Author's Notes: (October 20th, 2006) I've been doing some extensive editing on this story. My writing has changed quite a bit since I first started and I feel that I need to get the rest of this story up to par before I can continue with new chapters. Some chapters have been changed drastically, some haven't, and some I haven't even touched yet. In any case, feel free to tell me how you like the changes.

DISCLAIMER: I'm sticking this baby right here so everyone knows it from the start: I don't own Pirates of the Caribbean, any of it's characters, storyline, ect. It all belongs to the Mouse (who shall soon take over the world).

I welcome all comments and criticism!

Enjoy!

The Trouble with Women

Prologue

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Midst the raucous noise of the dimly lit tavern was the perfect place to conduct business. Contrary to popular belief, the more people around, the less likely someone was to be overheard. And, by chance, if anyone did manage to catch a snippet of conversation, generous amounts of rum and whisky and ale were enough to wipe any curiosity from a mind and make a man forget about it before the morning came.

So, naturally, some very important negotiations took place in taverns and rowdy bars.

One accord of such nature was taking place at that moment, deep within the smoky air of the Faithful Bride; tavern extraordinaire for such a place as Tortuga. Three men sat in the corner, swathed in shadows, around a small, rounded wooden table that was riddled with knots and stained with rum. The chairs were rickety, the surroundings were questionable. It was the perfect place to gather around for a bit of pirate gossip.

"An' what of this treasure you've spoken of, George?" One man, portly and sporting large mutton-chops upon a rosy face, leaned over the table and peered at 'George', both their faces just barely visible, for the lantern light eluded this particular corner of the tavern.

George, as he was called, rolled a flagon of rum between his hands as a slow smile seemed to creep upon his face. "I knew it, I did! Ye have a mind after the largest fortune seen to us sailors in a long bit, aye?" he asked in a slightly hushed voice, beady eyes darting between the two men across from him.

The portly sailor cast a quick glance at the third occupant of the table, a man leaning on the back legs of his wobbly chair with his boots propped up on the edge of the table, a tankard of rum held in his motionless hands. Upon noticing the fat man's gaze, he tipped his head somewhat in a nod, the movement accompanies by a flash of teeth in the dim light. The rest of his face was lost to the shadows.

Once again, the portly man turned to George. "Aye, that's right. We've heard some stories floating around...the type that make me cock an ear and listen. Ye know we can't resist the thought o'treasure."

George laughed. "None o' us can, man, none o' us can," he stated, greasy face sporting a crooked smile full of rotting teeth. "But who told ye to come to me? I may have naught but a bit o' gossip in my hands, nothing useful to either o' us."

The chubby man regarded George for a moment in silence. It was interrupted as the third man shifted somewhat, the chair underneath him creaking in protest with the movement. Then, for a brief minute, the only sound was that of the rowdy men and whores of the tavern, the sounds of singing, cackling and pounding, dancing feet floating in the air around them. Then, seconds later, five gold coins were tossed onto the table. Each one rolled in circles for a moment, they came to rest in the centre of the table, the fickle lantern light glistening and dancing across them. They sparkled golden, contrasting upon the rough, stark wood.

George's eyes narrowed and he peered at the man leaning back on his chair. Again, there was a silence between the three, the sound of jaunting laughter and shouts from the drunkards up at the bar the only noise, accompanied by the quick fingers of a piano man. Then, he snatched the five coins up, peering at the two men.

"Where'd ye find such gold, Cap'n? An' such an amount?" he asked the shadowed man, surveying a coin's surface with an experience eye before peering over the trinket at the reclined man.

Maybe, for lack of a better response, or the complete truth, he answered, "On a ship, mate."

The portly man glared at George. "I trust the information you have isn't worthless pirate gob gossip only worthy for the dreamers, hmmm? Don't let us down, George."

George pocketed the coins. "My memory's been refreshed, me buckos, that is has," he stated with satisfaction, and leaned back in his chair. It squeaked in protest with the movement. "The treasure ye be after is the Bourbon treasure, kept secret an hidden-like by an ole witch and her humble guardian."

"More, George. Tis hardly enough to satisfy a child a bedtime," the portly man prompted while the remaining man stayed quiet.

The greasy man cracked another smile. "L'ile du Bourbon. Bourbon Island. It's a place south of the Africa's, east of Madagascar, I'm sure ye have a map or two with the place on it. It's very small. Tale goes that nigh twenty years 'go there was a great French Cap'n—Jacques du Bourbon. He was a pirate, mad as they come, haunting the Spanish Main with an eye to take all the Spanish gold in the Caribbean fer himself. Successful in his raids, he was, but his crew soon grew tired of the man and his relentlessness." George paused a moment to give the reclining man a hard look. "Ye see, each time the Cap'n took a ship, he stole their gold and finery and frittered it away to some secret island known only by him an' his men, hoarding every last piece until he had it all and he could settle down with his riches. But his crew was tired of the man's strange ways, so they committed mutiny and cast the Cap'n off the ship in the middle o' the Atlantic with a mind to go after his hoard and spend it on good company and better ale. But they never made it that far, because they hit a storm on their way to the island, and without having Bourbon to steer 'em out, they sunk down to Davy Jones's. So the treasure was lost."

George watched as the man leaning back on the flimsy chair took a deep swig from his mug, now seeming uninterested in the story after he'd said his part.

"Is that is, then? The treasure is Jacques du Bourbon's?" the portly man asked.

"Aye, that it is. Tis called the Bourbon treasure, cursed and lost to all of us mortal men. The hunt was abandoned no more than five anniversaries after the Cap'n's death, the treasure hunters unable to find a soul who knew where it was." At this, George let a slow, self-satisfied smile caress his dirty face.

"There's a catch," stated the third man suddenly, his low, smoky voice startling the other two men.

George regarded him with praise. "Aye, there's a catch, Cap'n. There's always a catch."

"What is it?" the portly man demanded.

Trying his very best to look mysterious, George set his rum down on the round table and looked the two men over. "There's always been one who knew of the treasure, someone the good Cap'n Jacques du Bourbon kept very secret. Most his crew didn't know it, but Bourbon has a daughter, the result of a brief affair with a wench in Madagascar. She died after trying to rid herself of the babe with castor bean, but the babe survived the ordeal an' the Cap'n sent her to Bourbon Island with a guardian, taking every chance to dote upon his daughter despite his reputation and 'er origins. They never knew each other, but it's rumoured that every month he would send her a letter with bit of fortune from his own." He leaned forward with an excited sort of grin. "He told her of the island where his gold was kept, so when 'e an' his crew had faded away she would know where to find it."

There was silence among the three save for the boisterous customers. The light flickered over the three briefly, but they were kept in the relative shadows.

"And how did you come by this?" the fat man questioned suddenly, suspicion in his voice.

"I have my ways," George replied vaguely.

Finally, the reclined man seemed interested enough to join the conversation, and shedding his bored mannerisms, removed his boots from the table and let the chair fall forward to the floor with a loud thump. And quite suddenly, much more of him could be seen that before. A worn and beaten tricornered hat sat nestled atop his head while an unruly mane of dark hair fell down past his shoulders, several beads and trinkets glimmering in the fleeting lantern light.

Startling the other men, he slammed his mug of rum unceremoniously onto the table, and with his head swaying slightly he spoke. "And to find this lost...treasure, I suppose we have to find this bonny lass first, 'ay?" he asked, slurring his words together and tilting his head to one side, the movement accompanied by a small jingle.

George nodded. "Right, Cap'n, but that's where ye have to watch out. His child is said to be a witch, an unmarried maid with a determined guardian and a secret that is hers an' hers alone."

"A witch?" the 'Cap'n' repeated, a hint of humour in his voice.

George nodded. "It's said that she placed a curse on Bourbon's crew even before the news of her dead father reached her. It's said she was the one who sent them to the depths for their betrayal."

"I don't know...she sounds like my kind of lass," was the slurred reply, accompanied by the brief flash of golden teeth in the dim light. "Betrayers...mutineers, seems like they got what they deserved in the end."

The fat man regarded his companion oddly for a moment as George went on.

"She don't take kindly to visitors. Matter o' fact, first and last man that went to her for the treasure never came back. No one's tried since then, no one's fool enough to try."

Face only slightly darkened under the shadow of his hat, the third man's dark eyes flickered to George. "Are you entailing I'm a fool, mate?" he drawled lazily, leaning forward to stare at the informant.

"Despite the promises of treasure...some things are better left alone, I say," George replied stiffly.

The fat man opened his mouth to protest, but his companion quickly cut him off. "I dunno...how can a treasure named after liquor be that bad?" he grinned jokingly.

"Women are nothing but trouble, Cap'n," George warned slowly.

The Captain simply grinned. "Only to a eunuch, mate."

Frowning now, George stood up from his chair stiffly. "It was nice doin' business with you, Cap'n, but now I must go." He inclined his head to both men before walking away into the tavern's crowd.

The portly man watched him go before turning to his companion with a raised eyebrow. "Don't know if that was necessary, Jack."

"Captain Jack, Mr. Gibbs," he corrected absently. "And I do believe it was. The man's got a regular old stick up his arse."

Gibbs didn't reply, but instead took George's abandoned mug of rum and took a sip. They sat in silence for a moment before Jack broke it.

"We'll be setting sail for Bourbon Island tomorrow morning, Gibbs. Get the crew and tell them there's gold to be had," he stated, and then paused before turning dark eyes onto the man. "You don't think I'm a fool, do you?"

Gibbs regarded his captain warily for a moment before shaking his head. "Daft," he only said.

Jack grinned. Then, raising his mug he tipped his hat to his first mate. "Take what you can..."

Raising his own mug, Gibbs recited the last bit, "...Give nothing back!"

The two mugs clashed together, spilling a bit of rum onto the worn old table before they were tipped up to their owners' mouths and drained of every last drop.

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Author's Notes: Hope you like it! Drop me a review!

--Cayenne Pepper Powder