Narcissa Barbossa: Dead Men Tell No Tales

Margaret Smyth

Hector sighed heavily as Narcissa walked away. He despised the idea of his daughter dying and the fact that she was facing it so completely calmly slightly floored him. If he had his way he'd give his own life before he let Narcissa lose hers but sadly it didn't work that way and he knew she was right in saying that they had no other choice but to find the trident.

If they didn't break the curses Salazar would massacre his way across the sea unchecked. And given how his youngest had now become entangled in the whole affair her life too now hung in the balance. He could only hope Narcissa's suspicions that the trident would cause her to revert to her former state of being on the brink of death were wrong.

Then there was the matter of Carina. Of course, his clever Narcissa figured out his secret. And now he had the turmoil of having to decide what to do about that scenario on top of coming to terms with Narcissa's potential death.

Deep down he knew she was right. He was terrified of Carina rejecting him. He wasn't sure he could bare to look into her blue eyes so like his and see only disdain as would likely be the case contrary to what his eldest might think.

Right now, more than ever he missed Margaret. She'd know precisely how to handle this. Dear Margaret. He'd never imagined he'd find love after Lydia Davis and he certainly hadn't been looking for it. But he'd found it nonetheless.

*Flashback*

Hector had managed to successfully steal the Pearl back from Jack however to his slight dismay Jack had cut the center out of Hector's map to the Fountain of Youth. Now his only hope was that there might be some clue on what remained of the map to point him in the right direction.

To that end he found himself outside a small pawn shop on Martinique titled "Smyth and Co." Supposedly if one wanted rare information and or an expert on maps this was the place to go. He entered the small, dimly lit shop. It was a mass of shelves with various items on them ranging from timepieces, to books, to navigation equipment.

Behind the counter was a petite woman with porcelain skin, wavy dark brown hair, and bright green eyes. She wore a lightly patterned brown skirt with a cream blouse whose billowy sleeves had tight rows of buttons at the cuffs which matched the row going down the center of the blouse. Around her waist was a brown leather belt with a flintlock pistol stuck in it. She was bent over a book marking something with a feathered quill a pair of spectacles placed on the bridge of her nose.

"Hello,"

"Good day to ye, I'm looking for Mr. Smyth," said Hector presuming that the woman must be an employee.

"Six feet under in an unmarked grave somewhere in Tortuga last I heard," quipped the woman finally looking up and removing her spectacles.

"What you mean is you're looking for the shop's proprietor which would be me." She raised an eyebrow as if daring him to challenge her. However, having encountered plenty of exceptionally independent women, most notably his own daughter, Hector simply brushed the look aside.

"Yer right my deepest apologies Miss Smyth," he said and the woman waved her hand as if to say it was nothing.

"It was a natural assumption; I'll not hold it against you presuming you have no issue dealing with a woman."

"None at all provided yer as good as word says this shop is," Hector answered as he approached the counter.

"I am." said Miss Smyth bluntly and Hector smiled at her candor.

"Then perhaps ye can help me with a slight problem I have. I'd like you to examine a map for me." The woman held up a hand.

"Half now and half after my assessment," she said nodding to the list of prices. Hector decided not to argue the point and handed over several coins which Miss Smyth placed in the register. Then he laid out the remains of the map. Miss Smyth gave him an incredulous look.