The setting sun was like hot metal against the gaudy sky. "Look," said Elizabeth, her voice a little blurred by rum. "Look, Jack, the sea's turned to gold."

Captain Jack Sparrow said nothing. He was lying on his back, arms folded behind his head, eyes closed. He looked very peaceful: very tidy, somehow, despite the sooty smears around his eyes and the tatterdemalion clothes he wore. A rounded bottle, half-full, nestled in the sand against his waist.

"It looks like the end of the world," Elizabeth mused, looking back at the sky. "Like Hell." Her own bottle of rum was nearly empty. She pressed the heel of her palm against her right eye.

Jack grunted.

Elizabeth frowned at her fellow castaway, and leaned back on her elbows beside him. "They say you're so evil that Hell spat you back out," she said, raising her voice.

"Mmm," agreed Jack without opening his eyes.

Elizabeth stretched out one bare foot and kicked his leg. "Well?"

"Well what?" A frown appeared, and disappeared.

"Did Hell spit you back out?"

One dark eye prised itself open, watching her.

"Actually, love," drawled Jack, "it's Barbossa they say that about. Not me."

"It's the captain of the Black Pearl they say it about," Elizabeth said sharply.

"When Barbossa stole the Pearl, he steered her on a different course," said Jack. Both his eyes were open now, and the frown was back. "Liked his prey helpless, and weren't too bothered by murder."

"But you're—"

"Ever seen me kill anyone?" Jack demanded. "Ever heard—ever read, in those books you set such store by—about me killin' anyone, 'cept in a fair fight to save myself?"

Elizabeth looked thoughtful for a moment: then she shook her head.

"Barbossa's different," said Jack. "Likes 'em scared." He levered himself up enough to take another swig from the bottle, and looked askance at her, nodding. "Reckon you should be givin' thanks to the heathen gods, love. You'd've had a cruel hard time of it, without the curse."

His explanatory gesture made Elizabeth blush.

"I'll murder 'im, though, soon's I get the chance," said Jack mildly, lying back and closing his eyes again. "I'll send 'im straight to hell. Been savin' a shot for 'im."

The sun slipped below the horizon. Elizabeth shivered and wrapped her arms around herself. Her petticoat was dry, but the thin cotton hardly kept off the weight of Jack's gaze, never mind night's chill.

"Best build a fire 'fore it's too dark to see," Jack said amiably after a while. He elbowed her. "Come along, Miss Swann! Plenty of firewood above the tideline!"

"You do it," said Elizabeth.

"Ah, you've another way of keepin' warm, then," said Jack happily. He sprang to his feet beside her, a lithe dark silhouette against the clear indigo sky, and set off down the beach as though he had a destination.

"Let's 'ope Barbossa sends back your fancy-boy before too long," he called over his shoulder, with a negligent wave. "You'll be nice and snug together."

"Wait! Come back!" Elizabeth yelled, scrambling to her feet. She clutched her stomach and reeled. "Please!"

The waves seemed to glow green and violet as the last of the sunset faded in the west. Elizabeth focussed on the pale line of surf and took slow, deep breaths. She could hear the sand crunching beneath Jack's bare feet as he sauntered towards her.

"Somethin' you wanted, Miss Swann?"

"I'll help you build the fire," said Elizabeth, swallowing hard.

By the time Jack had coaxed a flame from pistol-flint to dry weed, and then to dry wood, Elizabeth was huddled next to their bonfire, picking splinters out of her sore feet.

"I wish there was some water on this island," she said mournfully.

"Have some more rum, darlin'," said Jack Sparrow, collapsing to the sand beside her and offering her a bottle of—another bottle of rum, almost full.

"Rum makes my head hurt," Elizabeth said sulkily, fanning woodsmoke away from her.

"Common problem," said Jack, nodding wisely. "'S not the rum, it's the lack of it. Have a little more, an' I guarantee you'll forget about it."

Elizabeth didn't trust him, but the heat from the bonfire was making her thirsty, and there wasn't any water. She tipped the bottle to her lips and drank. And maybe she'd been wrong, after all, because her head wasn't hurting so much, and her stomach settled again.

"You were telling me about Hell, Captain Sparrow," she said, waving the rum at Jack for emphasis. "No, sir, you cannot have this bottle! It's mine!"

"Pirate," said Jack, and his teeth flashed. He reached behind him and produced another bottle out of the night, toasting her as he took his first mouthful. "What's that you said?"

"Hell," said Elizabeth dramatically, leaving an arc of rum on the white sand. "Hell spat you out, they said."

"Nah, love," said Jack, looking askance at her. "That was Barbossa."

"That was the captain of the Black Pearl," Elizabeth insisted. "I told you that. Barbossa just inherited it."

"Stole it," Jack muttered, glaring into the flames.

"Stole it," Elizabeth agreed. "They used to say it before you—before Barbossa marooned you. It's in all the books! About Hell spitting you out. About how you could escape anything—the East India Company, the French Navy, the British—you escaped this island, for heaven's sake! You're Captain Jack Sparrow! You escaped from Hell itself!"

"Tha's got a nice ring to it, love," said Jack.

"So tell me—"

"What?" Jack scowled at her as though she'd jabbed him with a pin. "Hell? I didn't—"

He rubbed the tattoo on his forearm, and stared through the flames at the black waves lapping the shore.

"I don't think you're really a pirate at all," said Elizabeth. Her voice was higher and clearer than before. "I think you're a nobleman, betrayed by his enemies, forced to—"

"Do you ever stop talking?" Jack said, exasperated. "I am a pirate. Look." He pushed up his sleeve and thrust his forearm at her. The firelight gilded the tight, pale skin of the brand. "Pirate, savvy?"

"I know you're a pirate now," said Elizabeth. Jack narrowed his eyes at her. "But you don't always sound like one."

Jack sighed. "You've been reading too many of those romances, Miss Swann."

"See?" Elizabeth demanded. "When you forget, you speak as well as ... as ..."

"As your fancy-boy?" suggested Jack, with an exaggerated leer. "Nicely-spoken, your Will. Spend a lot o' time with you, did he?"

"Stop changing the subject," Elizabeth snapped. "You speak like an educated man, and you have ... good manners. Usually."

Jack edged closer to her, beads clattering, and leered at her again. "Too many novels, Miss Swann," he said softly. "They make the feminine brain prone to flights of fancy."

"I just—"

"You just want to believe there's more to me than meets the eye," said Jack. "What if there is? What if I was someone else once? I'm Captain Jack Sparrow now, and none knows my story save me." He bowed, from the waist, and smiled his showman's smile at her.

"I find you—intriguing," Elizabeth managed, twirling a lock of hair between her fingers. "I want to hear your story," she said, more clearly.

Jack swayed closer, so that his breath fell on Elizabeth's neck: he smiled when she flinched. "But it's a terrible tale, Miss Swann!" His voice echoed over the dark, empty beach as though it were a theatre. "A tale of lust, lechery and betrayal! Murder! Revenge from beyond the grave!"

Jack's shadow leapt like a demon on the sand as he gesticulated. Elizabeth merely folded her hands in her lap and smiled at him with polite interest.

Jack sighed. "It's a long story," he said, "and you won't believe a word of it."

"Tell me," said Elizabeth. "Please?"

"Oh, I'll tell you," said Jack. He settled himself on the sand, a little more distance between them than before. "I'll tell you the truth. My father died, and I had his money and lands. This was Seville—that's in Old Spain, savvy? He'd sent me off on the Tour to finish my education, just myself and my valet—"

"You had a valet?" said Elizabeth, eyebrows raised.

"I had a valet, Miss Swann," said Jack evenly.

"I'm sorry," Elizabeth murmured.

"We travelled all over Europe, to Italy and Greece and the Papal States," said Jack. "Like many another fine young gentleman, I lived a life of vice. Dining late, drinking early. Duelling. Gambling. Playing at cards, playing at love. Ah, love." He bestowed a glinting smile on Elizabeth, and the mockery in it made her flinch. She opened her mouth to speak, but Jack carried on.

"Love," he said again, drawing out the word. "Or perhaps it was only lust." His gaze flickered to Elizabeth, and his smile dropped away. "At any rate, it was all a game. When I took it into my head to play at something new, none could prevent me, for I had youth and wealth and rank. My valet did his best to make my affairs end well. He paid off my lovers, paid off my debts, stood second when I duelled. I'd had the best fencing masters, and plenty of matters of honour to practice my skills, and I kept my skin as whole as my heart."

He took another long draught of rum.

"You're making it up," Elizabeth accused.

"Wasn't it you who told me I'd been ... what was it ... 'a nobleman betrayed'?"

Elizabeth flinched at his high-pitched mimicry, and Jack chuckled.

"Well," he said. "Couldn't last, not the way I carried on. One night in Burgos I was ... visiting a lady, and—"

"She slapped you?" enquired Elizabeth, rallying.

Jack stared at her, and his eyes were totally black. "She cried rape," he said flatly. "Her father came out into the street with a sword, and I killed him."

"Oh," whispered Elizabeth, eyes wide.

"Have some more rum, love," said Jack, with an empty smile. "You've no more to fear than you feared before you knew there was anything at all to fear from me."

Elizabeth swallowed more rum, and stared at Jack.

"'S where it all ended," said Jack thoughtfully. "The old man vowed he'd get me, and he did. His ghost did."

"I don't—"

"Here," said Jack, and his hand was suddenly clamped around Elizabeth's wrist, hard enough to bruise, and he pulled her closer until she was sprawled bonelessly across his lap.

"Here," said Jack again, and his grip was gentler. He took her hand and drew it to the pirate brand and the tattoo below it. "Can you feel it?"

Elizabeth squinted up at him. "You don't look like—"

"Feel it?" Jack repeated, pressing her fingers against his arm.

"The brand? I—"

"Under that," said Jack.

"It's ... a handprint," said Elizabeth. She sat up, and Jack steadied her. Her hand still rested on his arm, almost covering the tattooed bird in its sunburst. "There's the mark of a hand, but I can't see—"

"He took me by the arm, and dragged me down to Hell. That's—" Jack nodded towards her hand "—where he held me."

Elizabeth stared at Jack, and he stared back. Reflected flames flickered in his eyes.

"How ..." Elizabeth began, swallowing. Jack handed her the rum bottle and waited while she drank. "How did you escape?"

"You're forgetting, love." Jack spread his hands, leaning forward, and his smile was amiable again. "I'm Captain Jack Sparrow!"

Elizabeth sat back and lifted the bottle to her mouth again. "I was forgetting," she agreed at last, chuckling. "You almost had me believing you."

Jack looked at her askance, but he said nothing except, "Finished?"

"Sorry," said Elizabeth, wiping the mouth of the bottle before she handed it back to him.

Jack drained the last of the rum, and hurled the empty bottle into the dark beyond the fire.

"Your turn, Miss Swann," he said.

"My turn?"

"Entertain me," said Jack Sparrow, bringing his hands together in a courteous gesture. "Tell me a tale. Sing me a song."

"I don't—" said Elizabeth, and broke off. She hummed a few notes.

Jack sat up straighter. "What's that tune?"

Elizabeth shook her head. "I can't remember. But I know a song about pirates ..."


-end-


Read the other two:
From Hell: Down Below
From Hell: Judgment Day