We're now on Isla de Las Riquezas! This is gonna be weeeird! Enjoy!

Jack had not been kidding when he said that the lesser side of Isla de Las Riquezas was worse than Tortuga. The first thing I saw when we docked at around one in the morning was a woman running starkers down the dock, being chased by a maniacal man. She zoomed past Jack and I as he helped me down the ramp and jumped off into the rocky ocean. The man followed suit, giving a final scream of glee. I looked absolutely horrified, and Jack could tell. He laughed a bit.

"What'd I tell you?" His tone was a bit anxious.

"I thought that the people would at least have the decency to wear clothing!" I nearly shrieked.

"Decency?" Jack laughed again, but it was forced. "What decency? All these people care about is making a quick buck. Whether that be from killing, prostitution, pick-pocketing, or just plain working. Money is everything." As we began to walk into town, I couldn't help a nagging sense of worry. He wasn't comfortable here, that much was obvious. And I couldn't help but wonder why.

"Jack?" I asked quietly. He looked down at me. "Are you afraid Edward is still here?" He didn't stop, which surprised me, but did remove his gaze from mine.

"No," he replied evenly. "I know that Edward left many years ago, left his wife, his town, his money. And he doesn't go by Edward Teach anymore." That was all I received from him, and I didn't push for more.

The dark side of the island, as I was now going to call it, was reeking of alcohol and sex. I saw whores humping the poles that held up balconies on bars. Buildings were being burnt to a crisp, until all that was left of them were embers and blackened bodies. Several of the drunkest fellows, tipsy as a dinghy in a storm, only having a firm grip on their drinks, actually stumbled up to me and planted huge, wet, disgusting kisses on my cheek. I shuddered, and Jack took out his pistol, holding it near their heads.

"Best not do that, mate," he would say, and they would back up to go find another girl to hit on.

He held me tightly around the waist as we went into the loudest of taverns. I could hear the music from three blocks away, harsh and drunken. Outside, barrels upon barrels of what I could only assume was rum stood tall, spewing from holes and being caught by the filthy mouths of grubby men. The interior was no better. All wooden, by many stains splattering the tables, floors, and walls, a flight of stairs ran up the center of the room to a second level that led to an outdoor balcony. There was cluttered dancing and overthrown tables littering the first floor. Constantly, people were tumbling to unconsciousness from the railing on the second floor.

Jack, for the first time in my living memory, didn't care for a drink or a dance or even a quick bite. He only held me close to him and swivelled through the scattered messes of people until we were near the back.

I hadn't noticed several huge black doors. One read 'Authorized Personnel Only'. He dodged that one, as well as another that had a huge chuck taken out so you could see a group of people having sex all at once. Finally, the last and dustiest was his route.

In we went, to be met with a shivering little man. He had spectacles with lenses the size of dimes on the edge of his nose. Gray hair, thin and ugly, was combed over his freckled head. His piercing blue eyes were clouded over by fright and worry. On his lumpy body was a dirtied gray wife beater and brown slacks, both stained with rum and…was that blood? He was leaning against he farthest wall, near a corner, quivering violently.

"W-Who are you?" he stuttered, barely getting the words out. A sob followed. I easily pitied the man, but Jack didn't. He walked purposefully towards him, never breaking stride. When he reached the older man, he stared intently into those frightened eyes.

"Jack Teague," he replied easily, darkly. I didn't dare look at Jack, because the smaller man was staring at me, his jaw slightly ajar and trembling. "And you?"

"Why are y-you here?" He blatantly ignored the question. But Jack wouldn't drop it.

"Name first." The short man was looking at me intensely, almost as though expecting me to help him. But I didn't know him.

"J-Jervis H-Howe," he sputtered. Nothing about this name meant anything to either of us, I could tell. He suddenly leaned farther to his left, clutching the spot that was dying his shirt red.

"Who was just in here, Jervis?" Jack asked solemnly. I was afraid to learn the answer.

"N-No one," he mumbled. "N-no one of i-inconsequence…big, big m-man…s-smelled foul…n-no eye…"

Ragetti.

"Jack, they've been here," I whispered urgently. He didn't move his darkening eyes from Jervis. I knew he'd heard me, though, and that he was thinking the same thing.

"And what did they pay you for your knowledge?" Jervis looked ready to pass out from his blood loss. I watched in sickening fascination as it dripped between his tightly clasped fingers and to the floor.

"D-Don't know w-what you're…m-madman…" Jervis mumbled on. "K-knowledge…"

Jack didn't budge, though. Didn't believe a word this man said. "I know you've spoken to a man named Hector, and his colleagues. I know he's asked you for some idea of how to arrive at the Fountain of Youth with haste. Now what did he pay you for your bearings?"

"D-Didn't do n-nothing…d-don't know…" A quick look at Jack put him a bit straighter, and he finished with relative calm, "F-Five hundred p-pounds." I almost let out a gentle whistle. Barbossa really wanted immortality.

"What are the bearings?" Jack forcefully whispered. Jervis shuddered as he breathed in and out.

"F-Fuck you," and he fell to the ground. I jumped away from the growing puddle of blood that surrounded his limp form. Jack didn't look twice at the man, and quickly hurried out of the room with me in tow.

We went out the door not used the first time that I hadn't noticed, and were met with more screams. My world hadn't stopped by the death of Jervis Howe, who I hadn't known for more than a few minutes, but it had stilled slightly. While I was rushed around through angry groups of men barricading doors with men and drunken whores having wild crazy sex on the streets, I imagined his family. His wife. His children. His parents. If he had any of those things, they would be devastated.

All because of bloody Barbossa.

"I hate that man," I muttered spitefully beneath my breath. Jack noticed, but didn't ask who I was speaking of or why. He only pulled me more forcefully. And before I knew it, we were on the Pearl again.

Jack wished to immediately head off, away from this wretched island. But I shook my head and dismissed the thought. It was now a bit after two, which meant that if anyone saw us heading off now, they may go on a drunken rampage of shooting. He admitted that that was true and we remained on the ship for the night.

I woke up to an empty, slightly chilly bed, with the duvet pulled up so it revealed the dark blue sheets beneath. On the pillow not holding my head, a neatly folded note was lying. It looked lonely and cold. Quickly, I picked it up and read over the messy scribble that was Jack's handwriting:

Emberlynn,

Off to restock the hold with rum. Be back soon. DO NOT WANDER!

- Jack

I was surprised. Only yesterday we'd had crates upon crates of the stuff. But I halfway through the night, I did feel a rustling. I suppose that Jack must've downed his sorrows with a few bottles of the stuff.

But why not wander? He didn't own him, I wasn't his property. Really, what was holding me back, besides a guilty conscience?

I easily slipped into my breeches and blouse, followed by a belt, a pistol, and my favorite sword. My boots sat idly by my feet before covering them. After braiding my hair quickly so it fell down my back, I was all set.

A line ran down the length of the Blade, which I could only assume he used, and I followed suit. Once on the dock, I looked both ways, then plopped onto a barrel.

"Looking for anyone?"

I jumped at the sound of a voice that belonged not to Jack speaking directly to me. In the glare of the sun, I looked up and saw a rather tall man. Tanned in complexion and humble in air, he grinned down at me with no hint of smugness nor knowing. It was simply an innocent question aimed at an innocent-looking - did I look innocent? - woman alone in front of a ship.

Nothing suspicious about that.

"Not in particular," I replied evenly, looking away and hoping he'd leave. But no such luck. I heard another barrel being scrape across wood as it was dragged closer to me.

"Then why the rush to remove yourself from my presence?" He began to do something with a long, narrow strip of wood and a knot of string. It soon occurred that he was creating a net.

"Because I was told as a child not to talk to strangers." One of his hands dropped from the net and was held at arms length towards me.

"Leon Howe," he introduced, but I didn't take his hand. I was too dumbstruck at the last name.

"Howe?" I asked tentatively. He nodded. "Did your…do you know where your father may be? Not that it's any of my business, but…" I wasn't exactly sure how to end that line.

Leon let out a long sigh. "Aye," he muttered. "Dead. Only last night, as a matter of fact." I bit my lip guiltily. "Murdered by some bugger, called himself Hector. Then pestered to death by a Teague fellow. And his mistress, he assumed. I saw the whole thing." In my mind, I thanked the heavens I hadn't turned, else ways I'd've been caught as the 'mistress' and murdered right there on the spot.

"I'm…sorry for your loss," I muttered. What else could I say to the son of the man Jack and I had the chance to help, but opted not to?

"But, it's in the past," he went on. "And now I have met you,