DISCLAIMER: I do not and will never own any of the characters or settings appearing in this chapter. They were conceived by Ted Elliot & Terry Rossio, Jay Wolpert and Stuart Beattie and are owned by Disney Enterprises, Inc. Some of the dialogue can be connected to the first film and, hence, is not mine but was inserted into the story to put connections between my story and the film.

Chapter 10
'Déjà Vu Multiplié Par Deux'

The sight had thrown Will over with astonishment and immediately a heavy rock of wintry foreboding had been dropped into the pits of his deepest inner workings. Something was amiss. A foul shiver had risen in between the layers of his skin, and he stood caught so soundly between spinning feelings he wasn't sure whether he feared this peculiar appearance or simply found it unusual. His nerves had grown raw and wild from lack of sleep, the reeling adrenaline of fleeing death and the shock of fatality abandoning his lure for the misfortune of another. 'Why are there two Black Pearls, Captain?' he had demanded from Foulkes in a bout of some mix of foul emotions he could not identify. His mind felt as if it was being bound by illusions, and a hopeless feeling of confusion and misplacement gripped his heart so tightly he could do nothing but think on its discomfort and attempt to ease it. 'What is going on?!'

Foulkes' features had been dour but well-guarded, and though his answer had been cool and collect, Will was far from contented with it: 'I had hoped you knew of this déjà vu, boy— you let the rain fly.'

Anger had clenched Will as tightly as his fingers viced the sword in his hand. The man had been ambiguous in word and aloof in appearance, refusing to grant him the answers he desired with an impertinent air of supremacy. 'What are you talking about?'

'Prepare yourself, Turner, with the boarding party,' the captain replied as passively as birds fleeting by an open window. 'All available blades and fire power— we will be engaging ourselves in a mess.'

'You deny me— I want to know why!' the young man yapped in unbridled impatience and astonishment. His irritation spiked as the older man did nothing but purse his lips and adjust the ship's course, nearly appearing as if he had heard nothing but the wind in the sails. William's restraint decimated and he grabbed the man's arm in an unmercifully strong clasp of his hands, turning the man to face him with a hiss, 'What are you hiding from me?'

An instant of fear flickered within Foulkes' surprised blinking eyes, so swiftly that Will had thought he had dreamt it. But the man fixed his jaw, a cross and austere expression sweeping over his countenance as he set his eyes on the blacksmith. 'I said,' his voice held an absolute no-nonsense tone, and though his rage diminished significantly, Will felt a silent pulse of anger begin to throb as the subtle click of a pistol met his ears— the second time he had been foolish enough to overlook the gun, 'Prepare yourself, Turner.'

They had stood there for some seconds, bearing into each other's eyes in a battle of wills. Two pulses fought against each other at the point of Will's harsh clench as their sights melded with an electricity of contesting determinations. Had it just been the two of them in a match of minds alone, there could have been a stalemate in either man's chances. But the deadly craft of metal and wood that was clutched in the fingers of the pirate captain tipped the hand of the game to his favor, and Will was forced to ease the gripping of his angry fingers. Nevertheless, his gaze did not fall and it did not lose its luster.

Something about the rigid fashion in which Will moved, or something in the fire within his regard, might possibly have amused Foulkes, for he smirked over the barrel of his pistol as the boy reluctantly submitted to his bidding. He had spoken, with a soft but calculating utterance, 'You've got resolve, boy. Perhaps there is more of a reason you carry the name you do than you realize.'

Said boy had only glared back in seething disquietude, his lips parting only for a moment before realizing he had nothing he wished to say, the taste of voiced argument having lost its flavor.

'Now …you would do well to obey my command. You will find the answer you seek sooner than you deem. Prepare yourself to board.'

With a sword at his hip, a gun in his belt and a rope in his hand, Will repeatedly clenched and unclenched a fretful jaw as the Predator prepared to line herself with the phantasm vessel of bewitched ebony. He had prepared, obeying with no small measure of reluctance and distaste. Anger and arguments still saturated his mind, reasons for why he should turn his back on the fight and leave Foulkes to whatever ridiculous business he held on the ship. But other stronger wiles bound him to his task. He wanted to get off of this horrid ship—if only for a moment. Perhaps he could find Jack.

He didn't wish to heed the warnings and ill tidings that Foulkes had borne of Jack. And he didn't care for the morbid tales of his father. 'Lies,' his heart told him. 'They're all lies—they have to be.' However doubt still hung at the back of his mind like smoke hovers above its fiery devastation. So little time had been spent between him and Jack—a man who was nothing more than an enigma to world—so sparse the time to become properly acquainted. Did he even know Jack really? Or was the man he thought he knew just another character that the real man portrayed in his complex play of life to hide behind? So many years had passed since he had seen his father, and he had been so young. Did he remember correctly? Did he see all that he needed to see? Had his father played a role as well? Had he changed? Could he be wrong and Foulkes be right?

"They have to be," he reassured himself softly. "Lies."

But were they really? Or was his heart unwilling to embrace the truth?

His stomach suddenly fluttered. The Predator's creeping nature seemed magnified to a slowness nigh unbearable. Though the sails spoke of work and the wind, with its waves, roared of motion, the interlocked shadows of the two Black Pearls and the merchant vessel seemed to grow no nearer—like a carrot hoisted from the harness of a trotting ass, dangling just within its scent and sight but beyond its reach. Time seemed as slow and weighted as a snail and the homely shell upon its back. Seconds felt like minutes and minutes were perceived as hours. The sun had fallen entirely behind the staunch shroud of the horizon, the sky's slightly lightened hue at its base the only clue of her presence having ever touched that part of the world. All else was enveloped in black-violet, immense and deep—the orange glow of numerous lanterns fighting violently to avoid suffocation from the darkness. The sounds of death's feast carried swiftly from its table over the now-calm water's edge. And the wicks of the lights aboard the clashing ships raged ferociously, making the dancing shadows playing amongst her sails large and visible to eyes far beyond the range of any gun: morbid, bleak and mesmerizing.

The Predator was no longer far across the water's edge—it was nearing the battle, minutes—maybe seconds— from boarding into the fray. While the hypnotic synchronization of fire and shadow glimmered and swerved about the sails of two ships, glowing brightly in what normally was mirth rather than an anecdote of death, the dark silhouette of a third ship remained cloaked in an obscurity that seemed abysmal and unearthly. The fingers of the lantern fire stretched and groped for her, but the vast darkness about it seemed to swallow them up or cut them off from its substance entirely. Without seeing her in the sun minutes before, Will probably wouldn't have noticed her, beholding the ship to be a shadow of the galleon behind instead—a galleon that she seemed to be an exact copy of in a shape that seemed all too familiar.

And, through the insatiable black, Will Turner thought he saw shadows of shapes no less familiar wandering her sinister decks with golden light—a singular remarkable exception—spilling from the open companionway. He crouched behind the rail to hide himself, peering over its roughened wood to establish when to make ready to board. The ropes in the rigging swayed gently as the only two shapes he could pick out met and he began hear their hushed voices as they huddled together to exchange a conversation. A flash of white caught his eyes for an instant—another pirate. He frowned, realizing that boarding could be foolhardy. There could be several hidden about in the unnatural darkness that had smothered the ship. And, surely, they weren't foolish enough to ignore the fact that another ship was upon them. He pricked his ears for a bit of their exchange.

"…ta lure."

"Where should I look?"

"In the shadows. There're good hidin' spots there. You take the starboard side."

"Should we be tellin' Foulkes?"

"He has other business…"

'Foulkes?' Will ceased breathing for a brief instant. Foulkes had said that the chest bore some strange power to render its victims helpless, and that this power had left some ill effect on the Black Pearl. He, Will Turner, had been taken helpless by a vast darkness when he had been confronted in the brig of the Predator. Had Foulkes been telling him the truth after all? Was the Black Pearl really cursed once again? Was the darkness this ill effect? Strange flames of fire and ice began to battle his heart in despair and hope. Cutting and black, the foul words he had heard warred for dominion over himself with a suffocating hand. They made sense and taunted him with that fact. And though a tiny breath of life remained in his faith against the falsehoods that could lie beneath, it was growing weak. 'They're lies…'

The hairs on the back of the blacksmith's neck prickled as a silent breath of wind kissed him. He suddenly realized how very still on the Predator it had become—nothing seemed to move, not even the ship itself; and the only sound he could hear was the soft swaying of lifeless things hanging from the timber overhead. He turned and looked behind him with a questioning eye to see no one where there had previously been everyone waiting like he for the moment to board. The wind ruffled his hair soundlessly once more and his stomach squirmed with nervousness as he turned his eyes back to the captain's quarters to see all lights gone out.

"Now that's no way to greet an old friend; is it?"

The sing-song voice cut through the silence as easily as an arrow through a sheet of paper. The men on the black ship were no longer conspiring with one another, but calling to someone. Will's attention became caught by them with no absence of astonishment. For, though slightly low with distance, their unique tones were both unmistakable and unforgettable to Will when they reached his ears. He didn't need any illuminations to see their faces—he could smell those disgusting wretches simply though his fantasy, their presences were so well engraved into his mind.

Pintel and his lethargic nephew, Ragetti—how could he ever forget those shambling idiots? They guarded him, watched his every move with sickly eyes, throughout the entire duration of his captivity under Hector Barbossa. And on the journey home aboard the Dauntless, he had volunteered to bring them their share of bread and water every day. A small form of settling scores to simply be able to taunt them by holding it out of their grasp for several minutes when they had been starving for so long. It had given him some form of comfort to know that he had control over something in the aftermath of the sleepless fright that had taken place: a time and place where he had felt like he had began to gain something in the world only to find everything he had was slipping from his fingers.

He had felt so lost. He hadn't known who he was, why he had made it out of the fray alive or why he had even gone for Elizabeth in the first place aside from the fact that the desire had burned within his bosom too hot to ignore. The news of her engagement to Commodore Norrington had been a powerful blow to his heart, regardless of the fact that he was used to such disappointment.

But what else had he been expecting? He knew that the two would end up together. From the beginning he had known, like every other living soul in Port Royal. Why had it shocked him so? Had he grown foolish enough to hope that he stood a chance at her hand simply because he had slipped her from Barbossa's clutches before anyone else? Had he been stupid enough to let the secret hope that he could be with her grow to the point that his heart and head had received it as a valid dream—something that could actually happen? Did he believe that, maybe, just maybe, she might have some feelings for him beyond that of their friendly childhood bonds?

Perhaps. Or maybe the thought that she had accepted the proposal and hadn't been thrown into the marriage by her father stung him; the thought that maybe she actually had fallen in love with the commodore, and he, Will Turner, had never held even the smallest part of her heart in exchange for the whole of his own that she had possessed biting without mercy. And the fact that he knew she would marry Norrington was simply unable to soften the jolts that came andwere to come with just the thought. He loved her, undyingly and unconditionally, no matter how hard he had tried otherwise so as to avoid the inevitable heartache that was to come. And, just as he had told himself but refused to accept at some level, his love had been unrequited… Or so he had thought.

But how could this be? He remembered so vividly standing just out of the reach of their hands with the food and water held in an openly offering stance. He had taken pleasure in the petty form of power that came with it. Master Brown was a drunk and made him bear the unforgivable burden of all the work for the shop—and then, in the end, Master Brown never failed in receiving the credit, robbing Will of his ability to feel even a little bit of pride in his work. He did everything and no one realized, and he was too afraid to change it. He held no control. He loved Elizabeth. But, try as he might to turn his eyes and heart over to another, it refused to happen. No control. Additionally, the beautiful young woman was the governor's daughter, and he was naught but a blacksmith's apprentice. Denied and forbidden the chance to climb his way in class through the silent and cruel laws of society, he was trapped and unable to escape. His father had been a pirate. He had broken his promise and never returned when he promised he would come for him if ever he found himself in trouble. His father's blood had been what caused the disaster with Barbossa and what had branded and stranded him in the immovable position in poverty in which he had been ensnared in the first place. Had he had another man's blood then he wouldn't have had all the pain he did. But he couldn't choose his father. And once again he had absolutely no dream of any control. Except for that moment.

And then he remembered, after the clouds had parted and his life began to be flooded with light: Elizabeth loved him after all, as unabashedly as he loved her. She desired to marry him. Commodore Norrington had given a helping hand in getting ol' Brown out of his chair and to a place where he could quietly drink his way to his grave as he desired, and Will became the owner of his own shop and the realized maker of the works of smithied art that found their ways into the hands of some of Port Royal's finest gentlemen. The control that he had despised in lacking had somehow found its way into his hands and his life was actually beginning to change into something wonderful. Sowonderful that things that used todestroy his day were but trivial matters, things that could be shrugged off and forgotten as he went about his way.

And he remembered: Norrington saw all the pirates loyal to Captain Barbossa hanged within the month of their return to Port Royal. He held Elizabeth's hand as they somberly looked on, grateful that men with such cruel and black intentions could harm the innocent no more. Their bodies had displayed grotesquely in gibbets at the harbor's entrance as a piratical warning. At least, they had for a while. Their scaffolds, bare bones and all, had mysteriously disappeared several months later, never to be seen or heard of again. It had been deemed the act of some vengeful relation or acquaintance.

'But then how…?'

Will's stomach churned as the possibilities filled his mind: had they somehow managed to come back? Had they bargained with the Devil? Had the curse somehow contained an element that had been carelessly overlooked or forgotten? Were they even alive at all?

"We know you're 'ere, Poppet. Come on out an' give us a kiss—an' maybe we'll let ya go free."

"Heh-heh, heh. Pretty Poppet…"

The Predator lurched softly as she came to a slow halt beside the large black galleon. But Will's attention remained on the Black Pearl before him and his eyebrows rose with surprise. They were chasing a woman. What was a woman doing out on the sea with these villains? Was it Anamaria?

'It's possible,' his mind whispered. 'One or both of these vessels really is the Black Pearl. And she would be on the Black Pearl… and so would Jack.'

He unconsciously clenched his fists around the rope that still sat in his grasp as the same debate of truth and lies rose inside himself once again. He wanted, more than he could bear, for all the things that Foulkes had told him to be lies. But he wanted far, far more to simply know, truthfully, whether the strange man had been speaking honestly or falsely. That his mind could be put to rest. So many pieces of the tale fit perfectly with the things he had seen and heard—the things he was seeing and hearing— through his own experience. But so many other pieces were severely warped from what he thought he knew. Were his memories and beliefs false? Or had Foulkes been a clever liar? He needed to know. He needed to find Jack… and his father.

And to do that, he needed to get on that ship. But who was to go with him?

"Foulkes!" he spat softly across the empty deck of the Predator. "Foulkes, you bloody coward; where the devil are you?"

His only answer was the rain-like patter of gently ruffled sails and the sigh of the sea. Even the ship's creaking bones seemed to still themselves to a muteness Will had never known of a ship before. Not a soul was to be felt in his accompaniment. Another breath of wind caressed its way around his head in a gentle loop before flying to the stars. The young man clenched his jaw bitterly as he turned his eyes back to the black ship—Pintel and Ragetti seemed engrossed in searching for their quarry near the cabin, with a great bunch of shadows to their backs bundled by the bow. He smirked.

'Fine!,' he ruminated defiantly,'You want me to do it myself, then I will! But don't be angry when my deeds are far from your liking…" And without a thought more on it, his sturdy arms hoisted him soundlessly onto the ship's rail. Glancing once more at the piratical pair, he launched his way into a silent path across the small space of sky.

She took the bolt while they were on the verge of arguing, hoping that the engrossed state resulting from their impish battle would distract them too far to pay heed to the patter of shoes treading as softly as they could upon a wooden plain in their great haste. Her heart was pounding so fiercely Elizabeth could have sworn that any one person could have glanced upon her and see the violent thumps disrupting her bosom.

There was immediately a pointedly sudden and brought-about pause from the leader, Pintel, the moment her feet took flight, and she felt her heart cease its abuse of her breast in a change that felt as though it froze into a solid mass of ice, weighted, cold and still. She dove. Waiting within the shadows of a jumble of barrels and crates in a crouched position, her sternum heaved-to in painful stitches of breath that echoed and rang in her ears at an amplified volume promising to plague her with paranoia for the remainder of her days in their entirety, as she was certain that they could detect the sound for its loudness.

"I said, 'shut up!' you fool!"

"Why should I, eh?"

"'cause I bloody heard somethin', you fool!" He shoved the taller pirate.

She gasped, expired heartily with a pang to the side, inhaled and held her breath. The warm sweat beading on her brow and mingling with the hair at her scalp suddenly seemed frigid as they clung to the skin of her face, neck and lower back like insects and liquid leeches. They had heard…

Ragetti's voice soon replied with a disgruntled air. "Quit callin' me a fool, you… you…You…"

It felt horribly rash and indescribably premature in a manner that left her certain she'd be discovered, but before she could command otherwise, her legs sprung from their curled position like a slingshot and she was off in the direction of the unguarded passage leading below, her mind bestilled with the terrified shock and surprise that had seized her at the unbidden action. She heard boots pounding on the deck and would have pressed forward with greater haste had she not passed through the surprisingly near opening, flown down the stairs and around a corner to hide behind more cargo and a support beam of the keel. She pressed herself against the dark wood of the vessel, waiting for her pursuers to pass over her hiding place as had happened once before… But they never came.

Rather, Pintel's voice tumbled in muted, muffled resonance down the passageway, angered and surprised, "Why aren' choo…?" His voice, starting high, faded into a low jumble of undecipherable murmurings that pricked Elizabeth's ears without her consent.

If there came a response, it had been too low to hear. A long pause ensued, allowing room for perplexity to sidle in on Elizabeth's part. Had they not seen her? Heard? Surely, they had! They must have! But, if that was so… Why were they not following? As her brow pricked in confusion, her breath began to still and the tips of her fingers began to radiate with warmth as she unclenched them from fists she had not realized she had formed. Her body began ease itself. Wondering what to do in venture of appeasing her puzzled mind, she began to peek her pretty head round the corner. Thoughts concerning returning to the hatch and peeking though its mouth had hardly begun to form enough in her mind in order to contest with her better judgement when—

"No!"

She was almost certain that her skeletonhad leapt in a complete detachment from her skin when the strangest sound exploded from above and took her by surprise—a cracking clang was the only terms she could have ever found to describe it. The deck above her head began to creak and thunder in what sounded like a furious scuffle.

A teeth-cracking screech ofmetal grating uponmeatl pierced from above into her gut and before she knew it the lanky figure of Ragetti came rumbling down the steep steps like a rag doll with bones, colliding with the deck in a mercilessly harsh meeting. She withdrew her head so speedily that the bump it made with a high-stacked barrel was unable to be hindered, and she was incapable to stop the perfidious wooden dmp that resounded from the wooden cask. She stopped herself in mid-gasp.

"'oo's there?"

Immediately her eyes began roving for a route to escape. Her heart began to beat upon her ribcage in terror as all she beheld were high stacks of barrels cutting off any places where there would have been passages to fly by. Unwittingly, she had trapped herself like a mouse in a corner without windows, and the cat was coming.

"I know you're there—I 'eard you... S'tha' you, Poppet?"

He began to take steps in her direction and she once again began to frantically search about her—this time for something she could use as mechanism of defense and hindrance, so that she might evade capture one last time. Her luck, it would appear, had run itself out, for all that met her sight were barrels and casks too large for her to lift or move in any manner. She curled herself into a fetal position and pressed herself against the load of barrels behind her by instinct, as if she believed that making herself smaller might increase the chances of him not seeing her. He began to cluck his tongue as he approached with uneven steps—limping, it would seem.

Click-click-click-click-click. "Poppet…" he called as if to a frightened rabbit. "I won' 'urt choo until Pintel tells me to. But e's not 'ere righ' now…" Click-click-click-click-click. The boards of the deck right around the mass of wood separating him from her groaned deeply. "C'm'ere, Poppet." Click-click-click-click-click. His shadow crept over the deck before her.

"RAGETTI! Git up 'ere you fool—I can' do this alone!"

The shadow paused and stood still for what felt like eternity to Elizabeth, debating whether to heed to the upset and rather desperate voice of his comrade or pursue his own task. The ship swayed softly and with its gentle rocking the shadow would recede and tip forward, sparking enormous alarm into her bosom every time it did so, taunting her mind with the possibility that he himself could decide to move forward at any moment. He would come. He would come; she knew that he would decide to come to find her!

"Ra! Get! Ti! Come 'ERE!"

The younger man made a guttural noise of disgust and shifted his weight before turning to go back towards the hatch. He faced back towards her hiding place suddenly, and Elizabeth's heart leapt high into the tight caverns of her throat. But he paused and after seeming to think it over for a second more he made his way back to the stairwell and up the hatch from whence he came. There was the creak of the boards, the heavily booted footsteps ascending and his presence melted into the miniature din that was taking place above.

The relief that washed over her was such that she felt as though she had melted and turned into a gelatin when her tense form relaxed its muscles.She sat there until her heart's erotic panics had calmed and the terror had passed with a sigh. Only then did Elizabeth clamor to her knees to crawl to the dividing curtain of cargo that veiled her from the view of the hatchway and peered around it and up through the hatch. The noise of the ostensible scuffle had grown more distant, but was still there.But neither figures nor tale of them were to be seen about the piece of deck visible to her eyes. They wereengaging elsewhere.

A smug grin pulled at the corner of her lips and a steeled fortitude coated her heart in a breastplate of valor, expelling all fear from her heart. She set her eyes to the second descending plane, and made for it with sure steps. This was the last stretch. Down those steps Will and her father would be waiting, and after she liberated them, they'd be free to return home and live life as they had desired.

She began to get light-heartedly excited and when her feet met the first step she flew down with a glow of sweet joy glimmering in her eye. This was it. "Will? Father?"

Her feet met the deck, and she turned to the brig with a broad smile… only to have it quickly slipped from her countenance. Many of the candles glowed as orange-embers at their wicks unburning, though a few held flames that were low, glittering their last laughs and casting strange shapes with shadows around the very dark compartment. The lanterns were burnt out, the guards slumped in a corner in a cataleptic state, slack-jawed and limp, and the door to an empty brig swung open wide and swaying subtly with the movements of the ship. Befuddlement piqued her brow, and her steps were stayed as she observed her environment once more—this time to assess rather than to simply see. The fine hairs on the back of her neck stood on end in a warning that something was dreadfully amiss. If the prisoners had escaped, where were they and why did they not answer her call? The lack of true light and the creaking of the ship made her uneasy, her stomach squirming with discomfort and gooseflesh beginning to peck at her arms and legs. Perhaps it would be shrewd to look elsewhere… but not before calling out once more—just in case they hadn't been sure they had heard her voice.

She moistened her lips and took a step forward, her mind set to project her call just so. "Will?"

The ice that bled into every minute section of her being froze her mind and terror paralyzed her heart as a hand rougher and more callous than any inch of either of Will's coarsened hands clamped itself over her mouth and nose. It pulled her into the harsh grasp of a strong man, reeking of the sea and days without washing. She gasped forcefully and instantaneously began to pull and wrench at the iron grip, hysterically trying to make a get away. Then, placing a weather-worn cheek beside her ear, the one voice that had haunted and terrorized her more than any other in her brief history hissed with twisted delight into her ear as the man's other arm wrapped itself firmly about her waist and pressed her back to him whilst he began to recede into the shadows, taking her with him: "Yes, dear?"

William never heard his name called in darkness and desperation, and her scream fell on naught but deaf ears.

The girl wasn't ignorant to hiding places, that much was certain. She was a clever lass with an intelligent head on her shoulders resulting, probably, from her soft-hearted father allowing her to read or something of the sort. Pintel knew that they would find her, eventually, but his patience was swiftly wearing through its thin line, and he couldn't help grumbling. "Bleedin' wench is like a bleedin' mouse… You can't hide forever, Poppet!"

"Yeah, Pop—"

There was a soft whisper of the swift movement of air and Pintel stuck out his arm in a signal for his comrade to stop. "Shh!"

"—pet! You can' hide—"

"I said, 'shut up!' you fool!" Pintel bayed impatiently.

At first he snapped his mouth shut, and obeyed. But soon deep shadows of discontent formed around Ragetti's chapped mouth, approaching a rare mood of intolerance for his companion's impetuous nature. He glared and demanded with no small measure of evident displeasure, "Why should I, eh?"

"'cause I bloody heard somethin', you fool!" Came the reply. He shoved the taller pirate. At least, he attempted to—the exertion only succeeded in making his comrade sway like a wheat stalk in a breeze and then straighten to an upright position just as quickly as he had faltered.

Ragetti stared at the shorter man, mouth agape with offended shock, before his face steadily narrowed in a new glower. "Quit callin' me a fool, you… you…" his face scrunched into a show of painful mental exertion. "You…"

Pintel rolled his eyes idly. "Righ'. Well, while yer thinkin' on tha' piece o' cunning, keep quiet an' 'elp me find the wench."

"You know, it really isn't nice to call ladies, 'wenches'—no matter how hard they bite."

The men stared at each other with questioning gazes, each wondering how in the world the other had managed to say that bit of nonsense without moving his lips, and with a different vocal tone and accent no less. Pintel raised both his eyes in question. Ragetti shook his head. Pintel cocked an eyebrow in skepticism and smirked. Ragetti shrugged his shoulders in an insistent gesture, then raised his eyebrows at Pintel to return the unspoken question.

"Ahem."

Both sets of brows fell and furrowed in an added measure of confusion before the frowning pair began to turn about and look towards the topmast. Surprise slapped them in the faces and laughed as they beheld a tall, dark-haired youth standing with a sword in hand and smirking through a blaze of dying-charcoal for eyes.

"You!" Pintel gasped.

Ragetti followed by looking persistently suspicious and confused. His question was asked with a careful and yet outrageous air as he tried to eye the man with his wooden eye, but only found himself roving said eye to see anything at all. "Why aren' choo in the brig?"

The young man chuckled, crossing his arms nonchalantly as his eyes flickered over their shoulders for an instant and than clicked back to them. "They're reserved for the dead… Or should I say undead?"

Pintel's brows shot up in alarm. The boy knew! Automatically his hand flew to his pistol. The young man's eyes filled with dismay and his body tensed as swiftly as it could, but in a flash Pintel leveled the firearm at the boy, cocked it and moved to pull the trigger.

"No!"

A flash of steel came down from behind and battered the pistol barrel down just as the shot was fired. Pintel stood enraged, and spun about after glancing upon his piece with a bewildered eye, "What the devil—"

There was an angered face and then a fist flying out of space to impact with his nose. "Look out!" a voice broke through the ringing in his ears; a swift set of footsteps approached from the topmast and Ragetti grunted as he was thrown, stumbling, back and tumbled down the hatch.

Will was only able to think of sighing quickly in relief and gratitude before spotting the need to be the one to perform the rescuing. The gangly Ragetti bared his teeth in anger and raised his sword to bring it down upon the unidentified shadow-man, said man having overstepped a fierce punch thrown at Pintel's face and leaving his back half dangerously exposed.

"Look out!" William charged, thrusting his shoulder with all his weight into Ragetti's profiled ribcage—a man of skin and bones, the move succeeded in plunging Ragetti down the hatch backwards with harsh thumps and grunts all the way down.

Glancing through the hatch found the pirate sprawled on the floor shaking the stars from the collision out of his eyes—a bit of extra time was in their hands, if only a few seconds. And a glance was all that could be afforded. He circled about to assess the fate of Pintel only to discover the short, fat man already making for the ship's starboard rail, waving his arms in the air to obtain the attention of allies on the second Pearl—the one untouched by the otherworldly shadow that smothered all light from without its bounds.

"Oy!" he cried, his voice sounding somewhat strained and slightly higher in pitch than normal as he managed to turn some shaggy heads to his direction, "'e's over 'ere! The whelp's out o' 'is cage!"

'No!' He was going to get them more trouble than they needed—he needed to be well and away from Foulkes' sight in order to speak with Jack and not be manipulated against his will to bring about unwanted harm.

"For the love of Davy Jones' mother, shut that idiot up!"

Will's head snapped to the yet unidentified personage formally standing beyond his peripheral vision, and though the night was dim with the thick enchanted darkness of the ship, the young man was able to receive a glimpse of face before its master began to bolt for the awry rebel—and a glimpse was all he needed to at least believe that the face he saw he knew to belong to none other than: "Commodore Norrington?"

James faltered in the rhythm of his steps only slightly before continuing as if hadn't heard the lad. However it soon became evident that the boy's questioning was heard not only by the staunch military commander, but by others as well. Pintel ceased his horrid imitation of a turkey before the slaughter and, spinning about so fast as to stumble backwards a few steps before a full halt was to be accomplished, his sickly yellow eyes bulged buggish at the realization that the man swiftly approaching him was, in fact, not another pirate of Jack Sparrow's allegiance but something possibly worse. "The Commodore?" he uttered in sober dismay and would have had something more to ramble in surprise but for erupting a large, gutty, "Ugh!" when the solid naval officer connected his shoulder to Pintel's pot belly. He was sent to the deck on his bottom, with a thump, a slide and a neat little 'o' for a mouth.

Leveling his footing, Norrington cast a disapproving glance toward Will, who narrowed his eyes in a questioning response to his gaze. His cool voice slid to the cups of Will's ears with an almost untraceable air of some strange tension, "Mister Turner, if you would please cease to be idle and assist me in the dispatch of these blaggards, then we can proceed to making aboard the Pearl and being on our way before the reinforcements arrive."

"RAGETTI! Git up 'ere you fool—I can' do this alone!" Pintel found his voice again.

Will opened his mouth to respond to the Commodore, but then with a dark look at the silhouettes jumping ship on the Black Pearl, thought better of it and clamped it shut with a mind to give his answer in action. A nod and a few steps towards Pintel with a risen sword stood his riposte. The Commodore returned the inclined gesture of his head with one of his own, before take a smooth pivot in the direction of Pintel with a blade as much at the ready as the one of the young man at his back.

Pintel squealed like a fatted pig and began making for a scramble as the two men made a lunge for him, supplanting the knowledge of the sword in his own hand with thoughts of the damage two swordsman of such supposedly-high repute were bound to inflict upon his body and already-bruised ego. "Ra! Get! Ti! Come 'ERE!"

James sighed, evidently disappointed at the now inevitable loss of their advantage in numbers, but then swiftly shot at Will his orders before turning back towards Pintel, with whom he had yet to reengage, "Take the scarecrow, Turner. I'll dispatch the other—and please try to be swift."

Will was permitted to nod before the disgruntled sound of frustrated booted feet began to stomp their way up the hatch and for the deck—here came Ragetti. The gawky corsair drug his feet onto the main deck and, with a severe frown, looked over the deck in a searching stare. "What d'ya want, Pintel? I was doin' somethin' very important!"

"I think he wants you to take care of me," Will found himself saying before he'd even thought to speak as a clang from behind told tale that the pirate and naval commander had managed to begin their bout, "but in my opinion, it can only manage to be the other way around."

Ragetti narrowed his eyes, quicker to respond than was usual for him. "Yeh'd be surprised, you spoiled brat."

Will cocked an eyebrow with an exaggerated air of amusement at Ragetti's expense. With a soft pop, his tongue unhinged itself from the roof of his mouth and he responded with a cross of his arms over his chest, "Spoiled, am I? Well, I'm not the one who needed an entire island of gold and jewels to appease my desires."

"Shut it, fool!" His hand flew to his belt and withdrew a well-concealed pistol. The muscles in Will's legs and arms instinctively tightened and he launched himself to his left just as a rip-roaring bang echoed through the shadows of oblivion, shaking his frame with surprise despite all the knowledge he had of its coming.

"Jack, look out!"

A sharp clack exploded near Jack's ear with a slight swish of air as he relocated just in time to be passed up by a particularly large and rusty boarding axe that had embedded itself in the space of bulkhead beside him. Wide eyes narrowed as they roved over the weapon's evil blade and the large gash it cause in the ship's woody flesh. Someone was going to have a significantly lightener purse for that scrap of damage.

"Jack!"

His quick downward circumvention salvaged him from a profound smarting to the neck as the hefty sword that his current foe wielded met the bulkhead with massive impact. A quick somersault and he was sprung back on his feet, his sword coming up for an en garde call.

The large black man bared ugly yellow teeth as he recovered from his staggering withdrawal of his sword, sickly eyes tapering to thin lines of odium. "You got lucky dat time, Sparrow," a smooth bass accent slid from dark lips.

A restricted smirk tugged at the corner of Jack's mouth, though the jauntiness was now gone from his step and a shadow cast itself upon his brow. "Well, my dear Bo'sun," he replied in a rough voice, "you should know by now that 'sfar more than luck tha' keeps a man alive—for, if I am correct in my thinking, you were swingin' high in Port Royal not long ago…and yet, here you are. Call that 'luck,' do yeh?"

A dark grin formed on the man's face, "No—I call it 'fate.'"

"Do yeh, now?"

The boatswain's response was an almighty swing of his large cutlass, slicing forth with a speed and power so great it seemed a blur in time. Jack jumped back onto his booted toes, sucking in his gut as the knifelike tip passed through the space which he had been standing in moments previous, then, lifting his sword above his head, cutting down fiercely for his contester. Their blades met in a screech that pierced the ears like a thousand needles forced upon their drums in droves. The bulky black man shoved Jack back into a staggering backpedal and extracted from the belt about his waist a small dagger. His arm withdrew over his head and snapped forward again so swiftly Jack hardly had time to register what to do. He launched himself sideways, falling for the deck with such benevolent timing he felt the detrimental projectile pass by his shoulder.

But a cry of agony from behind made him immediately desire he had thought of another option to execute. He hit the wood and flung himself up in an instant. Amid all the action Anamaria clutched at her wounded thigh with a deep grimace of agony and fell to the deck by means of strangled gasp. Her tan trousers began to leach with an ominous darkness spreading like a disease in a nauseatingly swift-growing radius from the golden gleam protruding at its center.

"Gibbs!"

"Leagues ahead of yeh, Cap'n! Cotton, Crimp! Get 'er up!"

A rumbling laugh broke through the din of shouts and clangs and fell over the deck, causing a hot tinge to flood under Jack's scalp—though his passive expression with a cocked-to eyebrow told no tale of such. "Didn' you know it's bad luck to 'ave a woman on board, Captain?" Bo'sun soughed before guffawing heartlessly once more and approaching Jack with an elevated cutting edge and malice in his watch. He lunged.

Jack dove through the man's widespread legs and popped up behind him. Putting a firm boot to his bottom, Jack shoved a kick with a heave-ho that sent the already unbalanced combatant skidding to the floor face-first. Bo'sun roared and jumped to his feet without a second to spare, turning back towards Jack with brimstone blistering in his eyes. He roared and enthusiastically reënaged in a furious bout of battle, hate functioning as his fuel. Thrusts, parries, ripostes and haphazard hacks and slashes without name winked and snarled at one another as the two men picked at each other with an aim for injury and anything greater. The interlocking engagement seemed to be at an even stalemate for the longest of times. Glares merged and melded but held no sway one over the other. Paces were matched, and agility exchanged for brute strength. But the large black man was far more massive than the scrawny corsair and the fact was that it was beginning to take its toll Jack. His limbs began to sting, his lungs to raze and his concentration to ebb away. It did not pass unnoticed to the bo'sun who soon managed to worm Jack into a corner. His upperhand was swiftly rising higher into the skies.

"You fool around with your life like it's a game, then you risk the chance of getting toyed with yourself, Sparrow. And those that'll play with you won't always be courteous to your necessities."

Suddenly, Jack threw down his weapon and bolted directly for the black Goliath in a grand crescendo, bellowing with all of his might.

"AHHHHHHHHHH!"

"What the—"

In a flash of flying colors the lanky pirate had all but thrown himself onto the towering corsair, wrapping his arms around his bald-shaven head and over his yellow-tinted eyes, cutting off his sight. So stunned was Bo'sun by this unorthodox method of confrontation that he immediately, instinctively, thrust down his sword and began to attempt to pry the pirate's arms from their lock around his head, stumbling about from the immediate strain that was rising in the back of his neck.

"Let go you madcap buffoon! What do you think you are doing!"

Jack, his arms a vice about the larger pirate's neck as he made no move to reply, wriggled one leg up over the man's shoulder, pullingBo'sun's head down in a strenuously sharp angle. The big man's equilibrium tipped to the side and he began to stumble about, shouting strained curse words with a booming staccato. Suddenly, his prying fingers ceased their groping of his arms and one firm hand came to enclose his little bicep in a tight clasp. Assuming the man was just changing his grip, Jack began to cling tighter than an angry octopus at the man's head, only to be winded, not by the force of the blow alone but by surprise as well, when the giant's other fist collided with his lower ribcage like an iron grapefruit.

Another swift smite afflicted his side and what had potential to be a bruise alone suddenly felt like a fiery miasma crawling under his skin. Tears leapt into his eye-wells, flooding his vision to the point of no identity, like a bucket of liquid poured over a water-based painting. Instinctively he attempted to curl into a fetal position, but that only caused him grip more dastardly to the gargantuan's head. There was a brief pause. Then a punch to the kidneys followed and Jack yelped before he could even attempt to hold it back. He dropped his leg, and hooked it around the mainstay as the man began to pass it. The surprise of the halting jolt enraged the blind bull all the more.

"Let go of me! Let me go!"

Jack reached out with his other leg and hooked his toe as best as he could around the strong mast. The man grabbed him by both sides and began to pull Jack away from him. Slowly, the scrawny khol-eyed pirate managed to worm his leg around the mast and gain a better grip by hooking his ankles round each other once they met on the other side. He was completely and perfectly horizontal as the bo'sun was freed from his sightlessness and permitted to look at his adversary in the eyes, forehead-to-forehead at a perpendicular angle. He was enraged, exhausted and decidedly peeved with the significantly smaller and weaker man. Tired of prying and swinging at him with fruitless rewards and not patient enough to be persistent, he began to simply lean all his weight backwards, thinking to break the pirate's grip with the force of his body.

But the smaller one was persistent. Several seconds went by in which both them concentrated on their steady approaches. Jack's shoulder and elbow joints began to rage like acid and feel dangerously feeble. He became aware that any person that desired to take a good whack at his spine had full power to, and he would be helpless to the blow. He moved his grip to around the big man's neck, and found himself cheek-to-cheek, none too awkwardly, with him. He grinned… cheekily… and finally, just when he just began to feel his shoulder begging to give, Bo'sun growled in his throat.

"Let go, dammit!"

Jack cast his eye-spheres downward and then rolled them up to look heavenward before giving as theatrical a sigh as was possible in his stretched pose and saying, with a reluctant air, "Would you be so kind as to do one thing as you go?"

The man snarled like a provoked lion and stubbornly continued his pulling, if not pulling all the more harshly. "Whatever, you bleeding idiot—just let go!"

Jack grunted as a distant throb began to issue from his endangered right shoulder. "Say, 'hello' to the sharks for me, aye?"

Bo'sun's grin faded swiftly. "Wha—"

Jack kept to his promised and let go of the man. The sudden removal of support from behind his neck completely coming out of the depths of the eternal blue, the man back-pedaled without any remote form of control and tipped over the side of the ship with a sizable splash in his wait.

Catching himself with the flat plains of his forearms, popping up to shake the kinks out of his body and then continuing the fighting was what Jack had envisioned himself doing. Forgetting to put his arms out in time and kissing the deck jaw-first was the reality. Heswore avidly in his mind as he brought himself to his knees and moved his jaw about in a testing procedure with his hand. No damage done. But a sizable bruise was going to match his still swollen eye. Gales, this was a dirty business. He reached beside him to pick up his sword…

…and began slapping the deck next to him with a searching hand when his fingers met nothing but wood. He brought his empty hand up to his gaze and splayed the fingers before him angry at its obvious emptiness. Not again! Where'd it go! A thoughtful worm cringed on his brow as he began to mentally retrace his footsteps. He'd been fighting Bo'sun not five minutes ago and had it in his hand—what was wrong with him today!

"You ain' gettin' away, whelp! I'm gonna getchoo for tha'!" Low brows plagued Jack Sparrow once more as he tilted his ear in the direction of the imposter Pearl, one cheek sucked into his mouth with a thoughtful mood. Giving his bearded chin a light touch with his index finger, the Sparrow turned about to peer over the rail of his ship and discover what was amiss on the dark vessel. Jack lifted his chin with his brows in pleased surprise when he peered over the rail to see and hear none other than Will Turner making his blade sing and flash against Ragetti's efforts. He hopped onto the starboard rail with his back facing Jack, his left hand gripping a line that faded somewhere into the blackness of the rigging above—it was too dark to be able to tell anything with a sure-fire amount of preciseness.

"I imagine you shall—but I fear imagination doesn't justify reality in this case, Ragetti!"

Something caught the boy's attention; he twisted about and craned his neck to peer behind and below himself, just in time to find a sizeable group of ingrates climbing up the ship's hull in answer to Pintel's previous alarm, some of which were only a foot or so from being able to reach young William's stockinged ankles. The boy pulled a strange face, a grimace of sorts with the corners of his mouth pulled low and outward and his eyebrows flexed low, before turning and giving the bit of rope below his hand a sound swat with his sword. Something obscured by the darkness of the ship fell from on high, and Will was pulled with the power of slingshot off the rail and up into the darkness by the running rigging, roars of outrage following him from the crew below.

"We 'most 'ad 'im!"

"Now we gots ta go in tha riggin'!"

'Atta boy, Whelp.'

"Jack!"

Jack turned with to the jangling delight of his beads. Marty slid him a sword across the deck before turning to go about his own business. "They're comin' back up again!"

Jack reflexively scanned the deck for a status update at this bit of news, to find, with displeasured surprise, that his deck was by no means short when it came to the presence of foes. The Pearl's crew and Norrington's men, however, were men of strength and valor, if not wrought with stubbornness, as they fought with bloodied hands denying the want to grip sides pinched with the exertion of battle and cradle the bites of sword, round and knife in their brief moments of rest. Gibbs and his accompanists had returned from escorting Ana to a place of shelter below decks, and were swiftly engaged in the task of relieving their fellow brethren of some of their battle burdens; Lieutenant Gillette, surprisingly enough, held a steady and deft sword when not confronted with undead skeletons and was able to dispatch many; some of the naval soldiers and pirates had even managed to team up and learn the value of watching out for what their surrounding allies could not…But the enemy seemed as endless a horde as when they were cursed, to the point that Jack began to wonder as he picked up his sword whether their wasn't some black magic assisting their hands. Their ship certainly was…

'Well, there is, after all, only one way t'find out…' He picked up the unfamiliar blade and, rising slowly, picked out the next man with whom he would engage. His eyes fell on the wily figure of Mallot. He flexed his fingers and toyed with the balance of the sword of his hand, he rocked back and forth and then shifted his weight to the balls of his feet, bouncing a bit to loosen up his knees. Rotating his shoulders a few times and cracking his neck, Jack was finally ready and, raising his sword, bolted for Mallot.

Whapnck!

Jack shook the glowing white and purple spots from his vision and found his balanceto prevent the happenstance in which heteetered to the side entirely and fell over. Shutting his eyes tightly and scrunching and loosening his face, his vision finally cleared as he gave his head one last shake and his eyes beheld the man he had run into doing things after the same fashion, face covered by a set of rough hands rubbing the collision spot on his forehead. The figure and the world about it rocked and swayed in a surprising amount and Jack stumbled a bit before locking his legs and refusing to act like he was drunk…. Or, at least, drunker than he usually did. The man dropped his hands, the world having decided to stop riding a child's swing, and Jack was finally able to have his sights fall on a set of familiar deep brown eyes.

'At last!' Jack's face split into a wide grin and spread his arms with welcoming mirth. "Will! I've bumped into yeh at last!" Then he faltered and dropped his brows as he noticed something not quite right… "What happened to yer face, W—"

Shmat!

Jack grabbed his nose where the boy's fist had made sound contact as he made to right his stumbling. "Ow! What the 'ell was tha' for, Wh—" His eyes darted to and fro as he found that the young blacksmith had somehowmelted backinto the chaos of the battle seamlessly. "Hey…where'd you go?"

"Miss me, Cap'n?" a bass voice sounded to Jack's left.

Jack looked just in time to see another angry blade flying for his body and snake out a curse before dropping to the floor and somersaulting back to his feet, facing a diabolically grinning Bo'sun. "Wha's wrong, Bo'sun," he piped as the black man dislodged his sword from the ebony rail, "sharks not interested in scum tonight?"

The bo' sun grinned. "No…they seem more interested in birds, Jack. So I promised them I'd bring them back a Sparrow."

Jack clucked his tongue with a sad shake of his head. "Don' make promises yeh can' keep, Bo—ah!" He wasn't precisely certain how it came to pass, but suddenly Jack Sparrow was hanging upside down, his ankle entwined in the snakish snare of a line Bo'sun employed from the rigging. The dark goliath stood with his hands at his belly, guffawing at Jack's surprise and outrage as the lanky captain began squirming energetically to make the rope round his lower leg let him go, to no avail.

After having had his laugh, Bo'sun straightened and grinned a gritty grin. "I know what promises I intend to keep, Jack Sparrow." He took a step towards Jack, his lips parted in a poised motion to speak.

"GET HIM!"

Joshamee and a half a dozen other men all but threw themselves atop the muscular mass, and Bo'sun was pulled away from Jack's view. Before Jack could rightly respond to the maneuver, there was a jerk and he was on his head at the ship's deck. A few seconds later, a rough but steady hand had clasped his and pulled the pirate to his feet. A swift hand—possibly the same one—dusted off his shoulders and arms in a hastily heavy but caring gesture.

"Alright, Jack?"

Jack blinked, confused. "Will?"

He didn't smile, but with a firm nod and a secure glimmer in his dark eyes the boy didn't need to to confirm Jack's query before turning and running off into the heat of battle with a friendly air. Perplexed, Jack stared after him, with his eyebrows skewed and wondering. What was going on?

"Jack!" The pirate turned eyes glazed with mental weariness to the swiftly approaching figure of Commodore Norrington. "Jack! Where's Turner?"

Will found himself flying once again from the torch lit decks of the Black Pearl high up into her rigging. Pintel, Ragetti and their multitude of miscreants had set their teeth on following him, and he found he couldn't stay in one place long. The clouds in the firmament were growing thin and beginning to disperse themselves so that glimpses of the stars could be seen scattered throughout the sky, and the moon set a round circle aglow in their midst.

The boy soon found himself scrambling onto a spar of what he believed to be the mizzen—he had run to the nearest mast, not truly caring which one it was. The wood and rope beneath his feet were slick from the recent rainfall, and Will began to have second thoughts as he spread his arms out in an instinctive reach for balance, preceeding to take swift steps toward the other side of the spar. Butterflies beat his belly at the increase in altitude, but his nerve was stayed by the becalmed waters and familiar phrase, 'Don't look down.'

His intentions in dashing to such perilous heights had been to cut his trackers from off his tail, firstly by plunging them into a lethargic pace at the inevitable trepidation that they would be forced to come to terms with at the arrival of large distance from the ground. As he made it to the yard's center and placed a steadying hand on the mast for a brief moment a cuss from behind and below made him smirk and cast a quick glance over his shoulder.

"Aha!"

He turned his gaze back to pin it upon a greeting in the angry eyes of a pirate Will did not recognize cutting off his escape route, straightening from his scramble onboard the spar with a knife wedged between his ugly smiling teeth. "Goin' somewhere, boyo?"

Will's balance faltered in his surprise and he swayed with his arms a-flap as he pivoted in an about-face and began to go back the way he had come, his steps small but brisk and sure-footed once he rediscovered his center. His eyes focused on the spar beneath his feet, a prickling to the hairs on the back of his neck bid him look up. He suppressed a groan. There was Ragetti, one gangly leg swung onto the yardarm as he clung to the bit of footrope and reefed sail that was within his grasp. The pursuing group had split in half and come up on both sides, and now he would be forced to fight, surrender or jump.

'Didn't think they were that smart…'

"You can' run this time, Turner-rat!"

"We're gonna git choo!"

Tooth-knife lunged at him with hisdirk clutched in his left hand, poised for plunging and Will retreated, the wretch scratching the wood with his blade as he missed his target and was forced to make sure he didn't fall off the timber.Turner rose with shaky legs, and as he did so an image flashed before his memory: hopping from a parallel beam amongst the forge rafters to the one on which Will stood, Jack's balance wavered for an instant before he gained it back and grinned triumphantly… It seemed that lightning had enlivened his mind as Will's eyes flickered with clarity in determination and good humor. He had practiced his footwork among the rafters of his forge with vigor and ease in the past—this was not far from that! While Jack had taken some time to adjust to the balance—a man no doubt experienced in the rigging of ships—he had managed to keep his equilibrium with ease. Why was he struggling now?

'The height. I need to not dwell on how high up I am.'

The digits of his right hand clenched themselves briefly about the hilt of his sword as he focused. His fingers began to tingle and the sweat on his brow to thaw as he felt the unnatural repressive heat of his forge about him. He could envision the forge radiating below his toes before him, the main entrance behind his heels, the sunlight bleeding in through the loose construction of the structure. Salt and fish morphed into the tangs of fire, dust, metal, rum, animal feed and sweat; the creaks of ships exchanged for the murmur of people outside the walls, the crackle of the dying coals and Mister Brown's snoring. And though the truth remained huddled, but not unnoticed, in the back of his mind, his heart stilled itself and his blood calmed—it was simply time for another three hours of practice at the game. However, this time he had no intention to play fair.

Tooth-knife jumped for Will again, but this time a roar behind him betrayed that Ragetti was making his move as well. He drew his sword from its place at his belt. Letting his right foot slide and dangle off the spar, Will hunkered down on his left leg, going as low as it could take him with his left hand dipping beneath the beam and gripping the wet wood with sure fingers. He bowed forward, balancing on the beam with his left leg crouched beneath him. The move was so unusual that before the man could change his mind about running towards the young man he was all but atop him and Will had sprung his right side uplike a spring trap witha full pivot, picking Tooth-knife up on his back and launching him off the spar by flipping him head over heelsbefore he could shout. Now facing Ragetti, he brought his foot back onto the spar and his right arm forward in time to deflect a blow that would have taken his neck. A creak sounded behind him and he struck with the flat of the sword, making contact with a body that was now struggling to regain its balance. Ragetti swung at him again and he ducked, hearing a sharp smack and a gasp as whomever it was that had stood behind him was knocked out of the rigging by his one-eyed crewmate.

Ragetti bore down on him in a motion like unto an angry woodsman trying to split firewood, and Will sent up his blade to parry the attack with an angry screech of metal to metal. His feet soundly planted against the wood beneath them, Will locked his arms andthrust his weight up against Ragetti's blade with the strength of his legs, sending the man backwards into the three men that had followed him up.

He pivoted about to check for an attack from behind to find the familiar face of one Grapple snarling at him with his namesake weapon in hand. Will made a pinched face of disgust. This held promise to be difficult...hopefully the promise was false. He swung at Will, and Will riposted as best as he could against the giant hook.

"I thought that we had said good bye?"

The pirate snarled, lashing out another attack with his grapple. "You thought wrong!"

Will's parry lead to the interlock of their weapons, the ensnaring hook of the grapple sliding down the length of Will's blade until it kissed the hilt and the men were brought face-to-face in a fierce deadlock. "Alright," Will grunted. Grapple's thrust proved stronger, forcing Will to begin to lean back. "That may have been," Will adjusted his grip and pressing his weight forward, gained the advantage and pressed Grapple back into an upright position. "But can I make a suggestion?"

"What?" Grapple grunted as their pressures were brought to a stalemate.

Will suppressed the grin that threatened to take his lips. "Don't look down."

Grapple's countenance receded into blankness as he struggled with this information: whether or not he should give in to curiosity and peer below or heed his enemy's word. With a twitch of his inquisitive brow he relented and glanced down. Will slipped his hold on himself and let a grin slide onto his face as Grapple withdrew his advance and began teeter with eyes bugged wide, attached to the deck below.

Placing the flat of his sword to Grapples chest, Will shot a slightly apologetic glance to his foe. "Sorry…mate." A light press and the grimy man with shaven-head tipped over the side.

"There 'e is!" Jack pointed a bruised and bloodied finger towards the mizzenmast, where Will danced about the topsail amongst buccaneer foes attempting to take him from both sides, their shadows long and monstrous above all others against the glowing clouds in the sky. The captain shook his head, a serious light coming to his eyes as he muttered under his breath, "Actin' on 'is stupid intuition t' take things where e's mos' likely to snap 'is neck in two."

James, having grabbed an opponent by the collar and swung him headlong into the hatch of the great cabin, knocking him out,shot Jack a perplexed look, wiping out of the way a loose strand of hair that was vexing him by sticking to his forehead, regards to his sweat. "Well, if that's Will Turner," he heaved a quick breath with a pange to his sides, pointing towards another man fighting amongst the din-horde, "then who on this side of the Caribbean is that?"

Norrington turned back towards to the shorter man to have his gaze meet a pair rimmed with surprising sobriety and solemnity. Jack's eyes twitched back and forth studiously as though he were attempting the read some hidden message within the commodore's facial flesh beforereplying with quietude, "I'm afraid to say."

For what felt like several minutes Commodore Norrington returned the Sparrow's gaze, his own mind roving with facts and whisperings he had seen and that he did not think to bring up on his own. Suddenly the energy of the spark of a sudden enlightenment electrified his mind with such intensity it seemed on the verge of physically jolting the frame of his body, and understanding possibility enlivened from within his eyes. A subtle smirk, though without mirth in his eyes, tugged at the lips of the sea brigand standing oppostie him as James parted his lips to speak. "That man's—"

There was a wild wsh! and bngk! as flash of polished bronze and steel embedded itself in the wood of the great cabin hatch (much to Jack's loud displeasure). The next thing he knew was that Will Turner had gotten a hold of some line unidentifiable in the night and, taking it in a firm grip, had launched himself from the heights of the mast at the strange man whom he now realized had drawn a pistol aimed at Jack. By the time these facts had processed, bodies had collided and Will Turner was locked in a rolling wrestling match with the man along the deck. All activity seemed to slowly be brought to a standstill as eyes fell upon the duo and the silence began to be broken by naught but their grunts, bumps and the sigh of the sea. Suddenly Will, whom despite his lithe form was less slight than his opponent, brought the face-off to an abrupt halt as he managed to get his hands on the man's biceps and pin him firmly to the deck.

The only sounds stood the creaking of the ships, the hiss of the water and wind and the fierce panting of the two men who now commandeered the attention of all eyes gleaming in the growing darkness as the lanterns began to burn low. The world, the moon, the very clouds in the sky seemed to halt with bated breath as their eyes met and held each other for a strangely extended period of time. There was no cheer from either side.

Then the rustle of Will Turner's clothes shouted in the silence as he detachedly withdrew from the man beneath his grip, his eyes wide and gleaming under the veiled influence of the moon. It was not a gunshot, not the crack of breaking beams... buthis whisper which pierced the night:

"Father?"

Next time: The veil of mystery just begins to be lift as some questions are answered... and yet more are brought to life. Foulkes may be something differentfrom whatWill could have deemed, separated are reunited, intentions are made knownand the shadow begins to move as the banners are making to be revealed in 'To Each His Own Burgee.'

Author's Notes: I can't explain how sorry I am that this had to take so long. Battle sequences are a pain in many places to write and coupled with writer's block it's a personal torture.( ...Okay, I admit, that the teaser trailer and all otherfootage, pictures etc. etc. etc. on the filming of the sequels has been somewhat distracting. I'vegotten so much information, I regret that I just admit it.)To compensate, I tried to make this chapter nice and long. I feel that much of the ending of this chapter was a bit blah, but I've got to get moving to the next one. I know there's a lot of things that start and then don't have an explanation in here--that's because they'll be explained in the next chapter or chapters to come. Don't worry.

Now (due to the new reply to review feature) the last of my reader responses to be attached to a chapter (I will reply to everyone, even if I've already done that):

Eledhwen: I tickles me silly to get reviews from your likes--I love 'Blood of Avalon.' A neat idea and well written indeed. Thanks for making me aware of the space-eating and don't be shy to reawaken me of that comes up again. This site drives me crazy in that way sometimes... And I'm glad to know that my fight sequence in the last chapter wasn't as cheesy as I thought it would be... I also hope that this one wasn't a repition of the last, when it comes to Jack leastways... I feel like I'm not doing him justice by giving him enough layers... he feels flat to me.

JeanieBeanie33: Now that you mention it I think it's true: the further away from the first film's release date we get, the harder it is to find good fics. All my favorites were written directly in the aftermath of the film. Most fics are very... blah now. I'm pleased to know you think mine is one of those 'good ones'. And I hope you located Measure... it's a fantastic read.

Kelsey Estel: Estel as in Aragron's fake name that Elrond gave him meaining, 'hope?' Or coincidence? Sorry. I'm a 'ringer.' Your review was such a morale booster! Thank you so much for your encouraging compliments about the plot's complexity--I'm trying to make it a bit less-than-simple so that it's fun to read. I'm glad someone appreciates that. Your criticism was helpful too, though I must admit I might be a bit loath to take the advise. Thank you so much, though, infinitesimally for giving a constructive review. That was magnificent. I hope this temporarily eased your ... er, 'torment.'

Lin Zi Shou: Yay! Yes, Karen, I've got it up at last! Thanks for being on my butt so I get it done--it actually helped me remember not to let it just sit and rot. I am so glad that you like this and am grateful for your support. In all serious, I mean it. I find it amusing, embarrassing but flattering that your mom thinks this is pretty good too... I think it's crap, but I like doing it.

Ms Elizabeth Turner To You: Lizzie, Lizze. I hope this doesn't disappoint you. Sorry there wasn't a bunch of Elizabeth in the chapter... she'll be coming, though, don't worry. I won't leave her fate untouched. I need to talk to you about some ideas I've got if we're going to do that project...

Nuriel: Thanks for keeping Rainyaviel aware. That's kind of you.

PierceURlipz: I was going to put another head-butt in here, but decided against it in the end. Makes the other a more rare gem. Elizabeth and Will can sometimes share that rash nature, but her instances are much more rare. Apparently, this is one of them.

pirateoftherings: It's always great to have a new reader on board. Thanks for your kind review and I hope I'll be able to keep you onboard a good ride.

Rainyaviel: It is hard and I'm glad you understand. As for the grammar...sometimes I break the rules on purpose. Other than that, it's usually I'm typing too fast or am not watching carefully enough when I proofread to catch all the glitches. I hate it when I go back and realize that I put a 'there' instead of 'their,' for example. I know the difference, but sometimes I just don't catch it and it drives me crazy. And I assure that this is far from flawless. It's quite bad, actually... I hope your Harry Potter fic is/was going well.

Roguepirate: I actually felt that the previous chapter was shallow, but I'm glad to find that you like it. I hope that 'something else' was entertaining... Probably was.

Unplugged32: I probably have already told you this, but I was ecstatic to know you read my story and liked it--I'm in love with 'The Darkest Hour' and was torn when you cut the last chapter off where you did! I've updated now it's your turn. I don't think my story is impressive or brilliant, but to find that you think it is so heartening. Thanks so much.

Williz: You still make me smile, luv. She ran... and you'll find out what happens to 'Beth in the next chapter. Sorry. I have a bad attachment to cliffhangers don't I? It's like 'Lost' but not quite as bad... because 'Lost' is so much better than this (I think so, leastways). I'm glad I 'REALLY REALLY REALLY REALLY rock' in your eyes.

Thanks for all of your supports—I shall henceforth reply to reviews individually and officially declare these posted responses closed! I also hope that all the stuff that will begin to come out withDead Man's Chestwill help my writing instead of distracting me.(I'm am so psyched for this, you guys!) ...Although I can say that it will be a while before I get the next chapter up.

So, for now, ta!
Jack E.