Pirates of the Caribbean: The Price of Freedom

Jack plunged into the hodgepodge that was Shipwreck City. He
raced up crooked flights of stairs, down narrow hallways, and leaped
over uneven footing. He was surprised to discover that it wasn’t even
noon yet—waking up that morning out on the dock seemed to have
happened half a lifetime ago.
Shipwreck City never really slept; there were always places open
where a pirate could get a drink, or a wench, or buy a weapon. But it
did tend to be at its lowest ebb before noon, because of all the
roistering that went on by candlelight. Jack’s boots thudded loudly as
he ran along a corridor, causing several denizens to poke their
unkempt heads out of doors, demanding to know where the fire was.
Jack shouted, “Sorry, mate!” back a time or two, then quit
bothering, saving his breath for running. He yanked open the door to
every tavern, drinking hall, gaming den, and bordello he passed,
shouting, “Captain Barbossa!” and giving a quick glance inside.
The most polite response he received was, “Who?” Usually it was
some variation on that theme, accompanied by various curses and
suggestions that were anatomically unlikely, if not downright
impossible.
He was nearly to the top of the towering hulk of derelict vessels
when he found him. Jack flung open the door to Fanny’s brothel, gave
a quick, abstracted “G’morning, love,” to Fanny herself, who was sitting
in her parlor, alone, wrapped in a flouncy negligee and eating an
apple. She looked up in surprise, rouge smeared, hair hanging in her
eyes, but said nothing as he thrust aside the rug hanging over the next
door as a token privacy screen, and ducked to enter a narrow corridor.
Tiny rooms opened off it. Jack began opening them, sticking his head
into each one, and then pulling it back out with a quick, “Sorry, wrong
room.”
Most of the male occupants didn’t even wake up.
Jack opened the door to the last chamber but one, stuck his head
in, then, with a pleased “Ah!” inserted the rest of himself. He’d
recognized the enormous old cartwheel of a battered hat from the
tangle of clothing dumped beside the bed. “Captain Barbossa!” he
cried, verifying the identity of his sleeping quarry. “Wake up!”
Barbossa’s plump, copper-haired bedmate sat up, squeaking in