Norrington sat musing in his office. He did not doubt that William Turner was the father of William Turner. Any fool could see the physical similiarities; the more adept observer could discern certain behavioral and mannerial parallels. However, something didn't add up in William Sr.'s story.

James Norrington knew Jack Sparrow, and as much as it pained him to admit it, the pirate had a sense of honor. From what he had heard Jack had fought off a half-dead pirate to save the lives of Elizabeth and Turner.

Not that Jack Sparrow wasn't crazy. Well, he was either crazy or acting so. "Crazy like a fox," Norrington decided. Sparrow wouldn't be likely to attack a merchant ship and kill everyone. The more likely course of action would have been to let everyone live, as long as they cooperated. He made a mental note to himself to visit the Turners before the week was out. He had some questions.

Elizabeth peeked into the smithy. She grinned mischeviously. Mr. Brown was in his normal seat in the corner, drunk out of his mind, and Will was working at the forge, his back to the door. Elizabeth carefully closed the door behind her and set the basket out of sight. Creeping behind her husband, she reached for one of his many swords, her wedding ring clinking against the handle. She quickly ducked out of sight. Will turned around, confusion on his face. He glanced over at Mr. Brown, then turned back to the forge. Elizabeth slinked up to her husband, pressing the tip of the sword lightly into Will's back. He stiffened, then tightening his grip on the sword he was working on, he whirled around, the red hot tip clashing against Elizabeth's sword, making sparks.

Will's eyes widened. He nearly dropped the sword. "I could have killed you." He informed Elizabeth, lowering the sword.

Elizabeth smiled, swiftly bringing the blade up to Will's neck. "That's why you need to teach me to fight."

"Is that the only reason why you came to see me," Will questioned, eyebrows raised hopefully.

"No," Elizabeth answered him, lowering the sword a bit.

Will took this chance to snake his sword around Elizabeth's, jerking it out of her grip. He then threw his sword directly over Elizabeth's shoulder into the door, locking it shut.

Elizabeth glanced over her shoulder, grinning, "Well, that is highly convenient," she teased. "But what happens if a customer should come looking for you?"

"They can wait," Will informed her.

"I like how you think, Mr. Turner," she smiled, stretching upwards to steal a kiss.

Captain Jack Sparrow winced as the last of his ornaments were none too gently taken out of his hair. "D'you think ye could've ripped them out a little harder," he saracastically questioned his first mate.

"Unlikely," Anamaria shrugged. "Did you want them out or not? I could have just cut your hair," she reminded him.

Jack blanched. "Never mind, never mind," he moaned.

"Now all that's left is for you to take off your kohl," Anamaria handed him a bar of soap, and pointed to the wash basin. "Now," she ordered, before Jack could utter a syllable of protest. "If you're stupid enough to want to go to Port Royal, then a disguise is needed."

Jack muttered something about mutiny, then commenced washing before Anamaria would do something he'd regret.

A carefully groomed Jack Sparrow leaned out of one of Port Royal's many dark alleyways, looking left, then right, then cautiously making his way down the dirt road, keeping a weather eye out for a certain uptight British officer-lovely woman in a bodice that was just a tad too tight.

"Oompf," Jack moaned as he hit the ground, ready to hurl a string of curses at the bloody fool who had sent him sprawling. The words died in his throat as he raised his eyes.

"So terribly sorry, sir," Norrington smiled politely, as he offered Jack a hand up.

"Not at all," Jack quickly replied, before heading on his way.

Norrington watched him go, amused at his antics. "As if I wouldn't know it was him," he thought to himself. "After all, the swagger itself was enough to give him away."