Captain Jack Sparrow. That was the name of the man who could supposedly help Rose, by summoning the sea goddess Calypso and give her the Heart of the Ocean in return for taking Rose back to her own time, where she would enter the afterlife and be reunited with Jack. Her Jack, that was.

It all sounded rather complicated and frankly very scary too. The way they spoke of the sea goddess, and for that matter of this Sparrow fellow, made Rose uneasy. They seemed dangerous.

Sure, she was dead already; what could they do to her that was worse than that? Problem was, she could actually think of many things they could do. The pirates/sailors aboard this ship were decent enough, albeit a bit rough, but she had a feeling they were not the norm. The pirates in Peter Pan had been really nasty creatures who seemed to love using their swords on anyone within their range, no questions asked.

It was not much Rose could do however; she was at the mercy of Captain Turner. This was his ship, and he would steer her wherever he saw fit, which right now apparently was an infamous port called Tortuga.

The captain did not know for sure if Sparrow would be in Tortuga, but as he put it, if not, someone in that town would know where he had gone. Everybody knew everything about everybody in the capital of the pirates.

The Dutchman was rolling heavily as she went, swaying from side to side. The motion of the ship had been bad enough when she was still, but that was nothing in comparison to her going forward. Captain Turner explained she was not built to sail above the surface, but with Rose aboard they could not dive like they would normally do.

"But I'm dead anyway, am I not? I couldn't very well drown twice."

"You're dead in your time, aye. But here you're alive until I lead you to the afterlife. Only I can't, because you come from the future, which means you aren't really dead anymore. In fact you're not even born yet."

"This is so confusing." She rubbed her forehead, feeling a headache beginning to form.

He smiled wistfully. "It takes time to adapt. To accept it." He was unconsciously touching his chest as he spoke.

"You're dead too," she realized.

"Not exactly dead, but bound to this ship in exchange for being allowed to live on, despite the mortal wound I received. 'One day ashore. Ten years at sea,' that was the deal."

"Ten years? That's harsh... When is your next day ashore, then?"

"That would be nine years, eleven months and eight days." He looked at the sky. "And... four or five hours, give or take." The captain's dark eyes filled with longing as he regarded the distant horizon.

Rose recognized that look. "What's her name?"

He met her gaze, smiling sadly. "Elizabeth. Elizabeth Turner, my wife."

.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.

The Dutchman arrived outside Tortuga the next morning, after a very unpleasant evening and night for Rose in a hammock below deck. Thankfully she did not throw up, that would have been beyond embarrassing in front of all those hardy sailors, but she felt a continuous queasiness and had lost her appetite entirely. The fare aboard was none too exciting anyway, consisting more or less exclusively of hardtack crackers, salted fish and foul smelling water. And alcohol. Rum and port wine aplenty.

The crew lowered a dinghy from the ship's stern.

"Here's where you have to continue alone," said Captain Turner. "We'll wait for you and Jack."

Rose regarded the town ahead. It looked mostly like a collection of shanties scattered in a jungle, with a few more permanent buildings near the dock. Many jetties stretched out into the bay, the nearest perhaps half a mile away from where the Dutchman was anchored.

"Can't you take me a little closer?"

"Sorry, no. This is as near land as we are allowed to go – and besides, the Dutchman might scare people."

Rose sighed. Thank God she knew how to row.

She felt very lonely as she slowly and rather clumsily took off, morosely watching the ship get more distant with every pull on the oars. Already the noise from Tortuga drifted her way and it sounded not good at all. Brawling men's voices mingled with the barking of dogs and the occasional loud yell. Rose hoped the latter were merchants advertising their goods and not somebody being hurt.

The closer to land she got, the louder the clamor, and the air became heavy with a foul cocktail of smells: waste, unwashed human bodies and smoke. The water was disgusting too, full of excrement and debris.

She arrived at last, and a child in shorts and a grubby shirt came up to her as she tied the dinghy to a bollard.

"Want me to guard yer boat, ma'm?"

She nodded. "If the boat remains here when I return, you shall have this." She flipped an uneven silver coin between her fingers. "And if you can also direct me to one Captain Jack Sparrow I'll double the amount." It was Bootstrap Bill who had given her the money and explained how to best proceed once she came ashore.

The kid grinned, showing a row of discolored milk teeth with a wide gap in the middle. He must be a lot younger than he looked.

"That's easy, ma'm. He's in the large yellow house with the nude ladies."

Rose frowned as she left the boy. At his age, he should not know about that kind of establishment.

The jetty was long with many boats tied to it, mostly fishing vessels and smaller freight ships, and the occasional dinghy like the one she had come in. The larger ships lay anchored further out in the bay, just like the Dutchman.

Men of various ages, colors and sizes were working around her as she went, doing such chores as one might expect; swabbing decks, splinting rope, loading or unloading goods. Their clothes looked very different from those worn by the Titanic's crew, but otherwise the men appeared strangely familiar. Almost as if sailors were a certain kind of human species who behaved and looked the same all over the world, and even across time itself.

Tortuga had no paved streets. A maze of dirt roads criss-crossed between the buildings, and the narrow alleys were crowded with peddlers, caged animals and people. The noise was deafening.

Rose trod carefully around puddles of unnamed nastiness in her high heeled pumps. She had rarely felt more like an outsider than here, wearing her flimsy dress and impractical shoes, and with her white skin and overall clean appearance making her stand out among all tanned faces. People stared rudely, and she did not at all like the looks some of the men gave her. She was easy prey and they knew it.

Thankfully the yellow house the boy had mentioned was situated close to the dock. It was one of the few stone buildings in the town, and from its somber appearance she would have guessed it to be a town hall or similar rather than a brothel. The two lightly dressed women leaning against its wall were a giveaway though, as well as the one sitting in an open, second story window calmly regarding the busy street below.

Rose hesitated outside the open door, listening to the murmur of conversation and bursts of female laughter spilling out. This was not a place for a well-bred lady like herself to go into, or even know about, and the prospect of seeing something indecent in there was both revolting and a little bit tempting.

Well, there was nothing for it, she had to find Jack Sparrow. Her Jack had taught her how to spit like a man, and now it was time to visit a whorehouse like a man too. With boldly squared shoulders she entered the building.

She had to stop for a few seconds to adjust her vision to the darkness after the bright, tropical sunlight outside. The room was dimly lit by fuming wax candles in empty bottles, and looked like an old tavern or pub. There were several long tables with crude benches, simple planks placed on top of empty beer barrels. At this early hour the place was nearly deserted, with only a few sailors scattered among the tables eating a late breakfast, and in a corner a fat man snoring, his hat drawn down to cover his face.

A cluster of bored-looking women stood or sat around the bar, wearing colorful dresses with narrow waists and wide skirts where layers of lace peeked out underneath. Their low decolletages exposed a large part of their breasts, pushed up by tightly laced corsets. Quite scandalous, but at least they were not nude like Rose had feared after what the boy had said.

She went up to the barman, a gangly fellow with bushy side-whiskers and graying hair bound in a loose ponytail. Most men Rose had seen since her arrival in this time wore their hair long like that.

"Excuse me, sir, where can I find Captain Jack Sparrow? I was told he might be here."

"Excuse me sir," mimicked one of the women, bringing forth jeering giggles from the others.

"I have the great misfortune to report that the man in question is preoccupied, my fair lady!" The barman bowed with mocking elegance.

Apparently being polite would do Rose no good among this lot. She scowled at them and hauled out her money pouch from where she had hid it in her cleavage, slamming down a couple of silver coins on the bardisk.

"Two shillings says he's not."

The man straightened himself and quickly collected the money. "Right. My pleasure to get him for you, miss. He's overstayed anyway." He turned to a woman with red hair in an unnatural hue, worn in a voluminous hairdo with long corkscrews trailing down on either side of her face. "Scarlett." He beckoned his head upwards.

The woman rolled her eyes at him and disappeared up a spiral staircase. She was gone for quite some time, during which Rose cautiously accepted a glass of amber liquid and sipped the strong liquor. Rum really was disgusting.

"So, are you the little wifey then?" asked the barman conversationally. He was drying glasses with a once white towel.

"Of course not!" Rose scoffed. As if she would ever marry a man visiting establishments like this, likely catching all sorts of venereal diseases. 

A noise of something breaking and two people arguing came from upstairs, and then Scarlett came stomping back, her cheeks flaming in annoyance.

"The bastard," she muttered under her breath.

"Tricked you of your coin again, eh?" chuckled the barman. "When will you learn to make him pay up before he gets his fun?"

Rose did not hear what the woman answered because another person came swaying down the stairs, one whose personality was large enough to fill the entire room. She knew she was staring, but found it impossible to look away.

Now she understood why Turner had believed Captain Jack Sparrow to be capable of summoning a sea goddess. This man seemed capable of just about anything.

She could not really say what was so special about the man. He was not tall and his clothes were the opposite of fine; a rough grey vest over a partly unbuttoned shirt and a red scarf wrapped around his shoulder-length tresses. Part of his hair was braided and thread with a row of beads, and his beard was plaited as well. He looked every inch the pirate, complete with a triangular hat in his hand.

"Mr Sparrow I presume?" she asked, as he unsteadily approached the bar, emitting a reek of stale alcohol and sweat.

He tried to focus his black eyes on her. "Captain Jack Sparrow. Why can't people learn?" Then he turned to the man in the bar. "Rum. Make it a bottle."

"Interesting choice of breakfast," remarked Rose, wrinkling her nose as another whiff of drunk man reached her nostrils.

"Pay first," said the barman, with a smug look at the red haired prostitute.

Jack looked wounded. "Where's your sense of hospitality, mate?"

"Show me some silver and I shall be ever so cordial."

"I'll pay," offered Rose, producing another shilling from her bosom.

That maneuver awarded her the pirate's undivided attention. "You're the lady who wanted to see me," he stated, while the barman fetched him a dusty bottle and a glass.

"Rose Dawson." She held out her hand. Jack Sparrow seemed perplexed, peering at the limb like it might bite him before cautiously shaking it. His hand felt strong and warm to the touch but was very dirty, and Rose suppressed an urge to pull back too soon.

"So, Miss Dawson, are you often in the habit of buying drinks to strangers?" Sparrow ignored his glass and pulled a deep swig straight out of the bottle, without taking his eyes away from Rose. 

Was the man using makeup? His eyelids and lashes seemed to be painted in an inky black color.

"No. But I need your help." She fought to not avert her gaze. The force of his intense presence and his unblinking stare was intimidating.

Sparrow's dark eyes narrowed. "My help," he repeated and swallowed another mouthful. "Who sent you?"

"Captain Turner."

"Turner, Turner..." he pondered, and then appeared to remember. "Oh, the eunuch!"

"What?"

"Poor boy. Well, what does the whelp want this time? Rescue another girl? Become free of the Dutchman's curse?"

"He... we need help summoning Calypso."

"Calypso?" Sparrow, the barman and Scarlett had spoken simultaneously, Jack spilling rum all over the bardisk in the process and the barman crossing himself piously.

"Nice meeting you, girl, I got somewhere to be. Cheers!" Jack Sparrow grabbed the bottle and hurriedly wobbled away towards the door.

"No! Wait!" Rose ran after him, trying to grab his arm but he was much stronger and did not even slow down.

"Wait," she repeated. They were out in the street now. "You're the only person who knows how to summon her, and Turner says we must give her the Heart of the Ocean back."

Sparrow stopped so suddenly she walked into him, hitting her nose on his straight back.

"The what?" he all but yelled.

When she opened her mouth to repeat, he clasped his hand over it. "No, don't answer." He looked over his shoulder. "Too many ears around."

"So, will you help us?" His hand reeked of rum and she forced it away from her face.

"Take me to the eunuch."

A/N:
Finally he's entering our story – the man, the legend, the drunkard! Will he help them? And will Rose get used to his bad smell? Let me hear your thoughts about it!

Votes and comments are super appreciated, and I try to always reply. ♡

Image Credits:
Screenshot from Titanic.