Chapter seven

Amber paused; after once again having taken over the story and introducing the sea serpent, her voice was running ragged.

"No don't stop! Keep going!" Racheal said breathlessly, still in the grip of the story.

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The serpent would not be rid of so easily however, and in one last spiteful swing of its tail, Elizabeth was torn from Will's arms, and the line that held Jack to the ship was snapped, and together Jack and Elizabeth fell to the black ocean in which there was almost no hope of surviving, dragged down to the depths by the ireful monster.

"Elizabeth!!!" Will screamed as if his heart was being torn from his body. He threw himself at the gunnel, attempting to jump in after his beloved wife, disregarding entirely the fact that such an attempt would be suicide.

He was halfway over the side when somebody seized his arms and hauled him back, Will turned and fought the interloper tooth and nail. He had to get to Elizabeth!

Somebody punched him so hard he saw stars, and this stunned him enough that he stopped fighting long enough to see that it was Anamaria that had stopped him.

"Stop struggling you stupid boy! You won't do them any good if you jump in yourself!" she said.

"Then what am I supposed to do?" he asked desperately.

"You need to get yourself below; I won't have you trying to jump again. I'll keep an eye out for them, if they resurface we might be able to haul them back in." She shouted over the wind.

"But I-"

"No buts, if they make it, they make it. I'd say they have as good a chance as any of surviving, which is next to none, but for Captain Jack, it just might be enough."

"I will not sit idly below while Elizabeth is in peril!" Will shouted with just as much rage and despair in his voice as could be heard in the storm howling around them.

"Fine then, jump in after her! Fat lot of good you'll be able to do her when you're drowning. If your fair maiden has even the slightest chance, Jack will see that she gets it." Anamaria said as she released her grip on his arms, gesturing to the railing and the dark waters below.

Will almost took her up on the invitation to jump, but then his vision cleared of rage and he realized the woman was right, if he jumped he would just be another that needed rescuing. The least he could do for Elizabeth was not get himself killed in a fit of despair.

So instead, he went to the railing and watched the waters for any sign of Elizabeth or Jack, hoping against all that he would be able to see them in the storm wracked sea.

But even as he clung to the rail and peeled his eyes open so wide that they stung in the biting wind, he knew in his heart of hearts that they would not be returning to the surface for him to see.

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The day was as black as midnight, for the heavy clouds obscured even the slightest glimmerings of the bright Caribbean sun. The only light came from the jagged violence of lightning lancing through the pendulous void, and the only thing that could be heard above the howling wind was the terrible deep rumblings of the thunder. The awful sound was so close to the two ships that it could almost be heard to precede the lightning, though whether this was true or just liberal license on the interpretation of events was never to be verified.

In the midst of the storm, very few pirates realized that anything was amiss. All they knew was that the sea serpent was gone from the Essandra's deck, and that the storm was still trying to toss them about. The only ones who knew of the tragic loss of the young governess and their captain were the few on the quarterdeck, Anamaria, Will, and a few others. In truth, even those who knew were too busy fighting for survival for the full impact of the loss to hit them, only Will despaired, his soul rending in two as he sought to see his love in the waters mad grip.

A great swell again rose out of the water, taller than any that had come before. It slammed in to the Pearls windward bow, nearly rolling her right over. Pirates clung to anything they could as the water washed straight over the deck, ripping at them and trying to tear them away from the only sanctuary they had left, for surly, falling to the sea now meant death. The water continued to coarse over the ship, biting at her yard arms in its efforts to drag the Pearl down, but the Pearl would not be tamed so easily.

Amidst cascades of white water, she hauled herself up from the sea, dragging back the Essandra as well. The effort was nothing short of spectacular, for surely no ordinary ship could have such strength. The Pearl matched herself against the sea, her bluff bow rising again and again, even as the great ocean tried to swamp her.

A keening sounded through her riggings though, a mournful whistle that almost seemed as the wailing of a bereft woman. The Pearl struggled from the water repeatedly, seemingly looking for her captain. And perhaps it was true that the ship itself could feel the absence of him, the supernatural bond between captain and ship causing the vessel to strive through the treacherous waters in search of him.

Strive as she might however, the captain was not to be found.

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The storm was a dry one, the most dangerous kind, for if lighting were to strike one of the masts, there would be no way to extinguish the conflagration that ensued. Every time a spear of lightning ripped its way through the sky, a buzz could be felt in the air, tingling on skin and hair with the discharged energy it left behind. The lingering effects unnerved even the heartiest of the pirates, and many feared for their lives as they had not even for the battle. After all, a man had some say in the matter when being attacked by another man, but in the merciless, uncaring storm, they found only dispassionate chaos that did not care, nor even realize the effect it was having upon the fragile vessels that were being dashed about on the oceans surface, let alone the insignificant creatures that clung to those vessels.

With a horrible ripping sound, pirates on the fore course were sent crashing to the deck as the sail tore itself to shreds in the wind. Lethal streamers of canvas lashed about in the gale, leaving bloody gashes were they struck flesh.

Some of the men thrown to the deck struggled back to their feet to continue taming the Pearls wayward sail; others did not get back up at all; either dead, or wishing they were. Surely the pirates in the rigging envied the dead's rest; again and again they would gather up canvas, only to have it ripped from their numb fingers by the wind.

The tattered course continued to whip about, but despite this, the men on the sails above it went about the arduous tasks, for truly, there was no way they could not. A man did his job on a ship, and if the job was climbing up an eighty foot mast in hurricane force winds to balance on a small rope while they tried to gather up sail that was trying its hardest to kill them, they did it. Surely sailing was the maddest profession on the planet, and as such, epitomized human nature.

Finally though, the sails of the Pearl were furled, saving only the jib and mizzen sails to allow for maneuvering, reducing the surface area of the ship by at least half, so that the driving wind did not put so much pressure on it. The dangerous tilt of the ship righted itself as much as it could, but the Essandra, her crew decimated by the battle, the serpent, and the storm, did not have enough men to complete the job so quickly. Her sails flogged about in the wind, making cracking sounds like a whip, only much louder and deeper. More than a few brave men in the rigging were sent falling to their deaths, smashed upon the deck or tossed into the churning sea.

The unfurled sails on the Essandra caused the Pearl to tilt and lean with the French ship, who was still at the absolute mercy of the wind. It was then that Bootstrap noticed that the many lines holding the two ships together were in danger of snapping under the pressure.

"Slack the lines! Don't let them break loose or we'll all be goin' down!" so saying, he raced to the bow, were one of the Pearls mooring lines lay curled. Unlike the thin grappling lines, this was meant to hold a heaving ship to its dock no matter what the weather.

As fast as he could, he began threading the heavy line through the scuppers and hawse holes of the two vessels, leaping like a mad man from one vessel to the other as he moved down the rail.

Meanwhile, sailors checked the grappling lines that were already in place, loosening them up so that there would be some slack for the Essandra to fight against.

The two ships continued to dip and rise through the huge swells, climbing one side of a wave only to drop suddenly into another valley. More than one breaker crashed over the deck, sending any who were not holding tight enough to something sprawling. The blood from the battle began to wash away in great rivulets, emptying out through the scuppers along with sea water. Bodies of French and pirates alike were swept away as well, sinking down to their dark rest in Davey Jones locker.

Bootstrap was just about to order some of the crew over to the Essandra to help get the sails together, when the Frenchmen at last seemed to get it together, out of sheer desperation if nothing else.

And then, all that remained was to survive the storm, and a daunting task it was. There was no concept of time remaining, it was mid afternoon at least, but it was as dark as pitch in the midst of the storm. Even if anyone had had a way of tracking the time, it would have been moot, it was their perception of time that mattered, and to the pirates, it seemed to be an eternity that they were caught in the chaotic miasma that besieged them.

There were many times that day that it seemed that all was lost and the ship was about to tip over and throw the rest of the crew into the depths, to be with their brethren already sent there by the battle. But always at the last moment the two ships would right themselves in the water, and the crew would get an extra few eternities before they were once again faced with death.

Through most of it the only things they could do was to clutch tight to something and pray, pray for deliverance, or for a quick death, whichever mattered most to the individual. Even those that prayed for a quick death didn't really want to die, for death was never something to be desired; too many of these men had seen enough to now about death intimately, flirting with it daily as they did, but a quick death was to be desired over the slow suffocation of drowning, water filling your lungs as you tried to gasp for air, and then the sickly wrong feeling of something foreign preventing you from breathing.

It was a feeling that Bootstrap knew only too well.

As the storm tossed them about, he clung fast to the fore top's'l halyard, and wondered if it was possible to die twice. He didn't find the thought particularly frightening, but it would be sad to think that Jack went to all that trouble to bring him back only to loose him again a week later.

Still, a week of life was better than none at all, and if he was ripped from his hold to drown once again, at least he had gotten a chance to see his son again, and meet his daughter in law. He wouldn't mind seeing his grandchild though, and he knew that Will would never forgive him if he died before the child was born.

The day wasn't over, after all, and if he had anything to do with it, he'd be walking among the living for a bit longer.

The storm continued, worrying at the two ships like a dog on a bone, and the passage from day into night was marked only by a descent into an even more complete darkness. In the total darkness Anamaria clung to the helm, trying to keep the ships stern to the wind, so that the Pearl was not broadsided by any more waves as it had been in those first terrifying moments at the start of the storm. She could not see at all, and so could only rely on the direction of the wind on her face. It took all of her strength to keep the struggling helm on course, but even though she was exhausted she did not release it, she had a job to do, and she could not afford to let anything so small as exhaustion to get in her way.

And then the rain began, and in a strange irony the storm lessened. The pirates whooped for joy at the feeling of the rain streaming down upon them, for it meant that the ship no longer needed to fear a strike of lightning as much. Indeed, the lightning began to move away, or rather, it was likely that the Pearl was moving away from it, having finally escaped the heart of the storm.

However the torrential rain was driven by the howling wind, and it pelted their hands and faces painfully. They had already been wet from the great breakers crashing down upon them, but it soon became evident that this was a more persistent and miserable form of dousing. Even the oil slicked coats of those lucky enough to have them soaked through after five minutes.

On and on it went, the ship being bounced about the waves as if they were a leather ball, the thunder rumbling ominously through the heavens, the wind rendering any speech mute, and the rain chilling them to the bone. The sheer miserable truth of their mortality was being shown to them in one of the worst storms they had ever weathered, but still they weathered it. Though the pirates knew themselves to be in dire straits, they turned and faced the storm with as much bravery as they could muster. A land bound man would panic in the face of such natural fury, for though they might indeed experience a storm such as this, they would be safely on dry land, where at least the ground beneath their feet was constant. Sailors have no such comforts, they are thrown into a world where the ground could turn under their feet, for a ship moves as the fiery sea moves, and not even flame can be so furious as the oceans wrath raised.

Time lost all meaning and it seemed that the pirates descended into madness, being unable to see, except when the lightning cast everything into terrifying relief. They could not even light the lanterns, for the wind and rain would extinguish them soon after. They were unable to hear anything except the storms wrath, they could not even hear their own voices, and the driving rain had made them so numb that it was impossible to feel anything.

Some, holed up below decks, were at the same time safer, and worse off. Though in a few places there were some lanterns that remained lit, and the pirates there could see, it felt as if they were trapped in a small box. Even those without any problems with small spaces felt claustrophobic, for being trapped in a large wooden box floating on the sea felt at that time very much like being trapped in a coffin.

Still this is where the majority of the crew was; Bootstrap had ordered them there, and only the barest minimum necessary stayed above. With the furling of the sails completed, it made no sense to keep the crew above decks when they would be safer below.

Many men were working hard at the pumps, for every time the furious sea washed over the Pearls decks, the water seeped in through the damaged planking left from the battle, and even down through the closed hatches, making the Pearl too heavy. It was back-breaking work, and was usually considered the worst job on any boat, but in this case it served to distract them from the dooming waters pounding against the hull. A fierce rhythm sounded out as the men pumped, like the beating heart of some huge leviathan. Then, amidst the din of the pumps, the troubled sea, and the agonized groaning of the Pearl herself, a defiant voice began calling out a song.

It was a grim worded song, but it echoed throughout the hull as more and more men picked it up, providing a sanctuary of sound that rang out true and clear, easing worried hearts, if only a fraction.

"Pump me lads,

Pump 'em dry,

Down to hell

And up to the sky.

Bend your backs

And break your bones

We're just a thousand

Miles from home…"

After all, they had already been to hell, and it wouldn't surprise a one of them if the Pearl were to grow wings and alight to the sky.

The song surrounded them, bringing a small glimmer of hope to the miserable crewmen below. It came to a point when even those not working at the pumps sang it, supporting their comrades to the best of their ability. With so many voices singing out against the darkness, a sense of unity pervaded through the ship, and the thought came that no matter what happened, their fellows would be right there next to them. They would die together, or not at all.

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Above decks was another matter however. There would be no solace to be found in a song, for no song save perhaps an angels would be heard above the driving wind.

Pirates clung desperately to the ship, doing there best to keep the ship from flying apart under the stress. Only Bootstrap, Will, Marty, Suvern, Tom and Anamaria remained above, with Ana at the helm and Suvern helping her.

Bootstrap had tried to get Will below, but his son was a stubborn man, and clung to the rail with a death grip, muttering to himself about how he had to be there when Elizabeth came back, though Bill could not hear the words, for they were snatched away by the wind. This being so, he could not understand why Will would not leave, for he did not yet know of the loss of the captain and his daughter in law. Still, if Will wanted to stay above decks, even in this weather, Bill would not stop him. He cared about his son, enough to know that Will was leading his own life now, and did not need Bootstrap around to tell him what to do. So he left his son staring hungrily into the sea.

The storm raged through the night, or at least that's what some of the saner minded crew thought, and on into morning, for the sun shone briefly below the clouds in the east, lighting the mountainous waves and clouds alike with a murderous red light, before the world was once again dark as the sun ascended into the sky above the clouds.

And then, at noon of the same day, they reached the edge of the storm, the waters calming and the clouds dispersing enough to allow the sun to once again grace the ocean with its warming light. And though Will never left his spot through the entire storm, he did not see Elizabeth or Captain Sparrow in the water again.

Drenched and bedraggled, the pirates pulled themselves up from below, cautious of the Essandra, but too tired to really do anything about it. The French ship had made it through with them fortunately, for it was the only thing that had kept them afloat, but the deck seemed deserted.

Bootstrap walked the length of the Pearl, looking over at the Essandra and examining the situation. There were still a few bodies that had not washed overboard, but of the living there was no sign. Surely the storm couldn't have killed them all? There were still at least fifty men aboard when the Serpent had been dispatched.

Thinking of the serpent, Bootstrap wondered how it had been removed, for he hadn't exactly had the opportunity to watch at the time. He would ask around later, but for now, he had a task at hand.

Examining the Essandra, Bootstrap realized that the longboats were missing from its deck, at the same time a splash could be heard on the starboard side of the French ship. Throwing caution to the wind, Bootstrap jumped nimbly across the gap between the two ships and rushed to the starboard side.

Peering down at the water from the deck of the Essandra, Bootstrap saw that the ships two longboats had been launched, and the escaping French were already pulling hard to get away. It was apparent that they had been planning this through the night, for there were plenty of provisions secured in every available place in the two boats. Each boat carried twenty men, nearly twice the number of men they were designed to carry. The escapees were the dreg remains of the crew; only two officers remained, one was the captain, and the other was the light footed popinjay that Jack had fought briefly. Aside from those two, the rest were marines and sailors.

Bootstrap did a quick tally, looking for the lord and lady. He was trying to see if they were escaping, for he had never seen them during the battle, but they were not there. Bootstrap turned back towards the Pearl, looking for Jack, intending to ask him if he wanted to pursue the fleeing frogs.

Bootstrap realized then that something was amiss. Normally Jack would have beaten him to the gunnel to see what was going on, but he had not. Now that he thought about it, Bill should not have had to have given half of the orders he had last night; Jack would have seen to them.

"Where's Jack? Somebody go fetch him." Bootstrap said authoritatively. There was a slight stir in the crew, murmurs as they realized something was wrong.

"Where's Jack?" Bootstrap asked again, this time with an edge to his voice. He wasn't aware of crossing back to the Pearl, but suddenly he found himself there.

"He fell behind." A hoarse whisper said dejectedly. Bill looked around for the voice, and the crew parted to reveal his son standing by the staircase, holding Jack's hat.

"What?" Bootstrap asked disbelievingly, a shiver ran through the crew, and Bill felt as if his insides had been frozen solid.

"He's gone, and so is Elizabeth. The sea serpent…" Will was staring into nothing, his mouth working, but no sound coming out. Will didn't even seem aware that he was no longer speaking, and he seemed to lose balance and ended up leaning against the bulkhead, sliding down slowly with a lost look in his eyes.

"She's gone…" he said in a voice that was almost too quiet to be heard. He had no emotion on his face, just stunned blankness. The disbelieving despair in his voice was enough however, it conveyed all the emotion in his soul; Elizabeth was gone, and so was his unborn child, Will's meaning for existence was gone.

The news hit Bootstrap like a brick in the face, and suddenly he was unable to think straight, nor hardly even breathe right. His world compressed down to a tiny point in his mind, and his vision swam.

Jack was gone. Elizabeth was gone. His grandchild…

Suddenly it was the mutiny all over again; Jack, bruised and battered, looked murderously at Barbossa as he stood on the plank, glaring out of a swollen eye. Barbossa had mutinied, and Bootstrap had learned of it to late to warn Jack. If he hadn't agreed to it, they would have killed him so he couldn't try to stand with the captain.

The one thought that kept running through his head was that it was senseless; there was no point to it except for Barbossa's lust for power. Jack would have given every one their fair share of the treasure, for as far as pirates went, he was not an overly greedy man. But Barbossa had lied to the men, swaying them with false words about Jacks supposed plan to kill them all, and take the treasure for himself. Bootstrap knew this to be ridiculous, for how could Jack sail anywhere without a crew? The Pearl could not be run by one man, or even two or three; the Pearl was a full rigged ship, and though it could be sailed by six men, it required at least two hundred and fifty men to run properly as a fighting vessel, and that was supposing that he could somehow first manage to slaughter an entire crew without being killed himself. So if Barbossa's story was to be believed, Jack would have the gold all to himself alright, all to himself on an uninhabited rock, with a limited supply of food, and nowhere to spend his gold.

But just as Jack couldn't feasibly expect to fight the entire crew, nor could Bootstrap; he was trapped between death and betrayal, and he had to remind himself of his family, where would they be if he could not support them?

So he had agreed to Barbossa's mutiny, though it tore every moral principal he had to ribbons, and a fat lot it did for his family. He had died a week later, a broken and unhappy man.

The same thought that had run through his mind then, occurred now. 'I've failed him.' Bootstrap thought 'I was given a second chance, and I've failed him.'

Only this time, Jack was dead, not just marooned.

This time it was Bootstraps throat that worked soundlessly as he struggled to find the sound within him to give orders; he could not take the time to grieve now, they had a ship to mend. His eyes stung and his chest burned with suppressed rage, but that did not stop him.

The first order of business was a funeral, however, so at least some time could be given to grief. He knew it would not be nearly enough time, and thought that many of the crew would feel the same.

"Cullins…" he started weakly, before he firmed up his voice, buttressing his words with a hidden well of strength that the grief gave him. "Start collecting the bodies that the sea didn't rob us of, we can't be lettin' the dead go without final rights." He said, stronger than before, but still with a broken edge to his voice. The young man nodded solemnly; his was not an enviable task, but not one he would begrudge for his fallen comrades.

Bootstrap looked over at the Essandra, Jack's final prize. It was funny how such a grand ship didn't seem worth it. A thought occurred to him as he looked with half glazed eyes.

"And Cullins… them too. They were no doubt honorable men, even if we were the ones they were fighting." Bootstrap said with a nod to the empty vessel. The ship was eerie, the scars of the battle covered it, and her lower sails were in tatters, as if she had suddenly become a ghost ship.

Cullins looked questionably at the Essandra before realizing that Bootstrap had the right of it. He nodded, and moved back through the crowd of dejected pirates, pulling out a few men to help him along the way.

The entire crew looked more hopeless than they had at any time during the storm. Jack's loss had hit them hard; his knowledge of the sea, his fair hand, his luck, and even his drunken swagger would be sorely missed. Jack had been half mad, they knew from experience, but never had a man led such an enchanted existence, riding the wings of luck from one encounter to the next as if sailing the trade winds. A man of who strange and fantastic stories would always be told, some of them exaggerated, and others not even saying the half of what really happened to the infamous Captain Jack Sparrow.

He had been a legend of his time, and then the sea had taken him. It turned out he was mortal after all, and the ocean's depths had swallowed him with no more difficulty than any other.

But no matter how harsh the reality that faced them, it seemed wrong to them that he had perished in such a manner. Everyone had always known how Jack would die, not on the gallows, nor the point of a sword, for these things had already happened to him, and he had survived. In their hearts they had always felt that he would die with his ship, for he had sworn to himself, his crew, and his Pearl, that that would be the way of it. But now, his words had been undone, and his final promise broken, and it was this more than anything else, that caused them grief.

"I'll take a tally of them who's missin'." Anamaria offered tiredly. Bootstrap shook his head.

"No, after wrestlin' with that storm for a day and a night, you're going to take it easy. Farret can do the tally." He told the bosun. Actually, as Bosun, it should have been her to take up command after it was discovered Jack was gone, but Bootstrap, numb from the storm and now grief, had forgotten. To his credit, she had not said anything about it, indicating that it was not an issue that needed to be addressed. Later, when the crew moved on and elected a new captain, she would probably be chosen, in essence completing one of Jack's last unfulfilled promises, but for now, Bootstrap was by default the acting captain because he had stepped up.

Bootstrap looked at the crew, most of who were standing with hollow eyes gazing at their feet or at the water, or anywhere else that offered blank thoughtless solitude. He had only begun to become acquainted with this new crew, but he knew that at heart they were good men, better by far than Jack's first crew, himself included.

He looked around, and saw far too many faces missing. Where was Sully, whose stoic patience and quick hands were the bane of any vermin that snuck aboard? What of David, a man who had once gotten so drunk he had kissed a chicken because his mates told him it was a whore? Where too was the incorrigible Irishman, 'Well Red' Sean, who hated books, but had a crop of hair so red and unruly that he constantly appeared as if someone had set his head alight? And where was Jack Sparrow, who had promised his crew to one day see them to the far side of the Moon and back?

So many missing, so many that would never haul line, never return to their well deserved bunks at the end of a hard day, never again sail with hearts set for the Horizon.

The horizon… that mysterious yet mellifluous line that had encompassed all that Jack stood for. Jack Sparrow's entire existence could be explained in the horizon, if you could ever find it. Bill wondered if Jack had finally found it, if even now the captain was sailing about in an after life entirely of his own devising, for surely Jack would not allow himself to spend eternity in a place as mundane as hell.

The thought brought a sad smile to his face; being a dead man, he knew only too well the nature of the after life, and it was not something you could escape. But if ever there was a man that could, it would be Jack Sparrow.

TBC

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A/N: Well, this concludes the last chapter I'll be writing on land, in a week I will be shipping out on the Lady Washington. I have to admit I regard the trip with no small trepidation, the horror stories I've heard about her vomit inducing capabilities worry me, even though I have a notoriously strong stomach. But still, it's a tall ship, and serving aboard her will be an honor.

I grew up in Westport WA and the Lady docks in Aberdeen, which is just a few miles away, for winter repairs. I've grown up watching that ship, (I could probably tell you every single movie she's appeared in, from star trek generations to Pirates of the Caribbean) and it will be a bit of a culmination of a dream for me.

I will keep writing, however, (thank the gods for laptops!) but you will probably not see another chapter till summers out, as my access to the internet will be nonexistent. Unfortunately, this means that I will be finishing this story after the new movie comes out, and for any one who has watched the trailers, you will know that this movie will disprove my suppositions about Bootstrap, Norrington, and probably even Anamaria. So this story will, in effect, become an alternate reality story, even though I was writing this before the debut of the second movie. (Ah, who doesn't love Canon?)

Can't complain though, truth be told, I can't wait till the movie comes out, it looks so interesting! Being the pirate obsessed freak I am, extrapolations on the images I have seen so far have even begun appearing in my dreams. (this is more than a little disturbing, for I am of the firm opinion that no one should be so obsessed with something that it has been appearing in their dreams on more than three occasions)

Anyway, when I come back, there will probably be a flood of new chapters, accompanied by a new disclaimer at the beginning stating the discrepancies between this story and the newly evolved pirates universe.

Gods, I can really rant, cant I? so I will conclude this authors note and short term goodbye with one final thought - I'M GOING SAILING!!!!!!

Signed sedately,

Sirval the soon to be heavily sunburned

(P.S, please review, I'll need some heavy duty feedback to keep me writing for three months without an update. And yes, I will get a chance to read them before I leave.)