A/N: Good to my word, here is the next chapter! I apologize again for having such a long break between chapters 4 and 5, but I hope I can be forgiven if I keep updating on a more regular schedule.

Many thanks to my new reviewers, ammNIwriter and Nytd!

On with Chapter 6!

Chapter 6

Dinner was delicious, and Will and Master Hobbins left the Philips' residence with a full stomach and directions to a local inn. Hobbins had Mrs. Philips assurances that the inn was seldom frequented by soldiers. If Mrs. Philips had found their request for inn choices odd at all, she did not let on. Her happiness at finding her Roger safe had indebted her to the strange father-son duo, and it seemed unlikely she would ever think ill of them.

Her daughter, Annie, had been quite a different story. She had barely spoken a word during dinner, and more than once, Will had sprouted a glop of mashed potatoes on his face. The girl was always careful to hide her dirtied spoon while Will cleaned off his cheeks, and nobody else in the room seemed to notice any mishaps.

Annie's goodbye had been a cold one, but by that point Will had given up on anything else. As he and his guardian headed towards the Cow Bell, the inn Mrs. Philips had recommended, the boy sighed.

"What be the matter, Will?" Master Hobbins said, finally dropping their charade.

"Oh…nothing," Will said at first, dragging his boots along the dusty street. Then he sighed again. "No, it is just that that Annie girl…she said it was my fault Roger was almost killed. Do you suppose that's true? I mean…if it wasn't for me…"

Master Hobbins frowned. "Yer fault? If that were anyone's fault, it would be mine." The man scratched his head awkwardly with the three good fingers of his left hand. "I'm sorry fer not truly believin' ye, before, boy. If I had thought yer friend was in true danger, I would not have waited to finish hagglin' with Cap'n Porter."

"Oh, no, Master Hobbins, it is not your fault!" Will exclaimed, surprised that his role model felt he needed to share in the blame.

The scraggly man gave a half smile. "See? Jus' as it is not yer fault. There be terrible men in this world, Will. They are the ones to blame, like that feller we fought off this mornin'."

Will nodded carefully. "So how do we make sure not to let bad men do bad things? …And how do we make sure not to do bad things?" he added as an afterthought.

Master Hobbins looked uncomfortable. "Well…'tis a difficult question ye be asking, Will. Sometimes, you'll find that bad men don't always do bad things, jus' as good men are not always doin' good, either. Ye jus' got ter do what is right be ye and those ye care about. That's about all anyone can do in the world."

Will thought on that for a moment, and suddenly remembered something similar that his mother had taught him years before.

"There is no real good and evil, Will," she had said, after he had regaled her with another one of his epic imaginary quests. "People just do what they need to do to be able to live with themselves."

"But isn't doing good things the best way to live with yourself?" Will had asked, confused.

His mother had looked a little pained at that, and chose her next words carefully. "Yes. Yes, that is true. But each person needs to define for themselves what good really means."

Will trudged after Master Hobbins, his seven year-old brain not quite sure what lesson to learn from all this. He was certain there was a lesson somewhere – there always was. But this time, he was having a great deal of trouble finding it.

Unwillingly, the image of Master Hobbins bringing the rock down on their attacker's head floated to the front of Will's mind.

******

Master Hobbins sighed to himself as he shut the door to their room at the Cow Bell. The kid will be fine, let him be. If ye tell him where yer headed, he'll only worry, he thought to himself as he quietly tip-toed down the stairs. Or, worse, the lad'll insist he go with you.

Master Hobbins was not headed into a good part of town. Rather, he was headed into the only part of town that held any semblance to its former glory days – glory days that no child should ever lay eyes on.

He was surprised at the guilt he felt about sneaking off without a word to Will, even if it was for the boy's own good. What has become of ye, eh? The kid's turnin' ye soft! First, that foolish rescue of Roger, and now not even being able to go out where you're needed because of fear Will'll wake up afraid of the dark, or something! Bah!

The blond pirate shook his head back and forth, vowing to get back into his old self before he reached his destination. However, before he could even set one foot out the door of the pub at the main floor of the inn, the guilt overwhelmed him and he turned in frustration back to the bar.

"Here," he said, thrusting a pile of coins at the innkeeper. "If the boy asks fer anythin', give him what he wants. I'll be back in a couple o' hours."

Satisfied, and at the same time, wholly embarrassed with himself, Master Hobbins left the Cow Bell in a huff. It would be a fairly long walk to Little Tortuga, but if he hurried, he could still catch the midnight bar crawl.

Little Tortuga was all that was left of a once grand port. A few years back, the East India Trading Company launched a full assault on the area, claiming beyond debate that Tortuga would no longer be a haven for piracy. They changed the name to Port Beckett, and no pirate had ever forgiven them for that grievous insult. Now, only a pocket of mayhem survived, untouched by any lawful hands due to the extremely high death rate of soldiers who ventured in too far. Therefore, "in too far" was exactly where Master Hobbins was headed.

It was said that one could smell Little Tortuga before seeing it, and Hobbins always had to agree with that. The other townspeople gave it a wide berth, but to him, it smelled like home.

A series of gunshots followed by raucous laughter greeted him as he strolled onto Main Street, and he grinned at the drunken brawl that had overwhelmed the town square. No time to join in, Hobbins regrettably noted. He made his way to the Oily Lantern, doubling back a few times just to be on the safe side. In times like these, one could never be certain who was following you.

Finally satisfied that it was safe, the scraggly man walked into the designated pub, looking for a contact. Hobbins never knew who was going to be in at the time, but among the pirates left loyal to the Pirate King, they always made sure to have somebody at the Oily Lantern, in case of trouble.

Hobbins jaw dropped in disbelief. Are they crazy? Or are times really getting' so hard that he was the only man to spare? Sighing, he made his way to the back of the pub and took a seat next to a grizzled old man.

"'Ello, Cotton, fancy seein' ye 'ere," Master Hobbins said. "How is yer wife?" he asked with the code phrase.

"BRAWWWK! Drunk as a loon, drunk as a loon!" Cotton's parrot replied, sidling across the man's shoulders to get a better look at Hobbins.

Well, that IS the correct response…Hobbins noted, though he had long since ceased amazement at the bird's vocabulary.

Cotton stared at Master Hobbins, his face its usual blank façade.

Hobbins sighed again. "Listen," he said, dropping his voice. "Can ye get a message to Jack for me?"

The old man nodded, and motioned for the parrot to hop down upon the wooden table.

Hobbins took one last glance around the darkened barroom, eyeing anyone who he caught staring back at them. "Alright. Tell Jack that the King is in danger, and I've brought the Prince to the Cow Bell."

Cotton nodded, and the brightly feathered bird squawked in confirmation.

Master Hobbins was decidedly uncomfortable with this form of communication. He turned to the parrot. "Tell me the message for Jack," he demanded, not willing to take any chances.

The bird just squawked again, and fluttered up to Cotton's shoulders. The old man shrugged, and gestured for Hobbins to repeat it.

"Alright," the blond man said in frustration, drumming the three fingers of his left hand along the splintered tabletop. "Tell Jack Sparrow – "

"Tell Jack Sparrow what?"

Hobbins looked up in alarm, and pulled out his sword instinctively. One glance around, and he knew it was useless. Six men had them cornered, bayonets aimed at their chests. One of them was dressed in all black, with an egg-sized bruise on his temple. He smirked. "Hello, pirate. Long time no see?"

"Damn!" Master Hobbins swore, knowing full well they could shoot him far faster than he could reach for his own pistol. Why didn't I kill the child-murdering bastard when I had the chance? "Turncoats, 'ere! Did ye know about this?" he turned angrily to Cotton, who shook his head quickly. "Tricky bastards, bringin' soldiers in under disguise. Mark my words, ye'll learn nothin' from us!" he shouted at the men.

There would have been a time where a pirate would have stood up for a fellow pirate facing a group of soldiers. Particularly, when the soldiers were being lead by a traitor, and there was a bar full of pirates there to back you up.

That time had long passed.

Cotton and Hobbins were marched out into the street, not a word uttered in their defense, not even a single punch thrown. The undercover soldiers had captured their prey without any struggle at all. It was a sad time indeed to be a pirate.

Panic fluttering through Master Hobbins' heart. There was nothing for it. They would not get out of this alone. And if he did not think fast, Jack would never get his message and poor Will would be left stranded at the inn all alone. He turned to Cotton and muttered forcibly, "Yer bird!"

It took Cotton a moment, but then his eyes widened in understanding. Cotton tossed his arm upwards and snapped twice. His parrot took off in a fluff of colorful plumage, squawking its way into the night.

"Shoot it!" the man in black shouted. All guns were immediately raised and triggers were pulled, but not a single shot could manage to hit the maneuvering parrot as it sped away.

Cotton and Hobbins tried to make a break for it while the soldiers were distracted. They took off running, Hobbins shooting his pistol behind him all the while. It almost seemed like the two men were going to make it…that is, up until they ran straight dab into a full regiment. Something heavy slammed into Master Hobbins' head. Hobbins was knocked to his knees upon impact, and stars danced in front of his eyes.

"Ah, Master Hobbins. So good to see you."

The blond man had no need to see straight to know who was speaking.

"Evenin', Commodore Burtenson." He spat at the shiny boots in front of him, his world spinning faster and faster.

The navyman smiled. "Right where you said he would be, Master Lawrence," the Commodore nodded to the man in black, then turned back to the pirate at his feet. He tossed a thick wooden plank to one side. "You'll be joining me at my flagship, Hobbins. Your friend can come too, of course."

"It'll be our pleasure," Hobbins managed to slur out before slipping into unconsciousness.

******

It was a fine Caribbean day. The sun was shining, the sea was calm, and there was a gentle breeze drifting over the deck of the Black Pearl. Captain Jack Sparrow draped himself lazily across the helm, holding his compass out at arm's length.

"Glad t'see you up and about, Cap'n," Gibbs said, making his way up the stairs. "How's the stomach?"

"Never better, Mister Gibbs," Jack replied. "And what's even more better -we have a heading."

"Well thank the merciful mermaiden for that!" Gibbs exclaimed. "No offense, sir, but I was beginnin' to fear we'd never be sailin' straight again."

"Hmm, yes, well, I had a little chat with meself," Jack said, smirking. "Everything's settled, no need to worry." The dark-haired pirate waved pleasantly at his first mate with the back of his hand. Another glance to his compass, and he turned the wheel to starboard.

Gibbs' good mood fell a bit at that. Whenever his captain told him not to worry, something horrendously reckless was sure to come around the corner. Sighing, Gibbs decided to keep his concerns to himself for the time being, seeing as Jack was finally in good spirits. There would be time later for talking him out of whatever new goal he had set himself.

"Gibbs, would you mind getting' the boys down there to give me a bit more sail? The wind's pickin' up, and it is best if we don't miss it."

Gibbs nodded, his worry growing at how clear-headed Jack was sounding. He began his way down to the deck, pondering where exactly Jack was taking them now. Gibbs might play a fool at times, but he had worked with Captain Jack long enough to be able to narrow down what the man likely wanted most. At the moment, Gibbs felt certain it was either revenge on Barbossa for conning him out of the navigational charts, revenge on the murder of his father, or greed for some yet unnamed prize. Unfortunately, those options gave Gibbs little idea as to where they were actually headed.

The gray-bearded man was debating this with himself, when something blue and yellow flew straight into him.

"What in the name of – blimey!" Gibbs exclaimed, reaching down to pick up a bird off the deck of the Pearl. "It's Cotton's parrot!" he said, as several crew members quickly made their way over to confirm his announcement.

"No!" Marty said, looking up at the colorful bird in shock. "It can't be! He's leagues from here, in Tortuga…"

"How did he get way out here?" a red-haired pirate asked, reaching to the bird as if he expected it to be some sort of apparition.

Mr. Cotton's parrot snapped his beak at the man. "SQUAWK! Prince Cow Bell! Prince Cow Bell!"

The cluster of pirates made a face at one another.

"What…what do you suppose that means?" Marty asked after a moment.

"Perhaps it means that Cotton has run into a spot of trouble with a royal bovine?" Murtogg said, leaning over all of them.

Mullroy sidled up next. "A royal bovine, eh? That's what you come up with?"

"Well, seeing as it is the only hypothesis proposed, I don't see no problems with it, no," the skinnier man said defensively, tucking a stray piece of hair behind his ear to keep it out of the breeze.

"BRAWK! Prince Cow Bell!"

"Maybe…maybe it's a code. A hidden message!" Gibbs said, excitement building in his voice.

"Or maybe it just means nothing except that Cotton's been separated from his parrot," Marty said, rolling his eyes.

"Yer all wrong."

The pirates looked up in surprise to see their captain standing at the top of the stairs, his dark eyes narrowed. "Gibbs, charter course for Tortuga." Jack said in an uncharacteristically serious tone.

"Port Beckett?" If Gibbs was nervous about his captain's demeanor and mental state before, this statement drove him to full-blown anxiety. "Are ye certain, Cap'n?"

"Decidedly so," Jack said, his earlier cheer gone completely as he made his way towards the rum locker.

"But, sir! Don't you want to man the helm yerself, sir?" Gibbs called after him, hoping to maybe bring Jack out of his rediscovered meloncholy. "I thought your compass was finally workin'?"

Jack paused and turned to face his confused crew members. "It bloody well won't work now," he said, his voice carrying a noticeable edge to it. The captain's face looked remarkably distressed, and his eyes had fallen into their sunken position from days before.

"Just…hurry," he added in frustration, waving his hands at them. Jack spun around and tromped down to the rum locker, slamming the door behind him.

*****

It was like some reoccurring nightmare, but every moment was real.

Young William Turner sat in his room at the inn, watching the sun set out the window. He had been alone all day. Master Hobbins had disappeared.

Just like mum, he thought, tears welling up again. He wiped them on his dirty sleeve, and hugged his knees tighter against his chest. So much for William the Great. Now you're just William the Lost.

His stomach gurgled at him. It was more persistent this time than it had been earlier. He had been too scared to venture from the room to go down to the bar and ask for bread as of a couple hours prior, but William the Lost now also happened to the William the Quite Hungry.

Taking a deep breath, Will decided that his first act of bravery would be to find food. Then, if he achieved that, he could reward himself by climbing back up into the rented room and curling into a ball under the covers.

One step at a time, Will made his way down the steps to the barroom. The smell of dinner wafting from the kitchen gave him courage.

Quiet as a mouse, he approached the lady behind the bar. "Excuse me, ma'am," Will said, bowing his head slightly. "I was wondering if you had some bread to spare? I have no money for you, but I am quite hungry, and – "

"Oh my!" the gray-haired lady gasped, looking down over the top of the bar at the young beggar boy in front of her. "You're the boy who came in with that nasty fellow, aren't you? Did the no good rascal abandon you here? What kind of cruel soul leaves a boy your age alone, and in a place like this, too!"

Anger flared up in Will, fed by his gnawing hunger. "NO!" he shouted, stepping forward. His small boots squeaked the floorboards. "Master Hob – er – my father would never leave me here on purpose!" Will yelled, tears brimming in his eyes, but some semblance of pride taking up residence in his heart for thinking of keeping Master Hobbins' name hidden. "He will come back for me, you'll see!"

The woman's eyes showed nothing but pity. "You poor, poor, boy," she shook her head in the annoying adult fashion, as if to say she knew something that a child would never understand. "Come with me. Your father did leave some coins behind for you. You can buy some dinner with that."

Will felt relief wash over him. At least at the time Master Hobbins left the inn, he had done so of his own choice. If he had been kidnapped or hurt, it had not been when Will was within earshot and could have come to his defense. Will followed the innkeeper's wife like a puppy trailing after his master. The smells from the kitchen were overwhelming.

"If that father of yours does not return by the time your money runs out, I suppose we can put you to work on the dishes for a few days until we find a better place for you," the woman said, patting Will on the head. "You're too precious a boy to have to end up on the streets."

*****

A knock at the door startled Mrs. Philips into dropping her stirring spoon straight into the soup. "Goodness gracious," she said, blushing, and quickly fished it back out with an additional utensil. "Annie, be a dear and see who is at the door."

"Annie's outside playing, Mum," Roger called from down the hall. "Don't worry, I'll get it," he added, and she could hear her young man's footsteps moving toward the front hall.

The next thing she heard was a scream.

The spoon was dropped for a second time.

Roger came crashing into the kitchen, kicked across the floor by a man in black with a large feathered hat. In the arms of the strange man was Annie, a knife across her throat.

"Merciful heavens!" Mrs. Philips cried, racing forward. "YOU BRUTE! LET HER GO AT ONCE!"

"Mum, no!" Roger reached up and yanked hard on his mother's dress, halting her before she could reach her daughter. "He'll kill her!"

Mrs. Philips stumbled to a sobbing halt. "What do you want?" Tears fell down her face, and anger shook her visibly.

The man in black smiled and turned to the boy on the floor. "Roger, was it? I would really appreciate it if you would tell me which way your young friend went when he left here three evening's ago."

Roger seethed. "You won't hurt Billy!"

"Which way did he go, Roger?" the man asked again, his tone darkening. He dug the knife into the five year-old's throat until blood began to drip down. Annie cried silent tears.

Mrs. Philips made a sound of panic. "They went – "

"Don't tell him, Mum!" Roger shouted in warning, "He'll kill her either way! He's the one who attacked me in that ally!"

The man's eyes narrowed and he turned his attention to Mrs. Philips. "Your daughter, Mrs. Philips. Her, or William Turner. 'Billy', as you may know him. You have a minute do decide."

Mrs. Philips swallowed. Her decision would not need even a second.

"The Cow Bell," she said, her voice calm.

"Mum!"

"HUSH, Roger!"

The man smiled. "That was too easy. I don't think I believe you," he grinned and began pulling the knife across Annie's throat. Roger lunged at his feet, knocking Annie from the man's grasp. The girl fell to the floor, choking, and clutching at her throat in pain.

Anger flared up in Roger, and he snatched the knife from the floor and leapt at the man's chest. "Get OUT of me house! They're at the Cow Bell, you murderous bastard! Take yer information and LEAVE us!"

The man backed up quickly. Roger grabbed a bottle and slammed it against the man's temple, mimicking the blow Master Hobbins' had given him days prior.

The man slipped into unconsciousness once again.

"Roger!" Mrs. Philips gasped, as she clung to her bleeding child. "What have you done?!"

"He isn't dead, Mum. But he soon will be," Roger shook with rage and raised the knife up, posed to strike.

"Roger…" Annie's weak voice said. "Don't…not like him…"

"Roger, listen to your sister! Leave him be!"

Tears dripped off Roger's nose. "And what to ye say we do with him, then? Drop him off a dock?" He asked, refusing to look back at their faces.

"No. No, we take him outside and leave him. And then…"

Roger lowered the knife. "And then we leave here. He won't be forgivin' me for this, Mum. We have to go away. Far away." The boy turned slowly, pain written plainly across his face as he laid eyes on his bleeding sister.

Mrs. Philips stared for a moment, and then nodded in agreement.