Prologue: the Dream

I gazed out into the mist below the churning waters that carried the Interceptor to her destination: Port Royal, St. Vincent, Caribbean Sea. Being an adventurous ten-year-old, I was happy to leave England behind. The crowds of civilization had never attracted me as they should have, for I, being the newly appointed governor’s daughter, was expected to delight in society and be a perfect little model of a future capable wife. Since I tended to enjoy playing with raucous boys instead of prim girls–indeed, I even tended to gravitate more to the boyish side–my father had decided to take me with him to his new post in the Caribbean, where I would be more at home. My sister Lily had been left in England in the care of my aunt and uncle because she was more proper than I and so was in finishing school in London. She had adamantly refused to come with us because she maintained that the Caribbean was not civilized.

I shook my head. I loved my sister dearly, but we had never really understood each other. Mother used to help us, teaching us to tell each other what we really felt about the other’s actions. But now Mother was gone, taken by that dreadful disease called tuberculosis. Hence, the other reason for father’s and my departure: we needed to get away from England where every corner reminded us of her. We were not of the same personality as Lily, who bore her pain in silence and wanted–nay, needed–to be around memories of her. Father and I needed to desert the places which reminded us of her in her last months–sickly, thin, wan–and go where we could imagine her free of suffering. When the Caribbean post had presented itself, Father had jumped at the chance.

So now here I was on my way to Port Royal, putting my past resolutely behind me. Being of a daydreaming sort, I dreamed most of the way. However, unlike my earlier years where I dreamed of castles and princesses, here I dreamed of pirates. I don’t quite remember when my fascination with pirates started. Perhaps it was when I had shamelessly overheard my father speaking with an official about the problem of pirates with the English navy. Ever since then, I had eavesdropped at every opportunity, seeking to expand my knowledge of the law-breaking brigands who seemed to always adventure on unknown shores. I had even snuck books about them into my room and had spent hours pouring over the pages. Yes, I believe the adventurous lifestyle of the pirates and the lack of social norm called to me, for I tired of always having to be “the perfect governor’s daughter.” I yearned to be free, like them. One of the allures of Port Royal for me was that pirates abounded in the Caribbean. I hoped to see one.

Defiant of social rules and noticing that I was alone on this side of the deck, I softly began to sing a pirate song that I had learned.

-

Drink up, me hearties yo ho

We kidnap and ravage and don’t give a hoot

Yo ho, yo ho, a pirate’s life for me.

We extort, we pilfer; we filch and sack

Drink up . . .

-

Suddenly, a rough hand grabbed my shoulder, causing me to gasp with fright. I turned to find Mr. Gibbs, a member of the crew that had always struck me as rather–well, strange. Pirateish. He possessed round, rough features and a full, fluffy beard. He leaned down close to me and whispered, “Quiet, missy. Cursed pirates sail these waters. You don’t want to bring them down on us, do ya?”

“Mr. Gibbs, that will do.” I turned to find the bearer of the voice and saw Lieutenant Norrington, a capable sailor who dreamed of rising to the very top of the navy–the Commodore. Now, however, he was yet a young man–not even very handsome–with serious, sarcastic features and an air about him that expected everyone else to give him attention.

Gibbs seemed a bit taken aback. “She was singing about pirates!” he protested. “It’s bad luck to be singing about pirates with us mired in this unnatural fog. Mark my words,” he warned.

I could just imagine Norrington yawn. I knew that one of his passions was to get rid of every single pirate in the Caribbean, and then the world. He detested them; nay, loathed them with a vengeance that rarely showed itself except when he was hunting some of them down.

“Consider them marked,” he dismissed with a sarcastic, imperialistic air. “On your way.” He made a shooing motion with his hand.

“Aye, Lieutenant,” Gibbs resigned. However, I could hear him mumble as he went on his way, “It’s bad luck to have a woman on board too. Even a miniature one.”

A bit displeased with Norrington’s treatment of Gibbs, I stated innocently, “I think it’d be rather exciting to meet a pirate.”

Norrington smiled slightly, standing a bit taller. He obviously was laughing at my ignorance. “Think again, Miss Swann,” he suggested as he stepped up beside me. “Vile and dissolute creatures, the lot of them. I intended to see to it that any man who sails under a pirate flag or wears a pirate brand gets what he deserves,” he maintained. He turned and smiled loftily, but not unkindly, at me as he explained, “A short drop and a sudden stop.”

Because my father protected me from such knowledge, I did not understand what he meant until I turned to see Mr. Gibbs mimicking a hanging. I gasped in horror.

My father, dressed importantly in a blue suit with a white ruffle at the neck, entered and spoke to him earnestly. “Lieutenant Norrington, I appreciate your fervor, but I’m . . .” He paused lightly. “I’m concerned about the effect this subject will have upon my daughter.”

“My apologies, Governor Swann,” Norrington mumbled humbly.

“Actually, I find it all fascinating,” I confessed, hoping to rouse Norrington’s talk again.

My father nodded worriedly. “Yes, that’s what concerns me,” he said.

As Norrington and Father walked away, I resumed my daydreaming. This time, I decided that I would not sing a pirate song. I was staring out into the mist, not seeing anything, when I noticed a pretty white parasol floating by. I moved along the deck, watching it and wondering how such a dainty thing could be in the middle of the ocean where there were no people. But wait . . . a parasol would have been downed by the waves if it had come from afar, so . . . I looked up. I still could see nothing, but presently, a discombobulated board floated by. On it lay a young boy!

I must confess that I lost my head. “Look, a boy!” I shouted, most unladylike. “There’s a boy in the water!”

Everyone on deck ran over next to me to look. Norrington gave the alert, “Man overboard! Man the ropes! Fetch a hook! Haul him aboard!”

The crew rushed to the edge. Mr. Gibbs picked the boy up from the board and brought him on deck while everyone crowded around. I watched from a distance and gradually came closer as Norrington inspected him. “He’s still breathing,” he announced, relieved.

Gibbs had climbed to a higher point on deck. We suddenly heard him gasp, “Mary, mother of God!” so we all turned to see what had scared him so. A burning ship had exploded and was sinking quickly. The flames shot high up into the sky and we knew, by the sight, that this boy would be the only survivor. It was terrible to imagine the burning flesh of those aboard . . . no, I couldn’t even think it.

“What happened here?” my father demanded with a chilling panic in his voice that I rarely heard.

“It’s most likely the powder magazine,” Norrington explained hurriedly, but I could tell that he did not believe his own words. “Merchant vessels run heavily armed.”

The sails of the ship crashed down upon the flaming debris then, and none of us spoke, just shivering nervously. Mr. Gibbs shook his head. “A lot of good it did them,” he spat sarcastically, his lips trembling. “Everyone’s thinking it; I’m just saying it. Pirates.”

“There’s no proof of that,” my father argued nervously, stammering. “It was probably an accident.”

Not wanting to understand, I walked over to where the boy. He was shivering with cold. As Norrington stomped on deck and the world turned chaotic, I watched the boy. In all of this pandemonium, he was the only calm one. Some men picked him up.

“Elizabeth,” my father requested, “I want you to accompany the boy. He’ll be in your charge. Take care of him.”

Even though I knew my father said this because he wanted me out of the way, I relished the chance to further examine the lad. I walked over to where the men had set him on a soft grain sack, out of the way. He looked about my age, but he certainly did not come from my social class. He was dressed in dirty, ragged clothes, heavily patched. Dirty black strands of hair messily dampened his large, oval, freckled face, in stark contrast to my own intricately twisted, light chestnut curls of which I was so proud. He had large, striking features, and I felt myself drawn to him. I reached out a hand and brushed a dampened wisp of hair out of his face.

Instantly, the boy awoke and grabbed my hand, blue-brown eyes wide with terror. I gasped, jumped, and then sought to calm the poor lad down. “It’s okay,” I reassured. “My name is Elizabeth Swann.”

“Will Turner,” the boy introduced himself, breathing heavily. I noted a British hillbilly accent that showed his low social class. However, it was of a type that I had never noticed in poor people’s voices before.

“I’m watching over you, Will,” I gently promised.

Will fainted abruptly, so I did not get to say any more. However, just then I noticed a gold chain hanging from his neck. I pulled it out to better look at it. It was broken. I picked it up and stared at the pendant: a strange circle medallion with a skull and crossbones engraved on it. Thanks to my studies, I knew the symbol well. “You’re a pirate!” I whispered, half in fear, half in awe.

“Has he said anything?” Norrington suddenly inquired from behind me. I quickly whipped around to face him, hiding the medallion behind my back. “His name is William Turner,” I answered. “That’s all I found out.”

Norrington nodded, obviously displeased because he was expecting more information. “Take him below,” he ordered the crew who were with him.

Despite my father’s admonition, I did not follow Will. Instead, I stayed on deck, examining the pirate medallion. Suddenly, a shape materialized before the Interceptor. I looked up to find a hazy black ship with torn sails. A mermaid was carved into the helm, but the whole ship was filthy. From the flag pole, a black and white pirate flag bearing the same symbol on the medallion waved.

I shut my eyes, not wanting to know details. I clasped the medallion and felt it bite deeply into my palm.