Privateers!

Author: Llarian

Author email: llarian@llarian.de

Rating: PG13 (for swearing, mostly)

Type: Adventure

Summary: Begins right after the movie, then jumps ahead a few months. There's trouble brewing between nations, new pirates are sailing and plundering in the Caribbean and elsewhere. Jack Sparrow and his crew are dragged into the mess. Can they make a difference?

Disclaimer: "Pirates of the Caribbean”, including all characters you recognise from the motion picture, is owned by Disney. Only the ones you don't recognise are mine, as is this story. I'm writing this for fun, not money.

(* and ** marks footnotes at the end of the chapter)

Chapter 1

"We Are In The Hands Of A Madman"

Isla de Muerta

Captain Jack Sparrow crouched in the longboat's bow, arms hanging loosely at his side.

"Tell me again why we risk being caught by Norrington, Captain?” Anamaria called from her place in the stern. Gibbs and Mr. Cotton manned the oars.

"The Dauntless will take at least half a day longer to get here, luv”, Sparrow replied. "Provided they readied the ship immediately. And we need some of the treasure to pay for repairs on the Pearl. Clearly, Barbossa and his crew of miscreants haven't been takin' good care of me ship.”

The longboat's keel scraped on rock, and Jack hopped out, arms flailing wildly as he fought to regain his balance, which never seemed very good to begin with.

"I had the sails replaced 'fore we came back for you”, Anamaria huffed.

Jack flashed her a charming smile of white and gold teeth. "And well ye did, luv. But me Pearl needs more. There's still holes in her hull from the battle, and a leak below the waterline. She's takin' far too much water.” He shook his head mournfully; to see his beloved ship in such a state, near wreck, pained Jack Sparrow to no end. "Hull needs scrapin' off barnacles somethin' terrible. Then there's blocks and lines need replacin', and a bit o' new paint wouldna hurt her, either.”

"Jack, you're talking a complete overhaul here”, Gibbs called. "And what with Norrington after us...”

"And that's why we need money to pay the wharf in Santiago, and for us to lay low for a while. We can't careen her – she's too big, we'd never get 'er righted agin. So's we be needin' a proper drydock, savvy?”

Jack reached out to help Anamaria to shore, but she slapped his hand away, impatiently.

"The treasure's cursed, Jack, in case ye've forgotten. How're you going to get around that little wrinkle?”

"Not all of it, luv. Only the coins in the stone chest.”

They climbed the slope to the cave proper, Jack in the lead.

"What do you mean?”

"Barbossa hoarded swag, luv. Think about it. For ten years, he was the scourge of the Caribbean, sacking towns and plundering ships. But he and his men were cursed. They couldn't even taste drink or food, or feel anything. So what would they spend all the money on, eh?” Jack stopped at he top of the slope, waving his arms dramatically. "They didn't! They put it all here for the time after the curse. Look for yourselves, mates... and darling.”

Anamaria reached the top of the slope and stopped dead in her tracks.

"Bilgewater”, she cursed.

"Nah, luv”, Jack whispered in her ear, kohl-rimmed chocolate eyes laughing. "Most of it's gold and silver. And jewels, of course. Lotsa jewels, really. But no bilgewater anywhere in sight, darling.”

By now Cotton and Gibbs had reached the top too, and while Cotton remained mute as ever, Gibbs' eyes threatened to pop out of his head.

"Mary Mother of God”, the sailor breathed.

The whole cave was glinting and glittering with treasure. There were chests overflowing with coins from a dozen different nations, large piles of gold and silver coins, mounds of golden statues, strings of pearls, necklaces, rings, bracelets, plates and goblets, and even stacks of furniture and fine clothing. It was literally impossible to tread without stepping on treasure.

"What say you, gents, and lady?” Jack slurred, his hands fluttering in an expressive gesture. "Is this a treasure cave, or is it a treasure cave?”

Mr. Gibbs took a long, steadying draught from his flask, coughed, and wiped his mouth on his sleeve before replying: "Well, Captain, I'd say it's definitely a treasure cave.”

"How much is there?” Anamaria asked.

"Enough for every singly one of us to retire in style a dozen times over, luv.” Jack half stumbled, half glided down into the cave proper; numerous coins gave way under his feet, making the descent very slippery indeed.

"Of course, we'd need a bloody fleet to take it all away from here at once.”

He produced a number of canvas bags from the pockets of his coat and began filling them with Spanish doubloons and English guineas.

"For now, we'll just take some money. Help me out here, mates, we haven't got all day.”

The others clambered down to their Captain and also started filling bags.

"We should take as much as we can, Jack. It would be a right shame to let Norrington get his hands on all this.”

"Don't think he will, luv. He's not looking for treasure, an' he's ne'er been in here.” Jack shrugged. "To tell you the truth, there's a slight risk he may decide to have a look around. I took a few trinkets with me last time. But I don't think he'll make the connection.” He flashed another insane grin. "An' iffen he should find it – what's he to do with it, eh? He'd need a bloody fleet, too, while we can always sneak in and lift what we need.”

The pirates laughed at that; leave it to Jack Sparrow to think things through.

"But what if he leaves a garrison, Jack?” Anamaria asked. "We'd not get at the treasure without a fight, then.”

"Ah, but there's no spring on this rock, luv. No sweetwater and nothing to eat. He'd need a friggin' supply line to feed and water any men he stations here, and he hasn't the ships to do a proper job of it.”

Throwing a full bag over his shoulder – and very nearly falling flat on his face with the weight of the coins hitting his back – Jack Sparrow started the climb back up, softly singing to himself: " We pillage and plunder and we rifle and loot, drink up me 'earties, yo ho...”

London, Offices Of His Majesty's Admiralty – 2 Months Later

Hubert Cavanaugh, freshly promoted to Post Captain, kept his features carefully impassive.

"Those are your orders, Captain”, Vice Admiral Devon Montgomery, seated behind the enormous mahogany desk, repeated in a mild tone. The Old Man, as almost every Naval Officer was fond of calling him, though never to his face, rarely ever saw need to raise his voice.

"I understand, Sir. Although I must admit I rather hoped for a different assignment.”

The Old Man chuckled. "Can't wait to take your new ship into action, eh, my boy? Don't you worry. It's a long enough trip to the Caribbean, and you might as well find some on the way. Just make sure these papers are delivered safely into the hands of Governor Swann in Port Royal.”

"Yes, Sir. May I inquire as to why these papers are so important?”

The Old Man grew serious. "Normally, you may not. But in this case, I believe I can make an exception.”

He rose from his place behind the desk and turned to contemplate the rolling London fog just outside the window overlooking the River Thames. He could barely make out the masts of his old ship, the Sir Francis Drake, now under the command of the young man standing in his office. It had been nearly sixteen years since he had given up command of her, and close to eighteen since the chain of events that haunted him still.

"You are, of course, aware of the tension between our fair nation and France and Spain, as well as the growing troubles we've been having with pirates attacking our merchant vessels.”

"Yes, Sir. That is in fact why I had hoped...”

"These troubles are now spreading to the colonies as well, and quite frankly, His Majesty hasn't the funds ready to commission more ships to protect the Caribbean, for instance, from his Majesty's enemies. Commodore Norrington is doing a fine job, but he fights a losing battle. Merchant sailors have been offered Letters of Marque in order to augment our strength, but they do not stay in one particular area and are therefore quite useless defending small settlements.”

He turned again, for the first time looking directly at the young Captain.

"That is why you will carry His Majesty's order to recruit privateers from... local sources to Governor Swann. These papers empower the Governor to issue Letters of Marque in His Majesty's name.”

"Local sources as in local merchants, Sir? I doubt their ships will be up to the task. Too small, and not enough firepower, either.” The younger officer frowned. "We would be sending those men to their deaths.”

Vice Admiral Montgomery sank back into the chair behind his desk. "I'm certain Governor Swann will recruit... appropriate Captains, Cavanaugh. And as for action – I believe you can expect being attacked at some time during the voyage. There have been rather unsettling incidents lately, our enemies apparently knowing exactly when and where to strike. Coincidence? I think not, Captain.”

Cavanaugh frowned. "I see, Admiral.”

"Do whatever you have to, but see these documents safely delivered to Governor Swann. Now, you do not want to miss the morning tide. Dismissed.”

Taking the satchel from the Old Man's gnarled hands, Captain Cavanaugh saluted and left.

Evening, the same day, in a town house in London

The butler showed a young man in civilian clothes into the library. Admiral Montgomery nodded in way of greeting. He waited until the manservant had left the room and closed the double doors behind him before speaking: "I trust you have not been followed, Lieutenant?”

"I made sure of that, Admiral.”

Montgomery nodded, satisfied. Although he detested the kind of subterfuge he was about to employ, he held the younger officer himself in high regard. The man had proved both his talent and loyalty more than once.

Montgomery cleared his throat. "These are the papers that need to be delivered to Jamaica.”

"My ship sails tomorrow, Sir. The decoy is in place?”

"Sailed this very morning. Now, mind you, the decoy has a complete copy of the documents, sealed and signed by His Majesty. Should anything go wrong on your end, I expect you to use your own discretion. While it is of vital importance to our country that at least one set of the documents reaches Governor Swann, I do not wish civilians to be endangered through unnecessary heroics.”

"I understand completely, Sir.”

"Then... good luck, Lieutenant. I hope to see you back here in five months, safe and sound.”

Stuffing the thick envelope into his vest, the young Lieutenant bowed.

Two days later, on board the Sir Francis Drake

Captain Cavanaugh reclined in the most comfortable chair in his cabin. He had had time to think about his assignment in the past two days, and it had begun to worry him. Montgomery had made it quite clear that this was no milk run.

Rubbing his eyes, Cavanaugh picked up a small booklet from the table. Time to take his mind off things. There was no use wearing himself out with worry before they even reached the Atlantic Ocean. He opened the book at the page he had marked with a quill, smiling. Ah... the exploits of the pirate Jack Sparrow always brought a smile to his face. If only half the stories about that man were true, Sparrow was a tactical genius. True, he was a pirate, a despicable criminal. A thief, arsonist, kidnapper, and more. But he always used his brains. His plans were so convoluted, no-one could guess half of what Sparrow was up to until he had struck again, managed an impossible escape again - only in hindsight his every move became reasonable. And he always seemed to have a contingency plan or three up his sleeve. Putting the book down, Cavanaugh tapped a finger to his upper lip. Now, if Sparrow was in his position, what would the pirate do? How would he ensure the safe delivery of the documents?

Grinning, Cavanaugh got up and called for his First Lieutenant.

Port Royal, 2 months later

"Milord, you have a visitor”, the new butler whispered into Governor Swann's ear just as dessert was served. It was one of the rare occasions that Swann enjoyed the company of his daughter and future son-in-law, Will Turner, for dinner. "It is Commodore Norrington, Milord."

"Well, show him in, then!" Swann cried. Although Turner had turned out to be not only unfailingly polite, but, much to Governor's astonished delight, the true master in J. Brown's smithy, the fact that Elisabeth preferred the young blacksmith over the Commodore still gave her father the occasional moment of regret. Clearly, he had been too lenient with the girl. But what was a father to do? At least the boy was her own age, not ugly to look at, bright enough, and an excellent craftsman. Swann had since learned that most of the pieces from Brown's smithy resulted from Turner's dedicated labour, and certainly the ones that where worth their money. The boy also worshipped the ground Elisabeth trod on. Still... Norrington would have been a smart match.

Swann got up from his chair as the butler ushered Commodore Norrington in. "Commodore, it's good to see you", he greeted the man, noting how tired he looked. Norrington had also lost weight. "Please, do join us for dessert."

"Thank you, Governor Swann, I've already eaten. Please forgive the intrusion, but I shall sail tomorrow morning on a short patrol and wished to present my report before leaving."

Swann's face fell. "More pirate attacks?" he asked. There had been a resurgence of pirate activity in the Caribbean these past months, brutal attacks on both ships and settlements that rarely left survivors. James Norrington did everything humanly possible to find the pirates and bring them to justice, but Swann realised he just hadn't enough ships or men. The Caribbean, or at least the British settlements under his protection, were a vast area. Too many merchant vessels sailed unprotected, too many settlements were strewn over too many islands for the small fleet to patrol under Norrington's command.

"I'm afraid so, Sir", was Norrington's reply.

Swann shook his head. "I curse the day that Sparrow escaped." On Norrington's startled expression, he quickly added: "O no, I do not blame you, my friend. You did everything to detain him."

"Governor, I can't believe", young Turner cut in.

"Please, Mr. Turner, I know you consider Sparrow a friend. What was it you called him? A good man? But you cannot deny that this trouble started shortly after his escape."

"No-one would deny that. But, as ridiculous as it may sound, I agree with Mr. Turner."

Norrington lowered himself into the chair Governor Swann indicated.

"Do explain, Commodore", the Governor urged.

"For one, we have descriptions of the pirate ships from some of the survivors. There seem to be at least four different ships, and none of them can possibly be the Black Pearl."

"How can you be sure of that?"

Norrington laughed silently to himself. "The Black Pearl is rather recognisable. Also, all the ships described to us are considerably smaller – two sloops, a ketch, and a brigantine. Ever since his escape, we haven't had a single sighting of the Pearl. It is as if Sparrow and his ship have dropped off the face of the earth. Most likely, he has found a safe spot to repair her." Commodore Norrington now had a thoughtful look on his face. "Believe me when I say this, Governor, but I would almost prefer the culprit to be Jack Sparrow. The... mode of the attacks is very unlike what we know of him. Clearly, the man is annoying, eccentric, obnoxious, insane, arrogant, boastful,... insane..."

"Yes, I believe you already mentioned his lack of mental stability", Swann injected with a sour expression on his face.

"Did I? Well, there is one thing Jack Sparrow is not, and that is a ruthless killer. Throughout his... career as a pirate, he seems to have actively avoided killing innocents. He has engaged in looting, plundering, kidnapping, arson, and an astonishing number of other crimes, but he has never been charged with murder."

"He sacked Nassau Port without firing a single shot", Elisabeth stated.

"Exactly my point." Norrington nodded. "He also commandeered the Interceptor without the use of force – and right from under my nose, I might add. He relies on wits rather than weapons, very unlike the pirates we are facing now." He shook his head. "And to think that I once called him the worst pirate I had ever heard of..."

"What do you mean, Commodore?" Turner asked.

Norrington continued in a flat tone: "From all we know, if they hoist colours at all, it's the red flag."

Elisabeth's eyes grew wide.

"What does this mean, red flag?" Swann asked, clearly agitated now.

"No quarter asked, no quarter given", Elisabeth whispered. "You fly the red flag only if you intend to kill everyone on board the other ship, whether they surrender or not."

"Good grief!"

"Jack would never do such a thing!" Will exclaimed.

Governor Swann still wasn't convinced – or rather, he was still convinced of Jack Sparrow's guilt. "But, as you said, Commodore Norrington, the man is insane. There is really no telling what such an unhinged individual is capable of."

"True enough", Norrington conceded. "However, even insanity seems to have its own rules. In a way, men suffering from that affliction are more, not less predictable owing to said affliction. They will not change their mode of behaviour under any circumstances."

Governor Swann still looked doubtful, and Elisabeth took the opportunity.

"And then there is Jack's crew, father. Mr. Gibbs would never stand for such atrocities, nor would Anamaria, or Mr. Cotton, or any of the others", she stated. "Remember, they came back for Jack. That's against the code of the brethren."

"True. Any man who falls behind, is left behind. Pirates are not supposed to care about each other. But Jack's crew - they do care. They cared enough to throw the code to the wind", Turner clarified. There was a certain gleam in the young blacksmith's eye that James Norrington had learned to recognise.

"No", he nearly shouted. "Absolutely not, Mr. Turner."

"I beg your pardon?" Will enquired.

Norrington stabbed a finger at him. "You will not commandeer another ship and go looking for him, Mr. Turner. I need all the ships under my command. And I very much doubt that you would be able to find him – it is far more likely that you would run into those other pirates, uselessly wasting your life in a fool's errand."

"You wouldn't, would you?" Governor Swann was dismayed at the thought.

Will at least had the good grace to look abashed. "I must admit, the thought had crossed my mind – but it's useless, anyway. Jack would not help. There is no profit in it for him." Will smiled ruefully. "He is, after all, a pirate."

"Exactly. While he undoubtedly has been of some assistance with Barbossa and his crew, it would be much too dangerous for him to get involved now. There is still a death sentence on his head, after all. And I hardly believe his brethren would like the idea of Jack Sparrow hunting down other pirates. He would become outcast, unwelcome in any town he can still make port, and Governor Swann hasn't the authority to grant him pardon", Norrington expounded.

"Nor would he be willing to", Governor Swann added.

"Well, I have to be off. If you'll excuse me." Norrington rose from his seat and made for the door, leaving a slightly flustered Governor Swann.

Leaning over to Will, Elisabeth whispered something into her fiancιes ear. The young blacksmith fairly leaped to his feet, muttering an excuse towards the Governor, and followed Norrington.

"What is that about?" Swann asked his daughter, but Elisabeth merely smiled.

Will caught up with Commodore Norrington at the front door.

"Commodore!" he called.

"Yes, Mr. Turner?"

"I... um..." Will blushed, uncertain how to word his request. Norrington waited, one eyebrow raised.

"You know, Elisabeth's and my wedding will be on Sunday."

"Yes. I have received your invitation, and I shall of course attend. Thank you, Mr. Turner."

"That's not it", Will said quickly. "I mean... I still haven't got a best man, and I thought..."

That brought a smile to Norrington's face. "I shall be honoured to stand with you come Sunday, Mr. Turner." He offered his hand to the younger man, which Will shook enthusiastically.

The next day, somewhere in the Caribbean

Everything was fine in the world of Captain Jack Sparrow as he once again stood at the helm of is beloved – and newly refitted – ship.

The wharf in Santiago on Cuba had done a superb job, even to Jack's relentless standards. When it came to his beloved Pearl, only the very best would suffice. And so the Black Pearl had been dry-docked, cleaned from bow to stern, repaired, and newly painted in a deep, glossy black Jack thought just fitting for his ship. Her brightwork had been polished until it shone like gold, and the figurehead also had received a thorough scraping off of old, cracked paint and the application of new paint, though not black like the rest of the ship, but as lifelike as one could make a winged woman holding a dove. The job had taken the better part of four months, but finally they were ready to set sail again – back to Isla de Muerta.

Jack fondly thought back to four days ago, when after days and days of sorting, weighing and tallying Mr. Gibbs had come to his cabin with the total sum of treasure on the island, minus the cursed coins, of course. The whiskered sailor had been uncharacteristically nervous, sweating even.

"So, Mr. Gibbs, do we have an estimate?" Jack had slurred, barely looking up from the sonnet he was reading.

As quartermaster, it was part of Gibbs' job to keep track of anything financial on board. That included taking inventory of the swag and determining the shares for each and every crew member on board, up to and including the Captain. And said Captain had been forbidden to take part of the job by none other than Gibbs himself, who claimed on the second day on Isla de Muerta that his Captain's antics were driving him to distraction and if he didn't take himself out of the cave, right now, he would personally lock him into his quarters, so help him God! As a result, Captain Jack Sparrow had been bored out of his skull for the past days.

"Yes, well", Gibbs began, and wiped his face nervously with one hand. "I've an estimate, Captain. Mind you, it's conservative, based on metal weight for statues, plates, 'n such."

"Well, let's have it, then!"

Instead of an answer, Gibbs only stuck out his hand, holding a scrap of paper right under Jack's nose. The Captain's eyes crossed in a rather comical way as he attempted to focus on the number scrawled in Gibbs' uneven handwriting. Impatiently, he tore it from the older sailor's grasp to hold it at a more comfortable distance for reading – and immediately his kohl-rimmed eyes grew wide, and his jaw worked without sound. In short, Captain Jack Sparrow gave a remarkably accurate impression of a landed fish.

"T.... t....", he managed after several failed attempts; there didn't seem enough spit in his mouth all of a sudden to speak.

Gibbs held out his own flask at his Captain, and Sparrow grabbed it like a drowning man would a life line, and tossed the contents back in one large, greedy gulp.

Now, contrary to appearance and popular opinion, the liver of one Jack Sparrow was in no danger of being pickled in alcohol. Although Jack liked the occasional drink of rum, he knew his measure, and there had been only two incidents in his life so far when he got royally sloshed, one of them having to do with being marooned on a tiny island with a beautiful, if willful woman. But this, now, did call for a steadying drink. He tried speaking again.

"Two... million...", he squeaked in a voice at least an octave higher than his normal baritone.

"Aye, Sir," Gibbs said in a gravely voice, "two million, three hundred and fifty thousand £."*

Jack gulped a few times, trying to wrap his brain around that figure. Even his vivid imagination somehow failed with that kind of money. Translated into bars of silver, it would weigh nearly 16,800 stone, or almost 105 long tons. It was more than five times of what Sir Francis Drake had brought to Queen Elisabeth, if you believed the claims of the Spanish.**

"Barbossa can't possibly..."

"No, Sir. Found a lot of Spanish gold there, and more Aztec treasure. Looks like Cortez used this rock as a cache. He was a greedy bastard fer sure, Jack. Don't think he sent everything to Spain he pressed out of the Aztecs."

That evening marked the third time in his life that Jack Sparrow got pissing drunk.

They had sailed out again for Tortuga two days later, after curing a number of hangovers and loading a good portion of the treasure – although there had been some grumbling among the crew about the size of that portion. Several men claimed that the Pearl could easily carry more, until Jack had reminded them just how incredibly sluggish a galleon could become when loaded to the scuppers. That shut them up. No-one wanted not to be able to outrun and outmanoeuvre , say, the Dauntless should they have the bad luck to run into her.

So now Jack Sparrow stood at the helm of his beloved ship, a good breeze driving the Pearl through the waves, the Caribbean sun shining brightly from an azure sky down upon the deeper azure waters, and all was right with his world. Ahead and off to starboard, there were a number of small, rocky islands, if you could call them islands, that is. Most were barely more than rocks jutting out of the water. Jack steered well clear of them, knowing there were more rocks hidden under water, when he heard something that sounded suspiciously like distant thunder – or not so distant cannon fire. The Black Pearl's Captain checked the sky. There still wasn't a dark cloud in sight. He lifted his kohl-rimmed eyes to the crow's nest just as Duncan sang out: "Sail Ho!"

The lookout pointed to a group of rocks perhaps a mile ahead of the Pearl.

"Anamaria, take the helm", Jack commanded. He took his spyglass and sprang lightly on the railing as his female first mate took over. Training the spyglass on the rocks ahead, he peered through it. The tip of a mast and white sails just became visible as a ship sailed out from behind one of the larger rocks. Again, there was cannon fire. But it wasn't this ship what did the firing.

"What say you, Captain? Pirates?"

"Looks like it, Mr. Gibbs."

Using the spyglass again, Jack saw something that made him frown. The merchant – for it was a merchant vessel that was fleeing the as yet unseen pirates – was flying the Union Jack. And the cannonballs from her pursuer seemed aimed awfully low. As if the other ship planned to sink rather than capture her.

"Two ships, Captain!" Duncan shouted from the crow's nest. "I see two pirates. Sloops, both of them. Not flying any colours."

"No colours? Are ye sure, Duncan?" Jack yelled back. Damned... he had heard about that new threat when the Pearl was dry docked in Santiago, but had dismissed it as drunken tavern talk, exaggerated beyond comprehension. Ships who attacked British merchants without exception, always to kill. They would sink the ships rather than take them a prize. Wasteful, it was. Sometimes they would board and then blow up the ship. Sometimes they would just sink the other vessel. True, you could pick up some floating cargo after sinking a ship – but this was only a last resort. Most of the swag would go under with the vessel, and most of what actually floated would be ruined by the seawater. No, this politic was bad for business. No sane pirate would consider it. Not even an insane one.

"Positive, Captain!"

"Bloody pirates...", Gibbs muttered under his breath.

A deep frown marring his handsome features, Jack Sparrow jumped down from the railing and bellowed out orders: "Set topgallant sails! Hang every piece of canvas we've got! Mr. Cotton, hoist the Union Jack - let's show these bastards whose side we're on. Load the cannons! Hop to it, you scabrous dogs!"

As one man, his crew scrambled to obey their eccentric Captain's orders. With every sail set, the Black Pearl fairly leaped into the wind and gathered speed.

They were in luck. The Pearl had the weather-gauge. She was hauling wind, while the other ships had to tack with the wind from port quarters. Therefore, the Pearl could close the distance pretty fast. Jack took the helm from Anamaria just as they were coming into range. One of the pirate ships fired a shot across the Pearl's bow, incensing her Captain even further.

"Make ready to turn to port! Marty, a warning shot, if you please!" he yelled at the top of his voice. The midget fired one of the Pearl's chase guns. His aim was good; the ball whizzed past the other ship's bow with only a foot to spare.

Jack Sparrow waited until they had passed the other ships, then yanked the wheel to the left, turning the big ship hard to port.

"Let go and haul!"

The Pearl was now on a parallel course with the hindmost of the unknown pirates and catching up, the second pirate ship only a hundred yards ahead and off to port, and the fleeing merchant another thirty yards straight ahead of the Pearl. The second pirate quickly drew alongside the slower merchant, again firing at her. The cannon balls, save for one, plunged full speed into the water just short of the merchant's hull, hitting her below the waterline, doing considerable damage. The remaining shot was a chain shot that ripped through her main sail. Jack swore. The bastards were going for the kill! Well, so could the Pearl, if need be.

"Anamaria! I want a red flag on that main mast!" Jack yelled.

"Then bloody turn her around to the nearest port, Captain! We've no bloody red flag!" the first mate yelled back. "Not a bloody scrap of red cloth on this ship, Captain!"

"Damned", Jack muttered. There had to be some red cloth they could use... of course! Jack took off his battered hat, and tore his red scarf from his head. "Here, take this, luv!" he shouted. Scowling at her Captain, Anamaria snatched the scarf , tied it to a line and hoisted it on the main mast.

Normally, a sloop was a good sight faster than a galleon – but the Black Pearl was no ordinary galleon. Built for speed, and with a Captain that knew her better than he knew himself at her helm, she could outrun any ship that sailed the Caribbean. The wind filling her black sails, the Black Pearl drew up to the smaller ship in a matter of minutes.

"Fire!" Jack yelled as the Pearl was alongside the sloop and in range for a broadside. The Pearl's starboard battery roared, and the cannon balls tore through the sloop's hull as if it were made of tissue. Jack noted with satisfaction that his crew had aimed for the other ship's gun deck, crippling her in a way she could not fight much anymore, but would stay afloat. The other Captain wisely decided to turn tail and run. That left one more foe, and their victim, which was already listing badly. The other sloop had fired again in the meantime, more chain shots that ripped the sails and brought down the main mast of the merchant, leaving her almost dead in the water. The merchant Captain had already struck his colours in an attempt to keep he pirates from summarily killing them.

"Man the port battery!" Jack commanded, and turned the Pearl to starboard just enough to pass between the first sloop and the merchant before bringing her back on course. The Pearl drew closer to the two ships, but her remaining adversary had come to the conclusion that her own fourteen cannons would do her no good against the black galleon's thirty-eight, and followed her sister ship's example – they turned to starboard, into the wind, and passed before the merchant's bow.

"Make ready to turn to starboard!" Anamaria shouted, anticipating that Jack would hunt the bastard.

"Belay that order!"

Anamaria shot a questioning look at her Captain. "We're not going to follow?" she asked.

Jack shook his head. "Look at her", he said, pointing at the merchant. "They hit her below the water line – she's going down. They'll drown like rats iffen we don't take'em aboard." Louder, he commanded: "Heave to and take in sail! Strike the red flag and the Union Jack! Hoist the Jolly Roger and a flag of truce!"

Mr. Gibbs stepped up to his Captain, a look of worry on his face. "They out-man us three to one, Jack", he muttered. Sparrow smirked and turned to regard his quartermaster. "Have our crew armed at all times", he ordered.

"Aye, Sir."

He manoeuvred the Pearl alongside the sinking ship, which was tricky in itself with the merchant's top and topgallant yards sticking out from her deck in every which direction.

Relinquishing the helm back to Anamaria only after they were alongside the other vessel – which was named Megan, he noted – Jack retrieved his scarf, tied it around his tangled locks and climbed upon the railing.

"Ahoy the Megan", he shouted. There was commotion on the deck of the other ship, sailors trying to clean up the mess and damage from the battle, help their injured comrades, only to drop whatever they had in their hands as soon as they looked up and noticed the Jolly Roger flying from their rescuer's mizzen mast.

"Pirates", more than one crewman muttered, and "From the frying pan..." another would add dejectedly. Some took notice of the colour of the pirate's hull and sails. "It's the Black Pearl – we're doomed! She never leaves any survivors." Clearly, not enough time had passed for the news of Barbossa's death to have reached every port, Jack noted when he heard that last comment.

Captain Henderson of the merchant vessel Megan, a tall, heavy-set man in his late fourties, stepped up to the railing of his crippled ship, a mixed look of defeat and disdain on his broad features.

"Who are you?" he called.

"Captain Jack Sparrow. Permission to come aboard?"

Henderson's gaze flickered to the Jolly Roger merrily fluttering from the Pearl's mizzen mast, to the flag of truce on her main mast, and back to the Captain. What kind of pirate asked permission before boarding? An insane one, obviously. He nodded, and Jack signalled for a gangplank. Sparrow crossed over to the Megan as soon as a plank was secured over the railings of both ships.

"And what is your name, Captain?" he drawled in way of greeting.

"Joshua Henderson", the other Captain replied somewhat gruffly. Well, the man could not be blamed for being less than polite. His ship was, after all, sinking.

Henderson looked the pirate up and down. So this was the infamous Jack Sparrow? A man of average height and slender built, skin tanned like a common sailor's, with a tangled mane of black hair and, Good Lord!, beads and trinkets woven into it. From the way the other man was swaying, Henderson gathered he had been deep into his cups already, and it not even being noon. Crazy Jack Sparrow, indeed. Henderson grimaced.

"Take of my cargo what you will, Captain. I merely ask that you take our wounded and the passengers as well and safely set them ashore", he requested in a voice full of contempt.

Sparrow grinned up at the taller man, displaying far too many gold teeth for just one pirate.

"Ah, but here's a thought, Captain", he slurred, his hands fluttering around in an expansive gesture. "See, we're not int'rested in yer cargo. I rather thought we convey the lot of you to a safe port, owing to th' fact that this lovely ship of yourn is sinking, and ye've only two longboats left with the main mast falling down on the rest of'em, and more men than they could hold." The pirate cocked his head. "Provided, of course, that I've your word of honour, as a Captain, that none of your men try to take over me ship. And ye'll leave all weapons behind, owing to th'fact that I'm not a trusting man, savvy?"

Captain Henderson blinked. "Did I hear you correctly, Captain?"

From the corner of his eye, Jack saw a man dressed somewhat better than the sailors, if not as good as the Captain, sidle into the Captain's quarters.

"You are going to take all of us on board?" Henderson continued.

Jack nodded. "Aye."

"I should inform you that there will be no ransom paid, Sir. There are no rich men among us, nor noble born."

"Not askin' for ransom, mate", Sparrow told him, purring like a kitten.

Henderson frowned. "Are you quite certain you're pirates?" he asked, in a voice considerably less boisterous than before.

Jack grinned again. "Aye, mate. We're scoundrels and black sheep and really bad eggs", he declared, proudly slurring out the words of the song.

"And crazy to boot!" Mr. Gibbs added from the pearl, grinning just as wide and insane as his Captain.

Henderson squeezed his eyes shut, suddenly overcome by a feeling of foreboding. "Good God", the Captain of the Megan muttered. "We are in the hands of a madman."

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* That would be appr. 376,000,000 US-$ or 311,026,500 EUR in modern currency.

** The estimates of what Sir Francis Drake brought home on the Golden Hind range from 450,000 to 600,000 £ - worth between 72,000,000 and 96,000,000 US-$ today. I'm going with the lower number here, which was given by Spain.

Chapter 2: Dead Men Tell No Tales