A/N: This is a homage/parody of one of my favorite books of all time, And Then There Were None, merged with my favorite characters of all time, the POTC characters! Yes, there will be deaths, but this is a black comedy, hopefully along the lines of Clue or Murder by Death. If you've seen the stage version, it will float slightly closer to that than the actual novel, but expect lots of gags and twists along the way. I do not own any of the songs I use or any of the pop culture references, and I especially don't own POTC.

James Norrington adjusted the lamplight and brought his face closer to the letter, rereading it even though each word had been seared into his retinas. After Captain Turner resurrected him and promptly kicked him overboard of the Flying Dutchman last year, every eye squint, every sneeze, every flick of dust off his lapels—every movement was more than movement. It was proof, proof, damn it, that he was alive.

Dear Ex-Commodore Norrington,

I do hope this letter finds you well instead of rotting away with vultures picking at you. Since your rather anticlimactic death, things certainly have changed in Port Royal, namely its destruction. We understand you gave several loyal years of service to Port Royal before becoming a miserable sellout and are paying those contributors reparations. Do come to MacGuffin Island off the coast of some unnamed island in the Caribbean to retrieve your compensation on the 13th of June. There will be limbo, surfing, snorkeling, drinking, and all other activities one usually does on a tropical island.

Sincerely,

Ulick Norman Owen, Esq.

It read so simply, so condescendingly, James thought, easing back in his hotel bed. He'd been too late for the Little Miss Sunshine pageant out here in sunny California, the tiny beauty queens already sobbing except for the lucky winner. He'd give anything for the days when Miss Elizabeth Swann had been that young… Well, everything would turn out right soon enough…

Her name was Lola, she was a showgirl
With yellow feathers in her hair and a dress cut down to there
She would merengue and do the cha-cha
And while she tried to be a star, Tony always tended bar
Across a crowded floor, they worked from 8 till 4
They were young and they had each other
Who could ask for more?

Elizabeth belted out the chorus of "Copacabana," cleaving her microphone close to her with one hand while waving her opposite arm over her head.

"Come on, everybody!" she shouted out to her audience, a few dozen barflies who were regulars at this dump, she thought. Through the glass walls of the airport lounge, she could see passengers hustling to their gates. Each and every one of them was off to somewhere exciting, some new adventure, while she languished here, smelling of cigarette smoke every night singing to these bastards.

They applauded here and threw some spare change in her jar, none sticking around to compliment her.

"Elizabeth," the piano player said, gesturing at her from his bench.

"Another lousy night, Byron," she sighed.

"This came for you earlier. Let's hope it's a hundred dollar tip, huh?"

Elizabeth tore open the envelope Byron handed her, her heart pounding. Her husband out ferrying the dead, her father gone, Jack…she refused to think of Jack. Her fingers trembled at the thought of his name, though. She closed her eyes and prayed as she scrolled her hands down to the bottom of the note. If that signature was a familiar one…Mr. Owen?

Dear Captain Swann-Turner,

Word has spread quickly of the Pirate King who defeated the East India Trading Company last year. We've noticed you're a hard woman to find. Lord knows how you went from Pirate King to lounge singer, but there are those of us who feel you have not lost your touch. We're in need of a woman who knows her way around a pistol and a ship for some good old-fashioned pirating. We're assembling the best team the world has to offer and would like you to captain them. If you're interested, please come to MacGuffin Island on the 13th of June, alone. Weapons and soft drinks will be provided.

"I'm heading out of town for a few days, Byron," she said, grabbing her coat and stuffing the letter into the cleavage of her sequined dress. "See ya."

It was another glorious day on the Flying Dutchman and William Turner emerged from below decks with a purposeful, rejuvenated look in his large brown eyes. Glancing over at the makeshift smithy they constructed, his crew busied themselves with sword-making. The familiar pounding of steel and warm rush of fire reminded Will of simpler times, more sword-filled times. Ah, swords, he thought, ambling to the helm. There might be loads of swords on MacGuffin Island and loads of experts for sparring!

"Son."

"Dad."

"Are you sure you want to do this? I know you'll be just fine. Those buckets we strapped on you aren't going anywhere, but are you sure you want to risk it? We can't have you corrupting your purpose, you know." Bootstrap Bill laid a calloused, steady hand on Will's shoulder.

"You're my first mate, the best one to leave in charge, Dad. I'll be fine. It's about time this Mr. Owen character realized my contributions to Port Royal. Do you know how many swords I made while I was there? Finally I'll get some money for it all, now that the hurricane decimated the place. I'll send the money to Elizabeth, of course. I can only imagine the strain this long-distance marriage is putting on her."

"Captain! Captain!" one of the men interrupted, racing over to them with a lopsided object in his arms. "Look! I made my sword curvy! We didn't even cover that in the Sword-Making 101 Seminar!"

"It's very nice, Cliff, but around here, we make our sword blades straight. That's the English way!" Will puffed his chest. "MacGuffin Island is only a day away. Shall we submerge to make it faster?"

"Did you hear about the French Navy's tragic accident?" Bootstrap asked. "One hundred and thirty-seven sailors died trying to push-start their new submarine!"

"Stupid French," Will chuckled.

It will be so good to get away, Captain John Teague said to himself, rolling his eyes at the majority of the pirate lords leeching off his Shipwreck Cove hospitality. It had been a year, for God's sake! Every fucking night it was poker and Wii bowling and he was sick of it! It was far too easy to get a strike bowling on the Wii, too, making the arrogant lords even more smug, forgetting the fact that in real bowling, most of them rolled gutter balls.

Collapsing into his recliner, Teague pulled his guitar up to him and strummed a few random notes, the soft plucks almost drowning out the explosions and gunfire coming from the big-screen TV. Poking his head around, he saw the lords in a passionate Call of Duty tournament on the X-Box.

"I miss Jackie." Blinking, he shook his head. Since when was it like him to spout out sentimental tripe like that? Jackie's "visit" last year had brought an entire battle with it, not giving the two of them any time together. Teague looked at the fireplace mantle, the badminton set he'd bought for the two of them to play together still sat unopened. Sure, Jackie would look as uncoordinated as hell with his racket running around for an effeminate shuttlecock, but it would have been FUN, damn it! At least he would be on vacation soon, MacGuffin Island. It had been in all the papers recently, supposedly a favorite spot of American actress Cameron Diaz, and he certainly wouldn't mind running into her. And it was now hosting a pirate convention! Maybe Jackie would be there, he mused.

"I'm only going if you are," Gibbs said on the other end of the table, smacking his lips after taking a swig from his foamy stein.

"And I said I'm only going if you are," Captain Jack Sparrow shot back, slamming down his stein. Insolent codpiece! "You're acting a might ungrateful, seeing as how I stuck around Tortuga to keep you out of trouble!"

"You only stuck around because that stupid dinghy sunk before you were even out of the bay! What kind of idiot thinks he can go after the Black Pearl in nothing but a dinghy?"

"I wasn't going after the Pearl, I was going after…" Jack trailed off, twitched, and regained his composure. "Supposing I do go to MacGuffin Island without you, with no one to split the earnings with, I could very well legitimately buy a ship to take me to the Pearl. Of course, once I would get there, seeing as how I would be on me onesy, Barbossa and his motley crew would have no trouble in capturing and marooning me yet again. You'd think after all this time they would have something more original in mind."

"So what you're saying is that if I don't go with you, your life will be in danger?" Gibbs asked, tapping the letter that sat between them. "Very vague, this. Who's Mr. Owen and why does he need us to be there? All it says is he expects "a tight situation" and needs men of action. Sounds gay."

"Aye, I did consider that possibility." Jack cringed. "But if it were a gay attempt at gay seduction, I doubt you would have been included."

"That mean you don't think men would find me attractive?"

"And after more consideration, I pondered that if in the event it is a gay attempt at gay seduction, in which we would be cornered by said gay Mr. Owen, we would have do some un-gay cornering to out-corner ourselves and make an un-gay attempt for Mr. Owen's money without resorting to gay seductions, which is why I recommend a pistol."

"So…are we going?"

He could use some funding. And he could use a distraction. Tortuga's rum and wenches hit the spot for a short spell, but after a year of nothing, he would almost welcome the staunch pursuits of Commodore Norrington, the skilled swordplay of Barbossa, the shrill hypocrisy of William Turner, and the engaging company of… He whipped out his pistol. Sure enough, the arrow settled south, MacGuffin Island.

"Mr. Gibbs?"

"Aye?"

"Ready your pistol and your cutlass. We'll be needing a ship to take us there." His narrow, knowing grin woke the adventure streak in Gibbs.

"Aye! Take what ye can!"

"Give nothing back." The two clanked their steins and took one last guzzle.

Dear Captain Barbossa,

Congratulations on once again successfully commandeering the famed Black Pearl! It takes a true pirate to pull of such a stint and we here at General Mills salute you! As the makers of such cereals as Cheerios, Trix, and Lucky Charms, we would like you to become the new spokesperson. We need a pirate of your stereotypical terror to endorse these items to children as part of a balanced breakfast. In addition to the hefty sum we will pay you, you will also be on the Wheaties box, which, as you know, is the breakfast of champions. Come down to MacGuffin Island on 13 June for your photo shoot. We will take care of all legalities there also.

Ulick Norman Owen, General Mills CEO

"Full speed ahead!" Hector Barbossa called down to his crew while one eye stayed focused on his camera, loading film into it. Maybe after General Mills paid him, he could afford one of those fancy digital ones. Jack the Monkey circled around him, chattering away at the wind.

"Of course I'll make sure my photo's taken with you," he cooed at him, bending down to stroke him.

"Storm's on its way, sir!" one of the men shouted up to him. "Squall!"

"Just keep her steady, boys." The Black Pearl could handle much, much worse, he knew, from experience. He'd waited years to captain her freed from her curse, freed from his curse. Her previously ghastly presence had stripped away into full-out grandeur, magnificent to behold. And she was his. No goddess fish wives or blacksmiths or addle-brained buffoons who only THOUGHT they could captain her would snatch her away, not now.

"Turn back! Turn back!" Cotton's parrot squawked.

He wondered what stardom would be like. Red Carpet premieres, charity benefits where no one cared what they were raising money for, keel-hauling paparazzi—of course, it would make things easier for Jack to find him, but his entourage could make short work of Jack and anyone else who came along.

"Unnecessary risk! Unnecessary risk!" the parrot chirped again.

Blasted bird, Barbossa snapped in his head. He's more likely to take unnecessary risks than I am.

Unfortunately, for Barbossa, he was wrong.