suffocate you. You're more like me – you were brought up by an adventurer, to be an adventurer, my girl, pure and simple. Now, lie down right here," patting the sand, "and don't you worry about old Jack. I'll keep you safe while you sleep – and you will always remember this as the night that you and Captain Jack Sparrow almost . . ." But, exhausted by the long day's trials, I was already asleep.

I woke the next morning with a ravenous appetite. Jack was still asleep, but I decided to scour the island for food. As I surveyed the vegetation and the possibilities offered by the surrounding waters, I was quite convinced that sustenance could be found if one knew where to look, despite Barbossa's assertion that there was none. That contemptible brigand probably wouldn't think he'd had proper food unless it was a disgusting slab of overcooked meat and a few flavourless peas with the taste boiled right out of them, I decided.