Defying the laws of physics, Jack, Gibbs, Barbossa, Will, Elizabeth, and Lord Beckett all end up at the same dinner party. And it seems they're all after one thing.

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"…not all the calculators of the National Debt can tell me the capacity for good or evil, for love or hatred, for patriotism or discontent…" – Hard Times pg 76, Charles Dickens

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Waltz of the Wicked

Act 1

They were like spinning tops, brightly colored baubles arranged in alternating rings and ellipses that moved and pulsed with the beat of a nameless waltz. The ladies in their shining silk dresses and ivory petticoats danced and twirled with men in frock coats and breeches all adorned in golden buttons and inlay. Polite laughter and the murmur of conversation stole over the opening waltz, only half of the wealthy patrons taking part, still more of them arriving in from the brisk spring air of the night. The shindig was just beginning.

In all, Jack found it rather superficial, the amount of fair-smelling perfume and fragrant flowers overwhelming, and the press of bodies a bit too closed in. He was never really much one for large parties. Unless they were for him, of course. All of them, those spinning tops, only there on account of a cocktail mixture of inheritances, lineage, and friends in high places. There were those rare few that had earned their keep at the top and for that, he saw no reason to think of them as spoiled, tainted beings. But they had to feel trapped, some of those hard working ones. Jack did not envy the aristocrat, the lord, the count. Wealth had its uses and perks, yes, but it seemed to him that the life that came with such legally obtained tender was certainly not a life he would choose to covet – hence why he merely observed at the moment the waltz and its crowd of dancing elite, a very full glass of champagne in one hand.

There was former Admiral G. Hanscott, resigned on note of a scandalous scandal, something about him and his wife's sister. An otherwise sterling gentleman with an insatiable appetite for drink, though. Ah, Countess Manchester there to the Admiral's port side in the most literal of meanings. An exquisite dark haired beauty she was. Alas, she had a bad reputation for mistreating the servants and bullying her husband, the mousey little Count Manchester. Naturally these little factoids never came out in public, only whispered behind silk gloved hands. Truly, they must all have skeletons in their closets. This gathering of stuffed shirts did seem indeed a 'waltz of the wicked' as one might say. At least pirates were honest about their sins. It was like being in a different world, hearing all the pointless, dry conversation about unimportant facets of high living. Nothing, not even from the various top brass naval officers, about anything important like tides or rum or ships.

Not to dampen the grandeur of the party, oh no! The host, Lord Featherworth, had outdone himself this year everyone was saying. "Or his designers had, at any rate or…whoever took care of that decorating business," Jack told himself. They could've put up a little less gold, though. While he liked his shine as much as any other pirate, they hardly needed real lighting for all the shiny paper and molding reflecting every bit of light in the spacious room. Jack lifted his glass to his lips, the light in his eyes eternally amused. It was a shame he couldn't come here as himself instead of Lord Horatio Smythe, who wore wine red suits with white breeches and stockings and black buckled shoes. As Smythe, he had been loathe to part with the various little trinkets that made him Jack Sparrow. However, if he was to pull off the illusion started many months ago, there was no way he'd be able to attend and not be labeled as his infamous pirate self. No piercings, no beads, no bandanas, not even dreadlocks. Now those had taken some time to rearrange, tame, and eventually work back into a convincing hairstyle. Painful, too. But it would all come to fruition tonight. Jack was sure of it.

"Cap'n."

Jack jumped slightly and turned a baleful eye on his first mate. "Gibbs, if we were anywhere else at th' moment, I'd enjoy you callin' me tha' but here…bad move, mate," he muttered, not wanting to be overheard.

Gibbs winced, looking out of sorts in an ill fitted footman costume and features pinkish still from scrubbing. "Apologies, C-...sir," he said, forcing himself to bow stiffly instead of knuckle his forehead in salute. He spoke in a low voice as well.

"Now, did you find anything?"

"Only that Featherworth keeps 'is maps n' the like in 'is office which is locked tighter n' Davy Jones' chest...if you'll forgive the expression," he replied, adding the latter with haste upon seeing Jack's face of mild shock.

"Expression forgiven but don't let William hear you say tha'. You know how well that particular subject is thought of."

"Aye, sir. 'Parently it ain't softened much after tens years."

Jack nodded almost sadly. "Well, if you can't get into Featherworth's office presently, best go speak around…n' see…" Jack's voice faded away as his gaze fell upon the grand door into the ballroom. Gibbs followed his gaze, brow furrowed. Both of them were struck speechless upon seeing the newest arrived guests. A man calling out the names of those arriving spoke up.

"Lord Cutler Beckett and Lady Evangeline Bienvenu." It seemed the entire party paused at the mention of the infamous India Trading Company's former head. Or supposed to be former head. A very much alive Lord Beckett promenaded in through the entrance, a dark haired beauty on his arm. Jack and Gibbs shared a genuinely confused look. Beckett was supposed to have blown up with the Endeavour during the battle against the Company and Brethren Court.

"Sir…"

"I know, Gibbs. Just…don't say it." It was if the battle of ten years ago had never happened; the lord carried on, smiling tightly, speaking to someone occasionally, turning to his pretty arm piece from time to time. However, Jack could see the light shining a bit strangely on Beckett's face. Scars perhaps. Needless to say, this impromptu reappearance of his former nemesis had the captain on edge. Why couldn't his enemies just stay dead? First Barbossa and now Beckett…Jack had to force down the urge to grimace at the thought of Davy Jones returning to life. The presence of Gibbs hovering over his shoulder, looking at Beckett as well, snapped him out of a disturbing image. "Gibbs, the map."

His first mate jumped slightly and, muttering a quick "Aye, sir," disappeared through the crowd again. Jack sipped lightly from his glass, always keeping Beckett in sight. Or he would have, had a large man fit to burst the buttons on his Russian Blue coat not approached him.

"Ah, you must Smythe!"

Suddenly beset by this red-faced monstrosity, Jack was forced to interact and leave off his observation of Beckett. But all the while, curiosity mingled in the back of his mind and he wondered…What was Beckett doing here?

۞

"A shame your …husband could not attend with us." The look given to Beckett was nothing short of incensed, no doubt aroused by the lord's knowing tone and cat's smirk. "You mentioned him being with a patient."

"Oui…Charles is a busy man," Madame Bienvenu replied, reigning in her expression to tight-lipped propriety. "His job takes him often to different places. His reputation could not afford for him to be lounging about at some fancy party."

"Parish the thought." About halfway through the French woman's speech, Beckett had stopped listening, eyes idly roving the crowd. Contrary to what she thought, he hadn't come to Lord Featherworth's ball just because it was a ball.

Secrets had a way of getting around even if they were locked away in a closet. Through various underground sources, Beckett had come to learn of Featherworth's mystical treasure map. Of course, this really held no worth for him.

He hadn't brought along Evangeline to tickle her dream girl's fancy, either. No, she was only there on his arm for Beckett to keep up appearances. For all her innate class Evangeline really had no idea of the inner workings of the aristocratic society. Best just to amuse her and let on that she actually fit in.

It was rather difficult though, her being in a wonderfully garish green gown.

Beckett had not escaped the explosion of the Endeavor without a scratch; the strange shining on his face Jack had seen was the light reflecting off burn scars. It was more than a month he had to wait until he had healed enough to remove the bandages. But now, he was not gruesome looking, the scars having faded a little over the years. The damage was done, though. The sight of his own reflection had only added insult to injury.

Out of the corner of his eye Beckett could spot his man, the late Mercer's replacement: Mr. Lonsdale. No less grim-faced than his predecessor, Lonsdale was a little hunched and fit more of an assassin's image than body guard. He had taken on Mercer's bland taste of dress though. Overall, Beckett figured it was just like having a Mercer still around.

Lonsdale had made a point of meeting his employer's eye and all but disappeared again into the crowd. Like Gibbs, Beckett's "first mate" was there to clandestinely find the whereabouts of Featherworth's map. But unlike Jack, Beckett wasn't looking for it for the treasure. He was there to find Jack.

۞

Whilst Jack and Beckett were preoccupied with one another, it was unknown to them they in turn were just being noticed by two other party members. Nearly spewing most of his wine back into a glass, William Turner spun away from an approaching Cutler Beckett, as surprised as Jack had been upon spying the diminutive lord.

"I say, Turner, did you find something in your beverage?" The blacksmith-pirate glanced up into the wily grin of a count he'd already forgotten the name of. One of the late Governor Swann's close and numerous associates. Strongly wishing Elizabeth hadn't dragged him here in the first place, Will forced a smile, clearing his throat.

"No, it's…just a little different from my usual brand," he replied, somewhat vaguely sarcastic though his tone was only understood by the willowy woman standing next to him. Elizabeth shot him a look but the four or so lords and ladies forming their circle of conversation emitted their constrained little laughs and the meaning was lost.

Being years out of touch with humanity consequently put Will out of his element. He felt silly in his slightly used coat after growing fond of the lackadaisical pirate costume. It reminded him almost painfully of the past before they'd met Jack; everything was tight, strict, and confining. Rather like a corset. He'd rather have stayed at home with Liam and let Elizabeth enjoy the party they'd honestly been invited to but neither she nor their son would hear it. They were too much alike, Elizabeth and Liam. Even though he'd been a decade late in meeting William Turner III, Will knew automatically that Liam was their child. He saw his own earnestness in the boy's eyes and an almost reckless smile on his face that Will sometimes saw in Elizabeth.

Adjusting to a home life had been something of a challenge. There were times he could almost feel himself being drawn back to the ocean, back to the duty he was inadvertently charged with. But now Maccus had willingly taken the Dutchman's helm and with a generosity Will never knew he had, let Bill Turner leave the eternal ship with his son who was at home with his grandson.

But it seemed the past could never leave them alone; now it was Beckett.

Elizabeth hadn't noticed the tiny tyrant yet. Will took a leap of faith. His eyes alighted on the glass in his wife's hand. "Your glass seems a bit low, Elizabeth…" He brandished his own half-full flute. "Shall we?" If anything, Elizabeth had to tell by his very intense look that something was up.

"Oh yes," she replied suddenly, a faux smile showing her white teeth. "If you'll excuse us," to the lords and ladies who nodded and waved them off, returning to talk of witch hanging in the colonies. Will all but seized her by the upper arm and beat a fierce pace towards the long refreshment table. Elizabeth did not seem very pleased. "Will, what is going on? I take you aren't dragging me over here just for a refill."

They halted before the table, facing each other. "Take a look to your left, with the woman in green," Will replied through clenched teeth. Elizabeth did so only to come upon the same realization that Cutler Beckett was alive. She tried and failed to quell a look of shock and it was all she could do not to stare.

"He's dead!" she hissed, grabbing Will by the forearm.

"I know," he said, brow furrowed. Elizabeth did not speak aloud the question she wanted to because she already knew that Will was thinking the same thing…What should they do? For a moment, neither of them spoke. If Beckett was still alive, it was unimaginable what he'd strive to do next. And whatever it was, Elizabeth was sure it had something to with piracy and-or the utter extinction of it. If that was so, she was still King of the Brethren Court and by God, she wasn't about to allow Beckett to succeed.

It just so happened that, at that time, Elizabeth glanced down the table and through the crowd of guests. A face jumped out at her and she was forced to do a quick double take. Younger it seemed…and groomed, he was almost recognizable. But it was undoubtedly him. There, talking with a large gentleman in blue, was Captain Jack Sparrow!

۞

Elizabeth had caught Jack's eye as well. Like her, he had to look twice, though. It came as a not altogether unpleasant surprise but still…There was Elizabeth Turner gawking at him from the side of the refreshment table. Only half listening to Lord Bushel-Britches (as Jack mentally referred to the large aristocrat), the incognito pirate stared right back. He watched Elizabeth lean in a whisper something to Will and blinked once when William Turner's features turned towards him as well. By the gods, what next? His own father?

Bushel-Britches finally noticed that Jack was no longer paying attention to him. He followed the pirate's gaze to the Turners who stared right back. "Oh, I see you've noticed the Turners. Lovely couple. A shame Weatherby didn't see his daughter married off."

"Ah…hmm, yes. They're brilliant together." More vague sarcasm not understood by those on the outside. Jack couldn't keep himself from baring his teeth slightly. Satisfied he had Jack's attention once more, Bushel-Britches plowed on.

"As I was saying…Just couldn't figure out why the bally fool did it! He—"

"Why?" Jack repeated suddenly, looking now at Bushel-Britches. He gave a little shrug. "Because he's a lummox." And with that, Jack ended the conversation and began moving purposefully towards Will and Elizabeth. The purpose was doomed, however, and yet another stop occurred.

"I say, you, sirrah, have an uncanny resemblance to Jack Sparrow." This halted Jack in his tracks, a grin already crossing his features as the words reached his ears. He turned to the source of the voice and found it to be an older man - or at least a little older than him - accompanied by a woman. They were both well-dressed and looked fairly wealthy. It was strange, though. The woman seemed miraculously humble while the man had the all too familiar air of a scoundrel. But Jack bowed.

"Then allow me to take tha' as a compliment, my good man," he replied. The fellow took him in with his eyes, chuckling lightly.

"Some would take it as an offense, I hear." There was a nagging lilt to older gent's voice that Jack found somewhat familiar. But the man's eyes were almost hooded, unrecognizable, and the rest of him did not seem to fit with the voice if it was who he sounded like.

"Then woe to them. Must not know a good rogue when they see one."

The man smiled tightly as if not wanting to show his teeth. "Indeed. I don't believe we've met." He stuck out a hand. "James Hawkins… and this is my sister-in-law, Lady Elaine Hawkins." Jack took the offered hand, simultaneously lifting Lady Hawkins' hand to kiss it.

"Horatio Smythe. Lord Horatio Smythe." He could not help but smile knavishly. Though the Lady had to be nearing forty, age had been very kind to her.

"You're very charming, sir," she replied with an amazingly honest smile. Meanwhile, Hawkins was wearing an amused expression, scrutinizing Jack like he was checking a newly built sloop.

"Yes, one could almost say you were Jack Sparrow himself."

Jack smiled apologetically. "You have no idea how many times I've been told that."

"No, I really think I do." All at once, Hawkins' accent changed. An image, a face, sprang unbidden into Jack's mind and he knew suddenly that James Hawkins wasn't really James Hawkins. The man grinned unpleasantly and immediately Jack knew. He didn't get the chance to point this out however before Hawkins and the Lady turned away and headed towards the crowded dance floor to be lost in the spinning gowns and gaudy costumes.

Jack was left not bewildered but strangely, suddenly focused.

Act 2

"Ladies and gentlemen, if I can have your attention, please…" Automatically, the ruckus of conversation fell silent and the musicians in the corner ceased the sawing on their instruments. At the head of the large room, a man stood on a raised platform. This was Lord Featherworth: awkwardly tall, tiny spectacles on his nose, absurdly young for a lord. But the expression he wore was honest. "Now that it seems all our guests have arrived, is certainly a pleasure to have you all back…"

No longer really listening, Jack looked over the crowd now that it was still. He could pick out the familiar faces: Beckett, Will, Elizabeth, Barbossa… Yes, that was Barbossa under that Hawkins façade. It was amazing how far a little bit of a soap will go. There was only one reason Barbossa could be here – the map. As for Will and Elizabeth, maybe they were present because they'd been honestly invited. And Beckett? Well, Jack could entertain a few thoughts about Beckett's reasons…

"…Dinner will be a little longer than expected." Featherworth gestured to the musicians as he stepped down from the platform. "Maestro, if you please." Jack couldn't see the man nod but the music started right up again. This time, more people joined in; even Featherworth. It was another waltz. Jack down the rest of his drink and set the glass on a passing garcon's platter. It seemed all his opponents, some would-be and some declared, were out dancing with their partners. And every one of them having either broken or abused the law. Jack chuckled to himself. Now it truly was a waltz of wicked.

۞

"Are you sure that was wise?"

"What?"

"Practically alerting him to your presence." As they danced, Elaine fixed Barbossa with one of those stern looks mothers often give a rash child. The pirate scoffed.

"Bah. There be nothing to worry about from Jack."

"I think you're underestimating him."

"Who's side are ye on, Elaine? Now, stop it. I'm tryin' to count my steps." Elaine sighed with a roll of her eyes. The entire time Barbossa discreetly kept Featherworth within sight.

At the opposite end of the crowd, Beckett waltzed stiffly with Evangeline. The woman wore a dreamy expression, gazing around in a bedazzled manner. The lord stared in one direction; Lonsdale. The shady little man was lurking around the edge of the crowd, his own eyes trying to find Featherworth lost in the crowd. Through the gaps between bodies, Beckett met the other man's gaze almost fiercely. It was vital that Lonsdale did not cause any sort of suspicion. Beckett and Beckett alone had to get to Featherworth. That would force Sparrow's hand and bring him out into the open.

Meanwhile, Jack was observing his opponents and their moves. Beckett wasn't very subtle in his intentions; he kept looking towards Featherworth. And Barbossa was staying within ten feet of the unknowing lord. No doubt they'd make their move sometime soon. Jack had to get into the crowd but first he needed a dance partner. To keep face, naturally. He went for the nearest lady. "Ah, m'lady Manchester. No one to dance with?" Jack greeted with a charismatic smile. Really, he could've chosen better considering her temperament. At least she was pretty. From behind his wife, Count Manchester glared at Jack. The woman may have owned him but the Count wasn't fond of others haggling with his landlord.

"Why…" The countess glanced at her husband a little irately and then back to Jack with a sneering smile. "No, I don't. Lord Smythe, was it?"

"Horatio to you, m'lady," he replied, offering his arm to her. Smiling kitten-like, she took it almost gleefully and they moved out onto the dancer floor.

"Blast, there goes Jack," Elizabeth hissed. The Turners twirled not ten paces from Beckett and Madame Bienvenu but didn't know it. Will caught a glimpse of Jack dancing with a tall woman, slowly but clearly making his way to the middle of the crowd. Towards Lord Featherworth. Elizabeth did not miss this either. "He must want something with Featherworth." Will nodded his assent.

"It can't be for good."

"With Jack? Not likely."

"Shall we?" he offered, gesturing with a tilt of his head, smiling slightly. Elizabeth mirrored his smile. Just like old times.

"Yes, please."

۞

It took Jack several minutes to navigate through the dancers towards Featherworth. Countess Manchester would ask him questions, half of which he replied to automatically without thinking and in turn, not even remembering what he said. Out of one corner of his eye was Featherworth, dancing with a petite blonde girl. In the other corner was Barbossa, looking right back at him. Jack watched the other pirate say something to the woman he danced with. Lady Hawkins had to be in on the scheme. Even Barbossa wasn't that good of a pretender. Jack watched Barbossa glance once at Featherworth. He had to move now or risk missing a chance to get Featherworth alone, fooling the lord with the pretense that he needed to speak with him about some pressing matter. Funds or something…the mention of money always got the attention of the higher up no matter how humble or charitable. Nodding absently to something the countess was saying, the pirate deftly switched tacks with her in tow and began beating a straighter course towards Featherworth and his blonde.

And he would have reached his 'friend' about five steps before Barbossa, had a certain couple not barged in front of him, colliding with the lord and his partner. "Oh, our mistake. Apologies, my lord!" William Turner declared with an embarrassed smile when Featherworth turned around to see who had danced into him. The lord looked at them a moment before breaking into a smile himself.

"Not a problem, sir. You're William Turner, yes? And this must be Elizabeth…"

Several people had stopped to look upon the scene, including Jack and Barbossa. Elizabeth countered Jack's frustrated glare with a cool, triumphant glance. Barbossa's brow furrowed in thought; the lass hadn't seen him but she'd obviously seen Jack. It was a bit of a shock to see the Turners after so long. Certainly not something he expected. But either way, the pirates happened to think the same thing simultaneously as they turned away with their dance partners: "She knows."

In chess, whenever the King is threatened by an opposing piece, 'check' is called. The King's men must rally to him and block the path of the enemy. 'Check' had been called and the King's men had saved him from possible checkmate. The enemy is forced to move away to wait for another angle of attack.

Across the room, Beckett was seeing the Turners for the first time. His usually stoic expression must have changed slightly; Madame Bienvenu picked up on it rather quickly. "Is zhere something wrong?"

"No, it's nothing. Just thought I saw someone I knew." And he had. He almost felt Lonsdale's gaze on him before seeing it. The bodyguard shared his frustration.

Featherworth, oblivious to the exchanges, continued speaking. "Actually, this is rather fortuitous. I've heard many things about you, Mrs. Turner, from your father, God rest his soul. He always said-"

At that moment, a servant chose to interrupt, scooting up to Featherworth and whispering into his ear. "Ah, now?" The servant nodded vigorously. "Well," now turning to Will and Elizabeth. "It seems dinner is ready and I must be away. A pleasure meeting you finally. Come along, Lucy." And Featherworth was away through the crowd, signaling fiercely for the musicians to stop. Will and Elizabeth did not look at each other.

"Well, that confirms who Jack is after," Will murmured, watching Featherworth get back up on his platform to speak again.

"Yes. But…did you notice how determined he was to get to David?"

"You're on a first name basis with Featherworth?"

"He's an old family friend, Will. Don't get offended."

"I did notice."

"Beckett is across the room so Jack couldn't have been trying to race him. There has to be somebody else here, somebody he knows."

"Somebody he competes with…" Their gazes suddenly met but the movement of the crowd cut off any more conversation and they migrated into the dining room for dinner.

Gibbs caught up with Jack before he could get into the dining room, pulling him aside behind a decorative fern. "Nothin' specific on the map – just keeps it in his office- but there's a little rumor floatin' here abouts concernin' Featherhead."

"It's Featherworth. And is there now?"

"Aye. Some of the stable hands are convinced he's some sort of former convict."

"A convict wiv a lord's title?"

"Aye. Got out of prison some years ago on parole but… never checked in."

"Ah." Jack nodded to himself, grinning suddenly. He clapped Gibbs on the back. "Seems we've got a nice masquerade going on here, then."

Act 3

The spread of food was magnificent, a menu fit for royalty - glistening hams, platters of candied fruit, entire haunches of beef it seemed, more than one stuffed bird, plates of steaming casseroles and cooked vegetables, and more. Servants hovered in the wings lugging dozens of different imported wines. The guests 'ooh'ed and 'ahh'ed to their hearts' contents and then promptly sat down at their assigned seats.

Jack picked up the little white placard that sat on his empty plate, turning it over in his hands. 'Lord Horatio Smythe' was printed on it in gold lettering. Glancing hastily to his left and right, he quickly stuffed into a pocket on the inside of his jacket. That'd serve as a nice little thing to hold this particular memory, a symbol of an endeavor. It would go in with rest of his collection.

Looking down the table, he noticed with a frown that Beckett had been planted directly to the right of Lord Featherworth and was already having a conversation with him. Inwardly, Jack was a little insulted. He had befriended Featherworth, taken tea with him even! At least he should be closer to the head of table instead of smack in the middle. The people he sat next to weren't very interesting. On his left an old, hawk-nosed man in russet and a monocle. On his right, a very bored looking woman in drab black who would sigh tiredly ever so often.

The food was being served. A slab of beef nearly slapped onto his plate followed by several other delectables he really couldn't name.

And Barbossa, where had he gone? Craning his neck forward a little to see, Jack couldn't see him near the end of the table. Perhaps… He looked towards the head, a feeling of indignation already rising in his chest. Yes, there he was. Barbossa and his 'sister-in-law' were on the opposite side of table, considerably closer to the hand than Jack was. The other pirate must have felt Jack practically glaring at him. Barbossa glanced past Lady Hawkins to meet Jack's gaze with a triumphant smirk. Forever competing, these two. Oh but wait! Jack withdrew suddenly into his seat, allowing Barbossa first a view of his own wily grin before it disappeared.

This troubled Barbossa. Such an expression from a trickster like Jack just heralded something bad for him. Wearing one of those indifferent Looks aristocrats often wore, he glanced nonchalantly to his left, the place where Jack had last looked.

It happened that Will Turner also turned to see who he sat next to. At first neither man spoke. Will did not initially recognize Barbossa but Barbossa certainly recognized Will. The pirate swore inwardly. Touché, Jack. Will's eyes narrowed unfathomably for a second, beginning to realize who it was he might be staring at. When one of them finally did say something, it was Barbossa cutting off Will before the lad could ask any questions. "So you're Will Turner? Pleasure to meet you. Name's James Hawkins. I hear you're a crackerjack blacksmith. Now, if you'll excuse me," and he promptly turned away from Will to face Lady Hawkins, who was watching him almost worriedly over her plate.

"Is there something wrong?" she asked.

"Nothing."

۞

During the third course, Beckett made his move. Jack looked up from a plate of stuffed flounder to see the diminutive lord lean in and murmur something to Featherworth. Featherworth turned his head slowly to look at Beckett, features suddenly grave. Dabbing at his mouth with his napkin, the lord gestured for Beckett to rise and the two swiftly strode from the room. Swearing to himself, Jack feigned to check his stolen pocket watch and got up as if he had a pressing appointment he'd forgotten. Out of his peripheral vision, he saw Barbossa follow suit.

They drew abreast of each other just outside of the dining room, out of sight. "I was under the impression that Lord Beckett was not-so-dearly departed," Barbossa said, wearing a frown.

"My sentiments exactly," Jack replied. He glanced at Barbossa. "Didn't recognize you there. And here I was thinkin' the Aqua de Viva was your source of youth…'Parently it's soap."

"Think o' that all by yerself, did ye, boy?"

"All by me onesy, mum." It seemed to take them a moment to remember what they were each there for and the particular relations between them. Once they did, the pirates shared a look and immediately broke into a run, elbowing each other out of the way as they turned down the corridor that was supposed to lead to Featherworth's office.

After the demise of an expensive looking vase and several other works of art, they reached the office. Jack got to the door handle first and had a grip on it when Barbossa shouldered into him. Several insult-laced seconds of struggle went by before the door finally opened and the two pirates burst in, pistols drawn and pointed at the two people in the office. It was a plush little room, book shelves on one wall, a window on another. A lantern was lit and sitting on the desk in the middle of the room. However, at the end of his pistol Jack found not Beckett but a vile looking little man armed with a drawn sword. Featherworth stared in shock down the barrel of Barbossa's pistol. Instead of something witty like he had planned, "Where is Beckett?" came out of Jack's mouth.

Featherworth opened and closed his mouth like a fish and it was obvious they weren't going to get an answer out of him. The evil little man didn't answer either, his eyes almost bulging out of his head and lips pulled back in a sneer. Barbossa's gaze flicked around the room looking for the map in case it was visible. "Jack!" he said suddenly, pointing with his free hand to the top of a roll top desk sitting against a wall. There, resting in a glass case, was a scroll. The X-marks-the-spot was visible even in the dim lighting.

"All you want is that old map?" Featherworth was breathless, his brow furrowed almost in confusion. Jack pulled an appalled expression. The man didn't even know what he had!

"If you didn' know, tha' old map leads to an incredibly valuable treasure that appears only one every twenty years."

"Quite a rare bit o' treasure, at that," Barbossa added. "Yer the reason rich folk just ain't fit t' possess such t'ings." Shaking their heads and looking at Featherworth with slight condescension, Jack and Barbossa both took a step towards the map simultaneously. But their progress was halted when a voice came from out of no where and Jack felt someone come up behind him.

"Jack Sparrow…it's been too long." Jack turned his head to find the barrel of yet another pistol held by none other than Cutler Beckett.

"You look bloody awful, mate," Jack said almost apologetically. Beckett went reply but Featherworth interrupted.

"Jack Sparrow the pirate?" he cried.

"Unfortunately," Barbossa muttered, still keeping his pistol trained on the lord.

"It's Captain Jack… Sparrow," Jack put in somewhat resentfully. Featherworth looked incredibly betrayed. "Sorry, mate. You have th' map I need n' it wouldn't 'ave been any fun just t' rob your house. That's what traditional pirates do." The latter he aimed at Barbossa, who made an annoyed noise and rolled his eyes.

"And ye see where it got ye?"

"Quiet!" All eyes turned to Beckett who had turned nearly white with fury, odd splotches of red here and there among his scars. He leveled a glare at Jack. "It's time to cut out the middle man like I intended to the last time we met," he said quietly, "And you're next, Hector Barbossa. Lonsdale." Before Barbossa could retort, the evil little Lonsdale had scooted forward and jammed the tip of his sword just under the pirate's jaw. Beckett locked gazes with Jack over the pistol between them. "Goodbye, Jack." He pulled back the hammer.

"Not so fast." All four men looked towards the door where Will Turner had just appeared, a pistol of his own aimed at Beckett. Featherworth ogled at them all.

"Where do you people keep getting these guns!?"

"Ah, Mister Turner. I was wondering when you'd show," Beckett said coolly, ignoring Featherworth. It was now thus: Will aimed at Beckett, Beckett at Jack, Jack at Lonsdale, Lonsdale with his sword on Barbossa, and Barbossa at the unfortunate Featherworth.

"What's a party without Will Turner?" Jack said sarcastically. Will merely smiled tightly.

"Hello, Jack, Barbossa," he greeted. Jack looked away slightly irate and Barbossa nodded once. Will looked squarely at Beckett. "Put down your gun, Lord Beckett. It's not worth you getting killed again."

"Is it worth your accomplices' lives, though?" Beckett countered. "If you try to shoot me, I'll be forced to shoot Jack and Lonsdale will have to kill your charming friend over there." Barbossa curled a lip in Beckett's direction. Will opened his mouth to speak but Jack interrupted.

"Who says you can kill us?"

This got the attention of the room's other occupants. Barbossa nodded. "Aye. What if we happened t' happened upon a certain fountain?"

"The Fountain of Youth? I know at least you Jack can come up with a better ruse," Beckett said unconvinced. Will however was looking hard at the two pirates.

"That's it. That's why I didn't recognize you at first, Barbossa. You're younger, you both are."

Jack smiled. "And the prize goes to our favorite blacksmith."

The conversation fell silent for a moment and a new sound echoed down the hallway – the sound of running boots. Beckett's lips pulled up in a smug smirk. "That'll be the authorities. Immortal or not, you can get still go to jail. Two against twelve is rather a futile effort, if I say so myself."

"You're just as guilty as they are, Beckett." The general attention turned to Featherworth. The lord had been forgotten but now he stood a little straighter and was not so surprised. "They're as much witnesses as they are criminals." Beckett turned to Featherworth.

"And what's keeping you quiet is the particular information I lured you away from the table with, convict," he snapped. Featherworth grew still. The tension between the two men was nearly palpable. Even Lonsdale had his attention on them. All the while the sound of boots was getting closer. Jack, unable to be drawn into a scene any self-respecting scallywag should be able to stay above, glanced over at Barbossa. He knew the other pirate was thinking the same thing. It was unlikely they could be caught if it came to a fight but if they were, there was a life in prison awaiting them and immortality took on a dire light in that aspect. Barbossa shrugged slightly, eyebrows turning up. Perhaps another time? Jack nodded imperceptibly and shot a glance to the window. Barbossa looked towards the door. Take different paths, make it harder for them to give chase.

Barbossa dashed for the door just as Jack darted towards the window. Beckett's pistol fired a second after Jack's head moved out from in front of it. The bullet struck the far wall and sank into the wallpaper. Barbossa escaped around the corner in the hall, dodging bullets from the dozen redcoats that were ten feet from the door. At the same time, Jack dove through the window with a crash of glass.

He landed in a large bit of shrubbery and was soon on his feet, incredibly thankful that they'd been on the ground floor and that the window actually broke. If it hadn't, it wouldn't have been the first time but it certainly would have hurt even if he couldn't die. He ran for a hundred yards or so before pausing to turn around. There were only two faces he could see staring out at him. Time for an exit. "Alas! Remember this day as the say you attended a party with and almost captured Captain Jack Sparrow!" More faces appeared in the window and bullets began whistling by.

So they hadn't been able to get the map. But at least the waltz had been enjoyable.

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AN: One of the random one-shots I've mentioned before in my profile. Don't expect anything new for a while; I've had this one in the works since last month. I'll also be out for a week later this month so there's some more delay. It kills me that I can't write as much as I did over the summer! But yeah…Credit for the idea of the 20-Year Treasure goes to catgirlutah. The story itself was inspired by an orchestral piece of the same name, a rather slick, slimy sounding bit of work and general theme of villains everywhere. By Kirt Mosier. You'll recognize one of my OC characters, Elaine Hawkins from 'Loathsome.' I wish that the font I originally used for the title would stay during uploading but I suppose this site just has to generalize. Reviews are loved!