Jack woke to the sound of rain spattering on the gables of the house. Sitting up in bed, he stretched and yawned, and then reached for his pistol. The day's itinerary listed limbo after breakfast. A wave of sentimentality and tenderness washed over him at the recollection of what all happened last night. He'd win for his father. Oh, bugger, his eyes widened. Winning a limbo contest would be nothing next to what would be in Teague's will once he returned to Shipwreck Cove. "To my beloved but bull-headed son Jackie, I leave the Code of the Brethren. Keep it."
Grunting, he threw on his shirt and coat and marched down the stairs to the dining room where most of the guests were already assembled. He plopped into his seat and checked his cereal for tentacles.
"Cold cereal?" he muttered.
"Don't sound so spoiled, Jack," Barbossa growled. "This is Wheaties, and let me tell you, had this whole MacGuffin Island/Mr. Owen business been on the level, you'd see my face on that box, so just shut your trap and eat like a good boy and I'll turn cartoons on for you."
"I know you're old, but there's no need to treat me like a child to emphasize it," Jack retorted, secretly wondering what Phineas and Ferb would be up to today.
"Is the boat not here yet?" Elizabeth asked, coming down the stairs, her hair tossed and a pink cotton bathrobe over her silk nightgown. Don't get up and kiss her. Don't get up and kiss her, Jack chanted in his mind. Throw her over your shoulder and have your way with her on the beach instead. No! Think unsexy thoughts. Phineas and Ferb. Phineas and Ferb.
"No. It might have some trouble coming out on account of the storm," Barbossa said. "Have some cereal with a generic professional athlete on the box instead of me."
"Don't you think people would lose their appetite if they saw you on the box?" she asked. Jack pressed his lips together to keep from laughing.
Will was just about to open the door to go downstairs for breakfast when he heard frantic running. Mr. Owen! He threw open every drawer in his dresser, desperate for a sword, but saw nothing but linens and boxers. Cursing, he heard the door to the room on his left open. Barbossa's room.
"Captain Barbossa?" he heard when he pressed his ear to the wall. The frenzied footsteps recommenced and flew down the stairs.
"Pintel."
"Oh! Morning, Turner. Have you seen Barbossa?"
"No. What's the hurry? Is the boat here?"
"Oh, Turner. It's Ragetti! Barbossa's got to examine him."
"Why Barbossa?"
"He's the only one with a medical degree."
That stopped Will dead in his tracks. Blinking a few times, he sprinted down the stairs just in time to see Barbossa slide out of his chair and follow Pintel to Ragetti's room.
"What do you suppose could be wrong?" Elizabeth asked, finished with her cereal and bringing the bowl to her lips to swallow the milk.
"I don't know. Don't worry. Why don't we play a game to pass the time?" He sat down and poured himself some Wheaties. "Twenty Questions is a good one. It doesn't require any supplies. Okay. I'm thinking of an object…"
"Is it a sword?" Jack groaned.
"Damn it," Will blurted.
The others joined them in a quiet breakfast, each of them keeping one eye on the staircase. At last Barbossa and Pintel came down, the latter scurrying into the kitchen.
"He's going to be a bit on edge today. Ragetti's dead."
James spit out his cereal.
"A dead man made my cereal?"
"No, the factory workers at General Mills, who are alive and well, made your cereal," Barbossa said. "Uh…not to point fingers or stir up trouble, but it was cyanide poisoning."
"Are you kidding me?" James said. "That's two now. Are we on a cyanide farm? Did he kill himself?"
"How would I know?"
"He'd seemed so proud of his meal," Governor Swann sighed. "Whatever could have caused him to drink cyanide?"
"Did he have a cup by his bed or anything?"
"Didn't see one."
"I bet you he had a cup of tea," Will said. "Maybe he got up in the middle of the night, poured himself some tea…"
"…and offed himself? Honestly, Will, just shut up," Elizabeth said. "Something strange is going on."
"It's likely Pintel bumped him off," Jack said. "What? We all saw how he freaked at the Port Royal raid being mentioned. Pintel probably killed him to keep him quiet."
"But we already knew all about it," Barbossa argued.
"But he's an idiot," Jack countered.
"Sh, here comes Pintel. Don't act weird," Gibbs hushed them. Pintel walked by, his head down, sulking. "Sorry your best friend died in a really peculiar and suspicious way without even bothering to tell you goodbye!"
Pintel burst into tears and ran out the door.
"If that's your definition of not acting weird, Mr. Gibbs…" Jack shook his head.
"It ain't. I just couldn't help it."
Something strange indeed was going on, Will thought, standing out on the terrace, remembering Elizabeth's words. It had gnawed on him all throughout breakfast and now during the limbo contest. Bob Marley music played on the phonograph as he waited in line for his turn to go underneath the limbo stick. He turned behind him to Barbossa.
"How is it you have a medical degree?"
"I'm a man of many talents. I also have an Oscar."
"Well, what do you make of all this? Two deaths within twenty-four hours, both poisonings."
"It does put one in a quandary," Barbossa said. "I don't believe for a second John Teague killed himself. Now, Ragetti, on the other hand…"
"I don't."
"And two accidental deaths is just too much to swallow."
"Just like they swallowed too much cyanide." Both men started to laugh until they realized the morbidity of what was just said.
"That only leaves one conclusion," Will said. "They were murdered."
"By who? We were all right there."
"You remember what Norrington said last night. He wasn't interested in becoming the victim of a madman. Mr. Owen. Who's to say Mr. Owen isn't hiding out here somewhere? It's a rocky island. He could be in a cave somewhere, sharpening his sword, watching it glitter, fingering the smooth blade…"
"I get the picture."
"We had all just been accused of murder. Anyone could sneak around in this big house and bump us all off."
"It's plausible. That's using the old noodle, Turner." Barbossa patted his back. "You've come a long way from that whole stupid 'you-can't-die-but-I-can" crap you used to pull. Let's search the island. It's not that big and it's mostly bare rock."
"I hate to suggest it, but let's get Jack into this." Will pointed up to where Jack successfully limboed underneath the limbo stick. "He's a good shot, cunning, and he's flexible."
They broke away from the game and approached Jack about the situation.
"I've thought the same thing," he admitted with slumped shoulders. Since when were William and Barbossa on the same page as he was? "And I brought me pistol." He turned his neck from one appalled face to another as if he were watching a tennis match. "Oy! It ain't my fault you didn't bring weapons. If you recall, I was hired on for my skills."
"You're the only one on this island with a pistol?" Will asked.
"According to her letter, your murderous bonnie lass should have one as well."
"Her letter said weapons would be provided. You're the only one, Jack."
"Maybe I should be on the Wheaties box then." He shot Barbossa a grin and led the way back into the house.
"I brought you some hot chocolate, Father," Elizabeth said, giving her father one of the cups, a curl of smoke circling up around it like a wreath. Governor Swann sat back in a folding lawn chair under the awning, watching the sea.
"The boat's not coming."
"How can you tell? I'm sure it will come once the rain stops."
"Elizabeth, I took pleasure in defeating that hand."
"What?" She sat on the ground next to his chair.
"Yes. I've never been in battles or wars before, not like you. I've never been a 'field man' as they say, and, well, next to men like Norrington, and even Will, I always felt the lesser."
"You're a politician! You have to be brave every day. You make so many decisions and you have to not care what everyone thinks of you," she argued. "That hand had it coming, Father. It belonged to a pirate that would have gladly killed you."
"True, but I shouldn't have felt the sense of accomplishment I felt when I did it." He looked her in the eyes and cupped her chin. "Please tell me you didn't feel the same way when you killed Captain Sparrow."
"Father, that was…" Sighing, she unfolded another chair, took her father's hands, and told him the whole story.
Jack, Will, and Barbossa emerged from the basement of the house covered in cobwebs and smudges. Since only Jack had thought to bring any kind of weapon, Will nabbed one of the kitchen's steak knives and Barbossa held the cricket bat at the ready.
"What if this Mr. Owen isn't able to be killed?" Will thought out loud.
"Everything's killable one way or another," Jack answered.
"But what if he's already dead, like a ghost?"
Barbossa and Jack turned back to Will, not knowing whether to laugh or smack him.
"I have a theory," Will said. "This island is full of ghost stories. What if one of them just likes killing living people for kicks? Giggles?"
"What about the cyanide?" Barbossa asked. "Landowners have cyanide. Ghosts?"
"This is a person, William," Jack sighed, his palm hitting his forehead. "But if you want to get out the Ouija board later for peace of mind while the rest of us are on the boat getting the hell out of here, you're welcome to it. They might like someone to talk to."
"I have so many questions," Governor Swann gasped after hearing Elizabeth's story. "What about the mark Jack left on Beckett? Is Will free after ten years if you remain faithful, or is he cursed for all time? What was the point of releasing Calypso if she was just going to be chaotically neutral and cause a maelstrom where anyone could die?"
"These are questions a lot of people have, Father," Elizabeth said, leaning over and resting her head on him. "I'm not sure anyone who knows the answers feels like explaining them. But a year's gone by and…and…"
"Yes?"
"The Brethren Court voted me out. They realized just how easy it was to have an actual King and voted me out on the grounds a woman has no political savvy!"
"But you won a battle! You made the seas free for free men…and avenged me, which is quite touching."
"Yes, but now Armand the Corsair is King. When Will left, I was all alone. I had nowhere to go and no way of getting a hold of anyone. I went looking for work and being a lone pirate without a ship is far from lucrative. Then one day there was this Help Wanted sign at the airport and I thought, 'Elizabeth Swann-Turner, pilot.' It would have been a dream job! But they wanted a lounge singer. And I've been doing that ever since."
"My dear child." Governor Swann threw his arms around her. "It's going to be all right. You're going to make it and be happier than you ever thought you could be."
"What are you saying?" She broke away just enough to read his face.
"Trust me. All of us have been brought together for a reason." He kissed her forehead. "I've seen the two of you together. You'll be happy."
"Father, I don't know. Will and I are already growing apart and I'm not sure…"
"That wasn't really what I meant, but…"
"Governor Swann, Elizabeth," James said, coming up behind them. "I have to apologize for my actions that led to your death, sir."
"We were having a moment," Elizabeth growled.
"It's all right, Commodore," Governor Swann said. "We can't always predict the consequences of our actions. Besides, we both have a clean slate now. Why don't we make the best of things? The boat's not coming. We'll all start a new life here. We'll all have jobs to earn our keep and form a society. I'll be the limbo instructor. Elizabeth, I'm not trying to be sexist, seeing as how sexism ruined your career, but you'll have to be procreating for a while. But don't worry; I'm sure once you realize what you really want, you won't mind so much." He gave her a wink Elizabeth could only describe as creepy. "And Norrington, well, how does Commodore of MacGuffin Island sound to you?"
"Er, fantastic, sir. I just wanted to say I was sorry and that I would be more than happy to watch for the boat if you wanted to go inside."
"Nonsense. I'm quite comfortable out here. Now, both of you go and leave me be for a while. You have your character arcs to develop, after all." He eased back in the lawn chair, watching them disappear behind the jutted out corner of the house and breathed a deep sigh.
Spending the day with Jack and Will exhausted Barbossa more than he had ever thought possible, but he surmised an exploration of the house and the island was at least a useful activity. There was no Gothic, foreboding nature of the house, just a large one with several upstairs bedrooms and bathrooms, attic space, servants' quarters downstairs with the foyer, living room, kitchen, dining room, half bathroom, laundry room, sitting room…okay, it was a huge house. But that didn't mean it was one of the looming haunted houses of literature where awful things were bound to happen just by looking at it. It was harmless in and of itself, much as Blight had been. Just sailing along, his crew swabbing the deck in perfect unison, belting out Gilbert and Sullivan classics while he pranced around at the helm…not suspecting the Black Pearl's unprovoked wrath.
"Five, six, seven…that ain't right. Ain't right at all," he heard, breaking him away from his memories.
"Pintel? What are you babbling about?" Barbossa crossed into the house from the porch and found Pintel pacing around the dining room table.
"It's driving me up the wall, Captain! These figures on the table." He slammed his hand near the centerpiece with the little figures. "Could've sworn there were ten."
"There were. The young miss pointed it out to us at dinner, remember? You'd think you'd pay more attention to the only female on the island." Barbossa shot him a suspicious look.
"Count 'em now! Last night there was nine but now there are only eight! Only eight!"
A/N: Do not own!