the Dalaverse

Y'all. This is something I have wanted to write since I walked out of the theatre nearly a year ago. It's bigger than I anticipated and does more than I intended. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

Will raises a baby on the Dutchman- a water horse of a different color. 5500 words. PG. Mostly Will but also involves the usual suspects, and sort of develops my own personal brand of CotFD rules and regulations.



Creature Comforts


One of the first things Will learned about being Captain of the Flying Dutchman was that it was rather a dull job. Unlike Davy Jones, he did not give himself license to roam the seas searching for victims; in fact, to his distress, he found it impossible to return to earthly waters once the Dutchman had made its first crossing into unknown realms. Trying to tamp down bitterness, he put thoughts of visiting Elizabeth out of his mind for the time being, and concentrated on getting to work. More than once, he called out to Calypso, but she did not answer. He supposed she was enjoying her freedom, and he envied her.

He was surprised to find that Jones had kept excellent records. While the books describing the Dutchman’s terrorizing of the seven seas proved of little use to the current crew and master, he finally uncovered some ancient, moldering records from days past. It was from these documents that he learned of the Captain’s compass, currently being used as a paperweight at the corner of a chart. This was the means by which he was to navigate from the shores of the dead to the world beyond. It reminded him fondly of days past, for like Jack Sparrow’s infernal contraption, it was not designed to work with true north. For Will it gave the heading straight and true, in accordance with the charts of strange waters buried in a cracked chest. For anyone else it would spin without ceasing. As soon as he understood this Will dusted off the charts, polished the brass-cased compass, and set the Dutchman on her prescribed course to collect wandering souls.

Meanwhile, he continued to clear out his new quarters. Jones had concentrated on the human plunder in his raids, but he had also collected objects he fancied. Some of his many wooden chests were beautifully and intricately carved – clearly the work of master craftsman. Will couldn’t help but admire them, even if the reason behind this collection still made him shudder. There was a surprising shortage of precious metals and gems for a ship with a career in piracy. Will found what little there was to be heavy, tasteless or downright ugly. He also strongly disapproved of the massive organ. Some of the men spent several days dismantling it and packing the pieces away – despite Will’s lack of use for it, he thought it wasteful to simply toss it over the side.

Jones did have some books, though none that had been published in any stretch of the word ‘recently.’ Will liked to read more than was appropriate for a blacksmith, thanks to the lessons he had received at the expense of Governor Swann, and he had always been more envious of gentlemen’s libraries than of their collections of plate or art. He was grateful to find these volumes, musty and salt-stained though they were, and began planning some shelves to display them where the organ had been.

He was nearly finished tidying up the place when he found the nondescript earthenware vessel at the bottom of a gilded trunk. Hefting it in his hand, he deduced that it was filled with some kind of liquid. The cork was sealed by foul-smelling orange wax.

Intrigued, Will sat down at the desk and began digging at it with a penknife. It took him a good ten minutes before he was finally able to pop the cork free. He sniffed the contents, then shrugged and dipped a finger in it, figuring it could hardly kill him. It tasted like plain seawater. Will was about to toss the jar into his pile of useless items when he noticed something at the bottom.

“Here now, what’s this?”

The mouth was just wide enough for him to fit his hand inside. He pulled the object out, frowning. It was about the size of a goose’s egg, and that was what it looked like – except for the fact that it was marbled and green. He hadn’t noticed its weight in the jar, but it seemed quite heavy in his palm. And then it moved.

Startled, Will dropped it. It hit the bottom of its container with a dull thunk. He winced, thinking of the scent of rotten eggs – but it hadn’t broken. It appeared to be hatching.

He pulled the lantern closer, tilting the jug carefully to better see the activities down below. The egg twitched, flaking bits of shell off all the while. The thing inside finally kicked off a large enough chunk to let a tiny limb of indeterminate nature poke through. Will let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

The remainder of the egg cracked roughly down the center, freeing its occupant. Will stared into the bottom of the jar. It was roughly the size of a newborn chick, but there the similarities ended. The body shape was lizardlike, the head small and wedge-shaped on a slender neck the length of Will’s little finger. It had four limbs like wide flippers and a short, stubby tail. Judging by this and by the fact that it seemed to have no trouble breathing, it seemed like a water creature. And like many infant animals, it found its movement not long after the birth. Will jerked his head up as the little thing swam clumsily to the surface.

“What the devil are you?” he whispered.

It poked its blunt head out of the water and blinked reptilian eyes at him. He could see now that it was dark green in color and did not appear to have scales as he’d first thought. Nor did it have gills; it breathed air through a blowhole at the base of its neck. He touched its spine with a fingertip, fascinated: the skin was firm and smooth like a dolphin’s.

The thing opened its mouth and let on a tiny screech, twining its snakelike neck around to bite his finger.

Will swore, nearly dropping the jar, and sucked the offended digit. Even minutes after birth, its tiny teeth were sharp. It had been a long time since he’d had an animal around, but old habits were hard to break.

“Bad…thing!” he said sternly, knitting his eyebrows and tapping his finger against the rim of the jar.

The creature uttered a soft, keening sound and sank beneath the water, peering up at him. Will felt like he’d kicked a puppy.

“Easy, now,” he said in a gentler tone, cautiously extending his fingers above the water. It paddled toward him, wary. “I won’t hurt you.”

Finally its head broke the surface, butting tentatively against the tip of his index finger.

“There, isn’t that –” He fell silent abruptly. Was crooning to an unknown genus of baby sea monster a sign of madness, or merely a symptom of the loneliness to which he was going to have to become accustomed?

The creature didn’t seem to care. It swam in circles beneath his hand, now and then popping up to bump against him. He wondered if Jones’ kraken had begun life in such a way, feeling somewhat queasy at the thought. Had Jones raised it from an infant, to become an outlet for his power and cause endless destruction of ships and lives?

Despite himself, he smiled at the faint trilling noises bubbling up from the water. Even if that had been the case, this little fellow couldn’t help what he’d born, and certainly couldn’t be faulted for living at all.

“Aldwych,” he called out the cabin door, “bring me a bucket of seawater.”

In settling the creature in its new home he discovered ‘Francesca’ written in spidery script on the side of the jar; thus was the creature named. Will was glad to have something to call her, even if he didn’t have proof of her sex or indeed of her species.

“Jones did seem to have some affection for that beastie,” his father remarked as they watched Francesca cavort in her bucket.

Will scowled. “Strange sort of affection, raising a pet to wanton destruction and then killing it for being what it was made.”

Bill shrugged. “This one’s got you for a master, just as we have. No law saying it’s got to suffer the same fate.”

This simple comment set the wheels turning in Will’s brain. “What if I were to train her – teach her to keep away from ships and people? She’s an entirely different creature, after all – perhaps the kraken was better suited to violence.”

Wiping a drop of water from his face, Bill gave his son a strange look. “Whatever you think is best, Captain Turner.”

Bill was far from the only crewman to think Will had gotten a bit touched in the head over a baby sea monster, but Will didn’t care. He began to carve out models of ships from blocks of wood, crudely at first but gradually becoming more elaborate. It was an excellent way to spend his time and occupy his hands. He decided to let Francesca grow a little before he attempted a training regime, replacing her bucket with a larger one when she was three weeks old and her body grown to the size of his fist.

The crew may have thought her strange but they did enjoy fishing for her supper – strange, exotic fish with many eyes in colors Will couldn’t even name. One of his men, a grizzled bloke with a missing eye, had been a ship’s cook in life. Since none of the crew nor the shades required food, Francesca was the only being aboard to appreciate Beecham’s culinary skills. Will finally had to ask him to make her meals more plain. She was beginning to turn her nose up at raw fish and could never be expected to survive on her own if she became dependent on a cooked diet.

When she was the size of a small cat and lived in a large barrel, Will started with the model ships. He would put one in her barrel and, as she swam over to investigate it, rebuke her with a sharp “No!”. After she backed away, crying at his outburst, he praised her effusively and stroked her pearly hide. Before long, her reaction to him floating a ship in her vicinity was to dive down to the bottom, not cowering in fear but understanding that she must avoid these wooden vessels.

Francesca grew quickly. At six months of age, she was looking too big for a basin five feet wide and only three feet deep. She would swim in endless circles and figure eights, clearly hungering for more room.

“I think it’s time, son,” said Bill, clasping Will’s shoulder.

Will hesitated – though he knew of no predators in these waters, she seemed so young yet. And if it happened that her affinity for him was due to confinement, and she would disappear once put to open sea…it was foolish, he knew, but having the friendly creature as a companion was a great comfort.

But they couldn’t wait any longer if they wanted to be able to move her without difficulty. Will fixed up a rig that would lower the basin like a dinghy, slowly and carefully into the sea. He fixed LeFevre with a frosty glare when that man suggested dumping the basin over the side. He would take no chances that she would be injured in such a fall.

On the day of the move Will was in the water, watching with bated breath as they lowered the basin over the side. He could hear Francesca keening in distress and he shouted reassurance up to her, which seemed to calm her somewhat. At last the basin splashed down beside him and the creature he had raised left her shipboard cradle for the sea.

She bumped her head against Will’s chest, relieved to see him. He laughed and patted her flank, glad to see that she had no difficulty keeping afloat.

“Good girl. You can swim freely at last.” He shooed her a short distance away, remaining under the Dutchman’s shadow. Francesca craned her long neck to look back at him, though she was eagerly facing the open sea. After a bit more prodding, she let out a cry and dove beneath the surface. Will’s mouth thinned and he stared steadily at the horizon. He would not call her back out of worry. Not even when five minutes had passed and she had yet to surface.

Suddenly he felt something knock against his leg. He floundered in the water, thinking not of his pet but of some larger creature that might want to make a meal of them both. Francesca made a clicking noise when she popped up behind him, splashing him with her front flippers.

“Oh, very amusing,” Will muttered, treading water.

Though she was now a free creature, she stayed close to the Dutchman. As she grew in size, Will began to realize just how fast she could swim, and his fears about predators eased. She was sleek and powerful in the water, easily swimming circles under and around the ship when they were sailing with full canvas.

At first the souls he guided to the distant shore showed signs of fright, though they were muted like all the reactions of the dead. For her part Francesca avoided their boats and bodies. This would have been impossible at the beginning of Will’s stint as captain, when souls seemed to stretch as far as the eye could see. They were all the many who had been neglected since Davy Jones abandoned his rightful fate, and they could not find their way without Will to guide them. At first he had been mystified at how he would find all the drifters, but they were drawn to him like a moth to a flame. All he had to do was sail the ship straight and true, and they would follow. By the time Francesca was seagoing, the crowd of souls had thinned out considerably.

As she continued to grow Francesca began ranging farther afield, for longer periods of time. No matter how he tried to hide it, Will was always slightly anxious until her head once again broke the surface of the waves. He had no idea how to track her development – whether she was still an adolescent or an adult – but her growth stalled when she was roughly thirty feet from nose to tail and eighteen feet across the length of her fins. At that point her journeys lasted as long as long as a fortnight. Will relaxed, content to know that she was healthy and strong and he had had something to do with it…even if he missed the infant creature who had so depended on him

His old fears cropped up again when she disappeared for three weeks. Convinced something had happened, he posted two lookouts on every watch. On the twenty-second day she was finally sighted, and Will could see at a distance that something was wrong. She swam in a crooked line, her head drooping until it almost touched the surface. Without thinking he dove off the side of the ship as she came alongside.

A cruelly barbed harpoon was stuck fast in her right rear flipper. Will was cautious about approaching it, having been lashed out at by animals in pain in the past. But Francesca seemed to trust him utterly, for she remained still throughout his examination. The only sign of her distress was heavier breathing and a shudder of her hide from time to time.

Will called up for a hatchet. “I’m sorry, girl,” he murmured, “but it looks as though I’m going to have to get the head off before we can pull it free.” He leaned against her flank and began to hack at the business end, which had passed through muscle and flesh but thankfully seemed to have missed bone. At least, that was what he surmised from his limited knowledge of sea creature anatomy. Francesca trembled, but stayed still long enough for the job to be done. Will let the iron barb plummet to the depths with a noise of disgust.

“All right, here’s the rough part – easy, easy…” He kept his hand on her and he ducked beneath the surface. Bracing his feet on the underside of her fin, he yanked hard at the wooden shaft.

She flailed and knocked him silly with the injured limb, but the shaft was out. He couldn’t see a practical solution for the wound, which was at least clean. She had clearly come some distance with it already. All he could do was hope it would heal over.

“I don’t understand,” he said to Bill later, frowning. “How could she have been hit? Who would have done it? In all our journeying, we’ve never seen another soul – not a living one, anyway.”

Bill tapped a fist on the table, eyes thoughtful. “Unless…”

Will met his eyes, not daring to hope. “You think she made it to the other side?”

“I think,” Bill replied slowly, “that it’s entirely possible. What else was all that nonsense with the toy boats about?”

Will sat down on a bench with a thud. He realized it had been nearly two full years since he had taken the helm of the Dutchman. Two years he’d been doing his duty; two years Elizabeth had spent without him. If he closed his eyes he could see her, clear as day, standing on that sunset beach…but it was false sight. The truth was that the only thing he couldn’t imagine her doing was remaining on that beach, even if it was the image burned into his mind. The truth was that he had no idea how or where she had spent these past two years.

The truth was that the slightest possibility of finding out sent his spirits soaring.

He returned to the drawing board and the wood-whittling. Working obsessively, he soon had a passing copy of the Empress and a better one of the Black Pearl.

“Now, I know I told you to avoid ships,” said Will, hoping with all his might that Francesca could understand this exercise, and that she was indeed more intelligent than any puppy – a creature intelligent enough not to fight someone helping her. She was bobbing next to the ship, head raised above the deck, watching him curiously. Her wounded flipper had healed nicely, though she still favored it a bit.

“But these are good ships.”

He drew back the sailcloth covering the ship models at his feet. Francesca snorted and her neck whipped back.

“It’s all right,” Will said, trying to keep his voice steady and soothing. He clucked his tongue as he would with a horse. “Good girl, here, to me…”

Poised to make her retreat, the creature hesitated. Will continued to beckon her forward with his arm and voice. Slowly, her head came back down.

“Good ships,” he repeated, knowing he was making a fool out of himself, trying to ignore a snicker or two at his back. He caressed the hull of the Pearl. “Good ships, with people I love. I want you to find them.”

Francesca canted her blocky head, peering at the models suspiciously. He couldn’t have any clue that she had understood, but at least she was looking at the ships. After a moment, she nudged Will gently with her muzzle. He thought that was the best he was going to get.

“Hold still,” he said, and looped the bundle of letters he’d written, wrapped in layers of canvas and tarred to make them as waterproof as could be hoped. Francesca craned her neck to watch it slide down and settle at her breast. Will could have sworn she preened a little.

He grinned and patted her cheek. “I have faith in you, my girl. I know you’re cleverer than plenty of the people I’ve met.”

With an affectionate rumble, she nudged him once more and slipped back under the waves.

Will stood at the Dutchman’s bow for a long time, until the white sun sank. His father came to stand beside him then, clasping his hands behind his back.

“You think I am a fool,” said Will without looking at him. “That this work has addled my brains and there’s not a hope in the world that beast can actually seek out my wife.”

Bill was silent for a moment. Then he said simply, “William, I think you have hope. And that is why we are here. It’s why we’re all here.”




It was Ragetti who spotted it. Ragetti was the one who spotted most ships on the horizon. No one was ever quite able to figure that out.

At the time Jack was having Elizabeth and Billy for supper. She had rightfully pointed out (or rather, shouted across the water) that she had much better quarters for entertaining. Jack had countered that of the two of them, he was the one who’d had his ship stolen from under his arse on multiple occasions, so if Captain Turner desired his company then she could bloody well row over to said ship. Elizabeth had snorted and shaken her head, but acquiesced in the end. She was still surprised that Jack had agreed to accompany her on her first cruise since Billy was born. Elizabeth had fretted over her ship alone being secure enough to take her son aboard, but she had very few qualms about the combined forces of the Empress and the Pearl. She had only meant to take a few weeks, but it was already a month gone, no troubles had arisen, and she was loath to return to Shipwreck Cove after interminable months spent within its confines.

Elizabeth glanced up as she fed Billy a bit of fish. Gibbs came barreling in the door, sweating and gray-faced.

“Cap’n – cap’ns,” he added, nodding to her. “You’d best come see this.”

Jack and Elizabeth shared a brief, sharp glance. She hitched the baby onto her hip and hurried after him, heart hammering in her throat.

There were no sails in sight. Jack’s brows lowered dangerously and he barked, “Who’s responsible for interrupting my dinner for no particular reason?”

“’S there, I swear it,” said Ragetti, pointing a trembling finger off the starboard bow. “A tentacle.”

Billy grumbled as Elizabeth’s grip tightened. She didn’t have to look at Jack to see the color drain from his face. In fact, she really didn’t want to look at him at all. Glancing over at Empress, she realized they hadn’t yet spotted the trouble; the Pearl was between it and them.

Marty was already at the swivel gun when Jack ordered hands to the gun deck. Most of the crew were confused, not seeing a hostile vessel bearing down on them nor having had the pleasure of living through a kraken attack. For that matter, most of them would have believed the infernal beast a myth, as Elizabeth had until she saw it with her own eyes. But they moved quickly enough when Jack threatened to cut their rum rations until they reached port.

“It’s gone now,” said Elizabeth through gritted teeth, hefting Billy to the other shoulder

“Why, did you want a second go?” he replied at once. “I can chain meself t’ the mast this time, seeing as how you only have one free arm.” She looked at him sharply, but to her relief there was grim humor in his eyes. “Maybe have Billy kiss me instead, eh?”

Billy giggled and reached for him. “Jack! Jack!”

“That’s Captain Jack to you, little man,” said Jack sternly as he took the baby from her. Elizabeth turned to signal Tai Huang to ready the ship for combat. He too was puzzled, but moved to do as she asked.

She returned to shouts of “There – there! I see it!”

“Out of range,” Jack muttered, eyes glittering fiercely. “Damn.”

Elizabeth squinted at the water’s surface. “It doesn’t look like a tentacle, Jack.”

“Course it’s a –” He raised the glass to his eye again and whistled. “Why no, I don’t believe it is. Here,” he said, offering her a look before Billy could snatch at the toy.

She looked through the brass spyglass and pursed her lips. “It – it looks like a head, but not of any creature I’ve ever seen. There are its eyes…”

“Whatever it be, it’s gettin' closer,” Gibbs shouted from belowdecks. “Orders, Cap’n?”

Jack gnawed on his top lip, staring with narrowed eyes at the thing in the water. After a beat he called, “Hold fire. Keep ready. I want to see what it does.”

It stayed on the surface this time, coming steadily – cautiously, Elizabeth thought – closer. Before long they could see clearly that it was a green, lizard-like head on a long neck. The tension on the ship was like a fog. Elizabeth realized she was holding her breath and let it out in a long, shaky gust. Jack bounced Billy absently, ignoring the tugs on his hair. The boy soon lost interest in his everyday playthings and looked out to sea, mimicking his mother.

“Kitty!” said Billy with delight, stretching his pudgy arms out.

The thing was close now, not ten yards off. It raised its head out of the water, serpentine neck stretching above the Pearl’s gunwhale, and looked at them with steady black eyes

“God’s thumbs,” said Jack quietly, almost reverently. Elizabeth swallowed hard and tried not to think about that long neck whipping down to snatch her son away.

“Mama, want kitty,” Billy explained in a serious voice, squirming in Jack’s rigid grasp.

Elizabeth frowned, looking not at the creature’s head but at its lean body. “I think it’s carrying something - like a pigeon.”

As she pointed to the lump at the creature’s breast, its head dropped gracefully downward. Jack tensed, free hand going to his pistol, ready to give the order to fire. Elizabeth grabbed his arm and breathed, “Wait.”

It was not diving beneath to swamp them. It plucked at the thing on its chest, easily snapping the rope around its neck. Then it stretched its neck out, very slowly, towards them, whatever it was carrying clenched between its teeth.

“I need a drink,” said Jack faintly, eyes wide, but otherwise he didn’t move.

The creature halted its movement and opened its mouth, dropping the package directly in front of Elizabeth. She couldn’t help leaping back, pulling Jack with her, and the thing drew away immediately. It began to swim rapidly, sliding beneath the surface to leave only head and two feet of neck visible. When it was just out of range, it turned back to watch them.

“G’bye, Kitty,” Billy said sadly, waving to it.

Elizabeth stared at Jack for a moment, seeing her dumbfounded expression mirrored in his eyes. As one, they knelt down in front of the package.

The whole crew had gathered around by the time they managed to pry apart the layers of tar and stiff canvas. Fortunately the creature’s teeth had begun the work, or it would have taken much longer.

“Letters,” said Jack in a strange high voice, clearly on the verge of hysterics. “Has it written to invite us to tea?”

Elizabeth’s knees failed her and she sat back, hard. With shaking fingers, she traced her own name in India ink. “This is Will’s handwriting.”

She ripped open the envelopes and read them right there for all the world to see, oblivious to the tears running down her cheeks. There were not many letters and not much said in them, but the words were exactly those she needed to hear. Will was well – or as well as could be expected. He loved her. He missed her. He was sorry if he had frightened her by this delivery, but he hoped for nothing more than to hear word of her.

Will.

Jack, meanwhile, pawed through the few items remaining. There was a pairing of pearl earrings, a skillfully carved model of the Dutchman, a small wooden box of interlocking parts. Billy patted the ship fondly.

“Well?” said Jack, voice a shade too hearty. She could not look at his face or she feared she’d start weeping again. “What does your dearly beloved have to say?”

“The kitty’s name is Francesca,” Elizabeth replied, kissing the top of Billy’s head.

A corner of Jack's mouth lifted in a smirk. "I know he misses the donkey, but honestly."





Time moved in different patterns for mortals and gods. It wasn’t that Calypso had meant to stay away so long; it was just so much longer for Will than it was for her.

Still, he was her new boatman and he deserved a word of encouragement from time to time, even if she could not turn his head away from that girl of his. He had done his duty faithfully and capably thus far.

She found him gazing at a piece of paper. His hands were shaking, his eyes were shining and none of it was for her.

“Hello, William,” she said, alighting in the form he knew.

He looked up, startled, and then smiled like the sunrise. “I have a son.” He opened one palm, showing her a dusty brown curl tied with a blue ribbon. “We have a son.”

Calypso blamed it on taking human form again – it made her vulnerable to human emotion. She looked away from his joy and his heartbreak, out to the beautiful creature frolicking in the sea.

“A fine pet,” she said, although privately she thought the kraken had been more interesting.

Will seemed to take more notice of her, and he cleared his throat. “I named her Calypso.”

“Truly?” She was flattered despite herself. She’d rather have charms of the flesh, but charms of the heart were better than nothing. And she feared this one’s heart would wither if she showed him cruelty rather than mercy.

“William,” she said with her best maiden’s smile, sidling up to him in bare feet and stroking his hair back from his pretty face. “Tell me, would you like t’ see your son?”




She followed the Dutchman, and Will, wherever it went. It took her longer to cross the barrier between the worlds, but she knew where they would go.

Three ships rocked on the swells, wings furled. For a moment there was peace. It was only a moment, but it was enough.

She dove deep for joy and leapt up again, close enough to startle them, close enough to dazzle them, close enough to make the small one laugh and say, “Good kitty!”




(Author's Note: Francesca is named for St. Francis of Paola, patron saint of sailors and the sea. It's a mythological creature, I can calls it what I wants!)