The dark, towering ship was anchored near a cove, wrapped in a peculiar fog as the Commodore and three longboats of soldiers approached the Black Pearl. Norrington noticed that the pirate ship was ominously quiet…too quiet for his nerves to be at ease. Something was amiss; he could feel the apprehension close in on his senses like a cloak, nearly choking his effort to remain calm. He straightened his shoulders when at last the boat came to rest gently against the flank of the Pearl, and he began climbing up the rungs of wooden planks bolted into the side, his men following in dead silence.

Upon scaling to the deck, right at mid-ship on the outside of the Pearl, Norrington caught the distinct sound of voices coming from a nearby gunport, then made a hushing motion with his finger toward the soldiers and jerked it at the opening to the right of him.

James' hands grasped the rail as he hauled his body over onto the top deck and lightly set his boot-clad feet on the planked floor. He turned, helped his soldiers over and soon, the troop made their silent prowl to seek and destroy any pirates and to find Elizabeth Swann.

Screeech!

His heart made a terrified lurch to his throat at the sound of a dreadful shriek, and then leapt back in horror at the sight of some sort of creature which appeared to be nothing more than a little skeleton with clumps of black and white fur barely concealing its bones. The gruesome figure scurried across the surface and huddled into the shadows, where it suddenly transformed into a harmless tree monkey. James was horribly fascinated by the implausibility of such a bizarre experience, as he likened himself to a man who did not cater to fantasy as many of his sailors did—he desired something that was concrete and irrefutable—the part of his brain that reasoned tried to coax him into thinking he'd seen something other than what it appeared. Trick of the light. He gained back his courage, smacked the little devil in mid-jump with his pistol and sent it over the side.

The Commodore winced at the loud thump that the monkey made as its body landed on a metal surface. It must have fallen onto one of the protruding cannons. He vigorously flung his arms about, gesturing for his men to run down into the below decks and was briefly reminded of Jack Sparrow and all of his peculiar, exaggerated mannerisms. They all paused when the sound of heavy, careless footsteps bounded up the staircase from what must have been the gunnery.

Just as the moon slid behind a cloud and immersed them in near pitch-black darkness, James had his gun at the ready and aimed directly at the larger pirate of the pair who emerged and made a slight smirk of glee at the man's misfortune. But to his astonishment, the psychotic gleam in the pirate's eyes merely doubled and he snatched the flume of the firearm with his meaty hand. James pulled the trigger, the bullet striking the man square in the throat, and closed his eyes at the feel of blood splattering his face. Yet when he looked again, the pirate was grinning savagely despite the fact that his neck was quite literally ripped open.

"Sorry, chap, ain't gonna work!" he growled, little flecks of the crimson liquid spraying from his lips. Before long, the wound in his neck closed over at an unworldly speed until it no longer existed, all that was left in its wake was smooth flesh, and James' previous sense of impending doom recommenced in full force. Just as the monkey had been impossibly skittering around with no skin visible, the man before him had taken a musket shot without blinking and was not even remotely felled by the usually fatal attack.

Yet, despite his own terror and no doubt his soldiers' as well, he and his men made a battle cry, and hurtled themselves toward the two pirates in attack. They had no chance to recover from the shock of such a response. Together, the Royal Navy managed to hoist the undead pirates into the air and offer them the same fate that the ghastly little monkey had endured.

Gibbs had his stout body pressed against the cell when he recognized the sound of a large quantity of boot-clad feet tromping down the steps to the brig. "Someone's coming!" he barked, and was thoroughly taken-aback by the sight of the James Norrington, a Lieutenant when he'd sailed with him nigh but a decade ago—now a Commodore, no less—and a sea of redcoats who swarmed in around him. "It's the Royal Navy!" The pirate crew stood as helpless as infants in the jail cell, looking on as one of the soldiers handed Norrington the keys from their spot dangling from a nail in the wall. Gibbs felt a sinking numbness when he realized the preordained meeting in the gallows that he'd been given upon his leave of His Majesty's Navy and his introduction to the pirate's would come sooner than he thought. He'd expected a better outcome than sitting in a brig while Turner had his throat slit, perhaps Captain Jack returning unfathomably, as always, managing some clever escape from certain death or imprisonment. Maybe even Will after breaking loose of the pirate's stronghold. But the Commodore?

"Mr. Gibbs," James said, puzzled. "What may I ask are you doing in a pirate's keep?"

Joshamee kept his gaze steady on the younger man. "I think ye'll be knowin' what I'm doing here."

The Commodore pieced it together himself. "You are in affiliation with Sparrow and Turner?" The crew's silence was all the answer he needed. "Very well." He turned to Lieutenant Groves. "Lieutenant, take these men to the boats and row them back to the Dauntless. I'm placing you in charge until my return." Norrington swiveled back to the old seaman. "Gibbs stays with us."

"Aye, sir."

The pirates paddled their oars in succession and the group drifted slowly down a murky passageway inside the familiar cave of Isla de Muerta, using their torches as a guide through the inky darkness and onward to the pirate's ridiculous hoard of riches, jewels, fine clothing, and of course the cursed gold. The island was one Will had hoped to never see again. The rowboats rocked viciously and Will found it difficult to concentrate. His stomach seemed to list every time the water did and he stared in wonder at Barbossa's menacing figure perched at the bow of the boat. The man was impenetrable; nothing deterred him.

As if the Captain sensed the boy's thoughts were upon him, he turned his head and glared at Will, and under the thin ray of moonlight shining from a hole in the rock overhead, a skull's repulsive grin was in its place. In fact, none of the pirates wore evidence of any flesh under the same beam of light. He'd known the men were cursed, dancing in limbo between life and death, but actually seeing them as walking skeletons was another matter.

Will's belly made another lurch.

"Still wet behind the ears, boy? Even the pretty little poppet kept her supper down," chuckled Pintel with a whimpering giggle from his mate Ragetti.

Will's nauseated grimace changed into a frown at the mention of Elizabeth. What would become of them? This wasn't the way it was supposed to end; what with the girl stranded on a deserted isle with another man and the hero on his way to have his throat slit—he stared up at the blackness above him, cursing Fate. She had dealt him and Elizabeth the wrong hand, and he insisted that their last moments mustn't end this way.

Since the day he'd laid eyes on her he'd fancied her. He had always daydreamed of her as the damsel in distress and he, the lowly apprentice, came to her rescue, won the favor of the governor and ended up marrying her and living happily ever after. If only those were the circumstances—of course, he was a rational young man despite his actions during and after the pirate attack. He knew that clouding his head with illusions was unwise and destined for disappointment.

His thoughts broke off as the boats came to a stop at the embankment in the dusky cave. Pintel and Ragetti snatched his arms and hauled him up and out of the skiff, then dragged him through to the enormous mounds of treasure.

"No reason to fret," the portly man spouted jovially. "Just a prick of the finger, few drops of blood."

Twigg sneered from behind Will's shoulder. "No mistakes this time, he's only half Turner. We spill it all!"

"Guess there is reason to fret," Pintel muttered and the two friends sniggered.

After effectively taking control of the Black Pearl, Norrington, Gibbs, and his seamen were directed to the inward rocky peaks of Isla de Muerta, creeping into the enclosed labyrinth of water-carved hollow corridors which led to the scene before them and the convenient location that Jack and Will had assumed not very long ago. The Commodore and the company who followed him were observing quietly at the secluded look-out spot, avoiding being discovered by the chanting pirates, as their attention had been taken by the man conducting a rousing speech. Their chief commander stood on a rock pulpit, a large extravagant chest before his feet, and an unfortunate soul with hands bound behind his back. A familiar young man with a tight, somber face. At the sight of Will Turner instead of Elizabeth, James turned to Joshamee Gibbs. He had assumed to find the governor's daughter—expected for the girl to be the object of their filthy wiles, perhaps a victim of ransom as a result of her father's notoriety. "Mister Gibbs, where is Miss Swann?"

"Marooned."

"What was that?" James gasped.

The stout man's gaze was sharp, unwavering. "Barbossa deserted her on an island and left her to die with Captain Sparrow. That was nigh three days ago."

The younger man's eyes widened to saucers. No, he thought, anguished. Not Jack Sparrow! A number of horrid images assaulted his mind, and Norrington recalled the moment of anxiety and fury when the stinking pirate not only stripped her of her dress and corset, but also seized her in his filthy embrace while holding a pistol to her fair head. "She's been alone with that man for three days?"

Joshamee nodded, deciphering the young Commodore's disgust and horror with his own antipathy. "I know what yer thinkin', son. But he has an honest streak in him and wouldn't lay a finger on the lass if she wasn't desirin' him to." Norrington had no choice but to trust his word and Gibbs knew that.

James straightened the broad brim of his naval hat and took a calming breath. He could do nothing more than continue forward with the task that presented itself before him. He'd have to resume his search for Elizabeth once he found a way to save the young blacksmith. Despite his disdain for the boy's unlawful behavior, he understood it, would have probably done the same—and he had an obligation as King James' protector, to serve his countrymen, even those that he didn't very much care for. "So you said that these men need Mr. Turner's blood to lift this curse in order for them to return to mortality?"

Gibbs nodded. He'd been put to the task of recalling the undead crew's tale to the men as they paddled their longboats toward the caves. "Aye, and Captain Barbossa ain't a man to strike bargains with no one, so there can't be much hope to be held out for Will. The boy's bloodline to Bootstrap Bill Turner is what they want, and nothing ye can give them will suffice as an alternative, 'fraid t'say."

Lieutenant Gillette was on the other side of Gibbs, showing his bafflement. "And just how are we supposed to defeat a band of pirates who cannot be killed?"

Gibbs grinned, mostly to himself. "We wait for the opportune moment."

A/N: I appreciate any reviews or comments!