Chapter Two.


The howling winds of a late-November storm were beginning to subside off the coast of Ile a Vache, but the residents of Port Morgan weren't taking any chances just yet. For Slim-Fingered Kreg, the storm provided him time to mend the sails on his once-magnificent ship, Cooper's Escape. Once his honest father's fishing vessel, now a battered and cranky way to keep the fast-flowing blood in his veins from boiling over, Cooper's Escape had proven an unfaithful mistress to Kreg despite the endless hours he spent leaning over her gunwale, ecstatic in the spray of the ocean.

Cursing congenially, Kreg trotted across the pebbled beach towards the town, wondering where in the devil's nightgown he was going to find the twine he so desperately needed. A looming shape caused him to stop short, and his eyes focused in on the Black Pearl, neatly tied on the far side of the harbor. Kreg found himself gawking with clear enjoyment at her sleek lines, her smartly crafted bow, and her obvious maneuverability.

"She's something, isn't she?" A voice said. Kreg jerked around, poised for flight, but saw only a willowy maiden nearby, sitting with her bare feet in the surf. "Quite a ship to Captain."

"You, Captain?" Kreg questioned caustically, trying to calm his heart rate. The ship and the woman had both startled him more than he cared to admit. A bad omen? Cautiously, he seated himself beside her under the churning gray clouds. It was only a few hours after dawn, but dark as twilight. With a sidelong glance, he took in the woman's ragged foreign robe, loosely falling off one bony shoulder, and the wistful expression in her dark eyes. Nymph or stowaway? He wondered with a wry grin. Or perhaps the vision of a constantly inebriated fool, exposing himself to the last remnants of a storm. Kreg drew his long, spindly fingers out of his pockets and absently toyed with the sand as desire for the woman stirred in his imagination.

"Yes, I am Captain. And more besides," she said softly. "You better not stay here."

Amused at her sorrowful tone, he pulled out a recent acquisition: a compass, traded by a dark stranger last night for news of one Captain Barbossa. The object caused the girl to gasp.

"Where did you get that?" she demanded, suddenly steely. He drew back in surprise, one hand on his dagger.

"Fairly traded, only last night in Black's Tavern," he finally breathed. He was afraid of her, and he didn't know why. She relaxed.

"Black's Tavern. Can you take me there?"

"For a small price," he murmured, drawn to the restrained energy she had exhibited. "A kiss?"

In an instant, she was on her feet, a pistol pointed to his head. "I am not one of those women, sir. Take me to the tavern or prepare yourself for the Locker."

"I'll take you," he said with a grimace, "But if I were you, I wouldn't stray down any dark alleys in this town at night. You seem to make enemies easily."

Suddenly the girl laughed, and the bitterness of the laugh sent chills down Kreg's back. "Do I? Well, for that I will kiss you. But you must fulfill your end of the deal, then." And she bent her dry, cracked lips to his, briefly. Kreg was entirely bewildered and could hardly find his way back to the tavern with the strange girl, now wrapped in a heavy cloak, close on his heels. Only later, upon discovering his new compass had vanished, did he have an abrupt revelation: he had met the Pirate King.


Black's Tavern was rowdier than ever, and Isadore Black was cheerfully out-drinking every man in the room.

"I say we storm her deck and make a wreck of her," Old Sam said, pounding the table. They were talking of the Black Pearl, still in the harbor, still a mystery. Isadore rolled her eyes and lit up a cigar. The men in her place were all pirates and thieves, dangerous sorts, but she knew their weaknesses and liked them for their bravado. Not for her the hypocritical manners of the Royal Navy, whose companies she had once served. Instinctively she fell to perusing the room for Marta, who had been gone since the night before.

She was disrupted by an excited voice rushing to the tavern on tromping boots. "He's dead! Kreg's dead! Drowned and shot, and maybe his throat slit as well!" Everyone was suddenly on their feet, out to the road to see the body. It was Kreg all right, and he was very dead.

"What has happened to him?" Isadore demanded to the gathering crown. "Who would dare to kill Slim-Fingered Kreg, and succeed?"

"It was me." A steady voice broke through the din, and Elizabeth Turner, the Pirate King, stepped forward. Resplendent in richly embroidered Asian garments, a feathered hat adorning her head, and her eyes cool and proud, Elizabeth surveyed the astonished residents with a mocking smile.

"It's the Pirate King," the whispers began, "Come to us out of the storm on the Black Pearl… and now she's killed Kreg!"

"Yes, I killed him. And I now lay claim to his ship and all his possessions." And with a toss of her head, she exhibited an array of gleaming weapons at her side. It suddenly seemed that she was surrounded by a dark, leering crew dressed in the same rich garments, though where they had come from, no one could say.

"Wait, wait, wait!" Another voice suddenly broke in. "Hold up. I object."

"There's nothing to object to," Elizabeth said firmly.

"Yes there bloody is!" Captain Jack Sparrow emerged from the crowd, only slightly drunk and more than usually jovial. "I killed the man. I swear on my mother's head, may it never fall off, that I killed that bastard Kreg, and therefore I am duly owed his ship and all possessions, including a certain compass this lady has stolen from me."

"Nice to see you again, Jack!" cried the Pirate King, "Now stand back or I'll shoot your lying mouth. I killed Kreg and you know it! You watched me do it."

"Lies, lies, lies," Jack rebuffed, "I shot him myself."

"Well, if you shot him, then who slit his throat and drowned him?" Isadore asked, perplexed and entertained. The crowd was watching with the interest of a serious poker match.

"I did, of course, just to make sure he was dead. Can't be too careful." And the Captain's smile glinted with gold.

"If you did kill Kreg," Isadore remarked dryly, "I doubt pretty Marta will let you near her bed again."

The crowd gasped; the plot had thickened. Elizabeth was clearly perturbed as well.

"Well, that is to say," hedged Jack, "I tried to kill him. But I might not have."

"Of course you did! The guilt of it is written all over your face."

"Can you keep your whores out of this, Mr. Sparrow?" Elizabeth said icily.

"Captain Sparrow!" Jack groaned, raising his sword to Elizabeth. She shoved it away.

"I have proof that I killed Kreg. He bought one kiss of the Pirate King with his life. I have his compass, and I have his boots and his dagger. What more could you want?"

"Our Captain back!" Another voice butted in. Kreg's gang had arrived, menacing and ready to draw the blood of revenge. The crowd began to back away. "Whoever killed Kreg has to square with us."

"She killed him, obviously," Jack said, sliding behind Elizabeth. "Look at all her proof."


Hours later, Jack and Elizabeth found themselves tucked back in a corner of Black's, laughing as they tended the various cuts and scrapes of the evening.

"I am glad they were all cowards," Elizabeth gasped. She had drunk plenty, but was fairly coherent. "I am out of practice. I seem to have lost all my nerve when Will went away."

"Not by my reckoning," Jack remarked, holding her face still to tend an ugly gash across her forehead. "It wouldn't have been my idea to stay and fight."

"What say we split the ship and the booty, fifty fifty?" Elizabeth gave him her best pout.

"Not a chance, love. I most definitely remember killing him. I get the ship and the compass, you can keep the boots and the dagger. Savvy?"

"We can't both have killed him, Jack" Elizabeth slurred. "It's not possible. Either way, I gave him a message to take to Will."

"A somewhat distasteful way of communicating with your husband." Jack slid his fingers back forth through the flame of the candle, and felt around for his half-empty bottle. "Why do I always find myself alone with you? I remember it being bad for my health." She turned to say something, but he stopped her with a hand on her mouth. It was still so enticing to him, the curve of her lips, now cracked from the salt of the sea and set in a hard line. He had long ago given up trying to understand the desire he still felt for her, even after her ultimate betrayal, even after—he shuddered and shook his head. He wouldn't think about death now. She always turned up; it seemed they would chase each other around the world before their stubborn pride would allow them to admit they were better off sailing together.

"How long has it been… since…?" Jack didn't finish the question, and didn't listen to her answer. He had been counting as well: one year, six months, and a few days, give or take. "You certainly are making your mark on the Caribbean, love. Why, ever since you stole my ship…"

"I didn't steal it from you," Elizabeth retorted. "I chased Barbossa halfway around the world. I deserved some reward for my troubles."

"Ah, but when are you going to admit you can't handle it, and give it back?" Jack leaned in towards her face, tracing her harsh cheekbones as her eyes flickered. She was warm, and always softer than he imagined. Everything about her was full of contradictions; everything about her seemed formed just to please him, from the strength of her white hands to the sardonic line of her mouth. Jack didn't want to admit that she was forever beyond his reach, didn't want to admit that he had found one mystery he would never solve. Absently he allowed his calloused fingers to skate over her shoulders and then the soft skin just above the line of her bodice.

"Jack, don't." She caught her breath, and Jack was pleased to notice the tell-tale signs of desire in her voice.

"Pirate King and Legendary Captain. Hard to resist, isn't it?" There was no eagerness in his voice; he knew her answer, and even mildly berated himself for unsettling her.

"Hardly," she replied evenly. "Try Pirate King and Captain of the Flying Dutchman and you've got it about right." A tragedy, but at least it made for a good story.

"You gave that Kreg a kiss. Why not one for an old friend?"

"If I did that, I'd have to kill you," Elizabeth said, trying to lighten up the tone of the moment. She should return to her ship and get some sleep; her crew was waiting, they had plans to embark within a few days for La Aqua Vida, if she could manage to purloin the charts from Jack. She had never figure out why he hadn't succeeded in his quest to find the Fountain of Youth. He certainly wouldn't tell her.

Jack sighed. "Very well then, Lizzie. Luckily for you I am a good man and much less drunk that you'd think. Off you go to your widow's bed, and good riddance."

Elizabeth glared at him and stood up. She knew he was bluffing; for all his amorous ways, Jack Sparrow would never seriously think about her anymore, not after what he had done for Will. But she couldn't deny her own attraction to him. For months she had struggled to ignore the aching desires her body seemed to be overcome with, but now, suddenly, she wanted to get away from Jack.

"Wait," she said, in spite of herself. "You didn't tell me why you killed Kreg."

"It should be quite obvious, darlin'. Men of his caliber have no business kissing the Pirate King."

And you do? She wondered, feeling a rush of heat at his possessiveness. She lingered in the narrow booth, as Jack gathered up his hat and pistol. The rich earthiness of his movements seemed entrancing in the firelight; the edge had been taken off their rivalry after the events that took place more than a year ago, and Elizabeth couldn't help but admit he was the only person in her life she could count on. Her lips curled; how ironic that the pirate I once killed is now the only person I can trust.

But she didn't trust herself, and there was too much at stake. Jack had already proven her downfall once.